Chapter 3

The school bell shrieked, signaling the end of the last period. My stomach twisted.

Here it came.

Tiffany approached my locker, her expression a carefully constructed mask of worry.

"Sarah," she began, her voice laced with practiced desperation, "my place is a mess, and my mom's having people over all weekend. I'll never be able to study for the SATs. Can I please crash at your place? You know how much this means to me."

The exact words. The exact plea.

Last time, I' d melted. I' d seen a girl struggling, and I' d wanted to help.

This time, ice filled my veins.

I looked her straight in the eye, my voice flat, cold.

"Sorry, Tiffany."

Her eyes widened slightly, the first crack in her facade.

"David has his big scholarship interview and the SATs," I continued, my tone unwavering. "We can't have any distractions."

A flicker of something ugly – anger? – crossed her face before she quickly masked it with hurt.

"Oh," she stammered, her voice trembling. "Oh, I... I understand. It' s just... I really need a quiet place."

"Our house won't be quiet, Tiffany," I said, shutting my locker with a decisive click. "Good luck with your studying."

I walked away, leaving her standing there.

It felt good, that small act of defiance.

But I knew Tiffany. She wouldn't give up that easily.

I had to stay one step ahead.