Chapter 4

"A truly dedicated student understands priorities," Ms. Albright continued, pacing the stage like a general addressing her troops. "They understand that high school is a stepping stone to a successful future, not a social club. They focus on their studies, their extracurriculars, their college applications. They don't have time for... this." She waved the letter dismissively.

The crowd was rapt. She was a performer, and this was her show.

"Take my son, Ethan, for example," she said, and I had to physically stop myself from flinching. "He's our valedictorian. Captain of the football team. He has a full scholarship offer from a Division I university. Do you know why? Because he is focused. Because he understands that every moment spent on unproductive distractions is a moment stolen from his future."

She stopped and looked directly at me, her eyes cold and hard.

"Chloe, you are a bright girl. Your grades are excellent. You should look to students like Ethan as your role model. You should be striving to emulate his dedication, not encouraging this kind of foolishness from... whoever this boy is."

I just stood there, my mind reeling. You want me to learn from Ethan? I thought, a hysterical bubble of laughter rising in my throat. Lady, I'm the one he's writing the letters to. I'm the one he's 'distracted' by. You want me to be more like the person who is supposedly distracting me? The logic was so twisted, so completely backward, it was almost funny.

"Continue reading," she commanded, handing the letter back to me.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my hands. I found my place on the page.

"I know you think no one notices you," I read, Ethan's words feeling like a shield against his mother's attack. "But I think you just don't notice how many people are looking. When you answered that question in Mr. Henderson's history class about the Peloponnesian War, the whole class was silent for a second. You didn't just know the answer, you understood it. You made it interesting. I'm pretty sure even Mr. Henderson learned something."

I remembered that day. I had been so nervous, but the topic was fascinating to me. I hadn't realized anyone, let alone Ethan, had paid that much attention. A small, warm feeling spread through my chest, a tiny island of comfort in a sea of humiliation.

"And I know you love the rain," the letter went on. "Because on rainy days, you don't hide in the library. You walk between classes without an umbrella. You just let it happen. You look... free."

The words were so specific, so personal. He had been watching me for a long time. This wasn't some fleeting crush. This was deep, quiet observation.

Ms. Albright snatched the letter from my hands again.

"Enough!" she barked, her composure finally cracking. The sweetness of the letter was undermining her narrative. "This is precisely what I'm talking about! This is not harmless observation, this is an invasion of privacy! This is stalking behavior!"

The word "stalking" hung in the air, ugly and venomous. She was escalating, turning a simple, heartfelt confession into something sinister.

"This boy is so obsessed, he's tracking her movements, her habits, her class participation," she said, her voice rising with indignation. "This is not healthy! This is a distraction that has clearly crossed a line. And you, Chloe," she said, pointing a finger at me, "by receiving this, by not immediately reporting it, you are enabling him. You are part of the problem."

The accusation hit me like a physical blow. It wasn't enough to humiliate me; now she was blaming me. The unfairness of it all made my blood boil. I was being publicly shamed for a letter I didn't ask for, and now I was being accused of encouraging a stalker, a stalker who happened to be her own perfect son.