Vanessa's POV
It had been a week since we confronted Alex. He hadn't spoken to me since, not even a glare in the hallway or a sarcastic mutter under his breath. Part of me feared the silence more than his insults. Silence meant planning. Silence meant the storm was gathering.
But something had shifted. In me.
I walked a little straighter. Spoke a little louder. I even laughed—really laughed—with Alexis at lunch once, and it didn't feel forced or stolen.
But peace never lasts long in my life. And I should've known it was coming.
It started with whispers. Small at first. Just enough to make me glance over my shoulder in the hallway.
"She's desperate," someone muttered behind me.
"She's using him. Everyone knows," said another voice.
I turned a corner and heard my name again—low and sharp, like the edge of a knife. "Vanessa Montenegro. Always involved in drama. New girl syndrome."
At first, I ignored it. Walked faster. Pushed it down.
But by Thursday, even the teachers seemed to look at me differently. Like they'd heard something too. Like I was suddenly more problem than person.
Then, during biology, it happened.
Kiera raised her hand mid-discussion and said, "Mr. Garsen, isn't it unethical for students to get special help from class captains? Especially when... feelings are involved?"
The whole class turned to look at me. At Alexis.
Mr. Garsen frowned. "Kiera, unless there's a clear violation, let's stick to mitochondria."
I could feel the heat rising up my neck, my chest, my ears.
Alexis didn't look at me. His jaw was tight, fingers tapping against his notebook like he wanted to punch something.
After class, I stormed out, but Alexis caught up with me.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know they were saying things like that."
"I should've seen it coming."
He paused. "Do you want me to talk to her?"
"No," I said too quickly. "If you do, it'll just get worse."
"I hate that she can get away with this."
I didn't reply. I couldn't. Because deep down, I hated that too. I hated how powerless I still felt, even after everything.
That night, I didn't write in my diary.
I stared at the pages. Blank.
Just like me.
Friday came. I almost didn't go to school.
But something inside me—it wasn't pride exactly, but maybe defiance—made me get dressed anyway. I tied my hair tighter. Walked faster. Pretended I didn't hear them.
When I sat down at my desk, there was a folded piece of paper waiting for me.
My breath caught.
For a second, I thought it was another threat, another cruel message from Alex—or someone else.
But it wasn't.
"Vanessa, you are stronger than you think. Some people hate the light because it reminds them of their darkness. Keep shining. —A friend."
No signature.
No clue who wrote it.
But I folded the note and tucked it into my diary, pressing it between two pages like a secret flower. Maybe hope could be anonymous too.
That afternoon, Alexis pulled me aside after class.
"I think I found out who's behind the rumors."
My heart stopped. "Who?"
He hesitated. "Not Kiera. She's just spreading them. But the person who started them? Rose."
I blinked. "Rose? She barely even knows me."
"She knows me," he said quietly.
Understanding washed over me like ice.
"Oh."
He looked away. "We were close. Before everything happened with my mom. She liked me. I didn't feel the same. I tried to be kind. I guess that wasn't enough."
"So this is revenge."
"Maybe. Or jealousy. Or just someone trying to hurt someone because they're hurting too."
I nodded slowly. It made sense in a twisted, bitter kind of way.
"I'm sorry," he said. "For bringing you into this."
"You didn't. They chose to drag me in."
He looked at me for a long time. "You amaze me, you know that?"
"What?"
"You're still standing. After everything. That's rare."
I laughed softly. "I think we both are."
The following week, I decided to join the debate club.
Not because I was great at speaking—God knows I was terrified—but because I wanted to take up space.
Alexis joined too.
Our first session was nerve-wracking, but the topic made me smirk.
"Which is more powerful: truth or perception?"
Perfect.
When it was my turn, I stood up slowly, palms sweating.
"Perception can shape the way the world sees us," I began. "It can spread faster than fact. It can hurt, divide, and isolate. But truth? Truth sits quietly. Waiting. And when it finally rises—when it's spoken—it burns everything false to the ground."
The room was silent.
Then applause.
Not loud. Not overwhelming. But enough.
After the meeting, a girl named Marisol walked up to me.
"Hey," she said. "That was brave. I've been through something similar. If you ever want to talk..."
I smiled. "Thanks."
And just like that, I wasn't alone.
Later that week, I found another note in my locker.
"Keep speaking. You're not invisible anymore. —Still a friend."
I showed Alexis.
He smiled. "You've got fans."
I rolled my eyes. "It's not about fans. It's about feeling like I matter."
"You do. More than you know."
For once, I believed him.
At home, things were still tense. Alex barely spoke. Mom stayed busy. Too busy to ask questions. Too busy to see me.
But I'd stopped expecting things from her. From them.
Now, I expected things from myself.
Dear Diary,
They tried to break me. Again. But I bent, not broke. I'm tired, but I'm here. And for now, that's enough.
Alexis sees me. Not just the broken parts, but the whole.
I've made my first real friend at school. I spoke in public. I found courage in the small places.
Maybe I'm not the girl I used to be. Maybe I'm more.