Chapter Text
Ava surprised herself with how quick she was to snap out of her confused emotions regarding Beatrice’s swift exit. She felt the guilt and other negative feelings she wasn’t ready to name–brewing, bubbling, rising. But she pushed it all down to be felt at a later, more convenient, date.
It helped that Coach Adriel was sitting with his arms crossed with a fake smile on his face with no fucking clue that a girl is about to beat his team. It also helped that Ava was facing former schoolmates, so-called volleyball friends whom she bonded with over the same love for the sport, but whom she heard nothing from when it mattered.
They snickered, Ava recalls, Coach Adriel insulted me and they snickered.
The referee’s whistle split the air, and she felt it like a live wire snapping through her veins.
***
Later, when the Halo Bearers and ArqTech Warriors bowed to each other in a graceful act of sportsmanship, when Coach Superion clasped Ava’s hand to formally welcome her to the first six, and when JC finally stopped shaking her in that overly fond way of his, Ava slipped away to the showers. There, with the hiss of water echoing softly around her, she closed her eyes and let the droplets skate over her aching body like fleeting hands. Only then did the full weight of exhaustion settle in—the delayed ache of every dive, every leap, every push past her limits. It had been a long time since she’d played with such deliberate fire, with every move sharpened by purpose.
She played some motherfucking volleyball.
No movement was wasted. The coaching staff would later inform her that her attacks were at a 90% accuracy rate.
It was marvelous. Her playing was marvelous
She just wished she enjoyed it.
Throughout the four-set match, she was driven by pure, unfiltered loathing. Had she counted how many times JC shot her a concerned look after every point—without a single smile or word of acknowledgment—she would have run out of fingers.
The person who mattered saw her play. Coach Superion saw her play—the only person who ever needed to. So why did she keep imagining Beatrice in the stands? Sitting there, eyes fixed on her, maybe even impressed? The thought clung to her like sweat she couldn’t wash off. What did it even matter if Beatrice was watching or not? It shouldn’t. But it did.
It was a skewed state of mind to be in. On one hand, she was glaring daggers at a man blissfully unaware of her rage; on the other, she was longing for a girl to notice how fast she could send a ball flying off her arms.
She hadn’t even made it to her bed after the shower before her fingers were flying across the keyboard, flooding Beatrice’s inbox with message after message.
When Ava made the winning point, she went straight to her duffel bag and dug for her phone expecting to see texts from Beatrice cussing her out.
But there was nothing. And it hurt more like that.
Ava: bea?
Ava: bea im sorry
Ava: talk to me please?
Ava: i can’t really explain what happened
Ava: but
Ava: please know that i wouldn’t have done it if i didn’t have to
The waiting, the silence, the endless spiral of thoughts—it was all slowly killing her. Her hand hovered over the call button, suspended between hope and humiliation. The phone rang and rang, time stretching thin around her. She might have waited forever, if not for the three sharp beeps and the message that broke the spell: Did Not Answer.
***
The next day, when Ava finally saw Beatrice, it felt like someone had knocked the wind out of her. Without warning, Beatrice strode into Chemistry class. In the few heartbeat-seconds it took for her to cross the threshold and take her seat, Ava studied her in a new light.
Did she look like she’d been crying?
Were her shoulders slumping, just a little, under some invisible weight?
Was a strand of hair loose from the usually perfect ponytail?
Any outward sign, any subtle tremor, that maybe, somehow, she had chipped away at Beatrice’s energy.
But she looked, to Ava’s dismay, unbothered.
“Hey, Pres!” Hans called out.
Beatrice looked his way, giving a curt nod and a small, polite smile. A barbed wire of jealousy tightened around Ava’s chest. She didn’t realize she was scowling at Hans until he looked back, concern softening his face. “You okay there, Michael?”
Ava immediately smoothed her expression. Right. She wasn’t Ava right now. She wasn’t the person who had wronged Beatrice. Michael had clean hands. Michael could talk to Beatrice.
The thought struck her like a lifeline, steadying her, emboldening her. She pushed herself off the ridiculously high stool and started toward Beatrice. But before she could even reach the table, Beatrice’s eyes met hers. “You left,” she said.
Ava froze on the spot.
“They were looking for you to sub in when your teammate injured himself. Is he okay by the way?”
Michael. She was talking to and about Michael, Ava chastised herself.
“Yes! He, uhh, he’s okay.”
“Where’d you go?”
Ava reused the excuse she’d given her benchmates. She pressed a hand to her stomach, and Beatrice nodded in instant understanding. The gesture of a stomachache was universal.
“You left, too,” Ava said carefully. “I noticed.”
Beatrice’s brows lifted in surprise before her eyes dropped. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I was… also feeling something bad in my stomach.”
Still shielded by the safety of Michael’s persona, Ava threw caution to the wind. “I also noticed that you and my sister… uh. Are you guys okay?”
Beatrice made a deliberate show of pulling her textbook from her bag, flipping it open to a dog-eared page. “Did she say something to you?”
“No. But she… she’s very easy to read.”
Beatrice looked up at that, her expression unreadable. “Is she?”
“You don’t think so?”
“She’s… no.” Beatrice’s eyes drifted back to the page, though they never moved from one spot. “I can’t read her,” she said softly.
It was a quiet confession—one she’d never made to Ava when she was herself, nor to Ava when she was Michael.
Ava’s heart sank a little at that. “It’s a twin thing,” she said gently. “You know—growing up together, you just… learn to read someone’s energy. And hers has been way off lately. I was wondering if maybe you’d know anything about it?”
It was like flipping a switch. The sharp inhale Beatrice took was warning enough, but even if Ava had missed it, the look that followed made it clear—the walls were back up. The softness from moments ago was gone, shuttered behind practiced indifference.
“Why don’t you ask your twin,” Beatrice said, her tone clipped. Final.
***
Ava didn't need an alarm to wake her up at the crack of dawn the next day. Her body knew she had to make amends and it became clear that Michael won't be of help.
The mistake was hers alone to fix.
So she came bearing an offering: brewed coffee, two mugs, sugar, and honey. A peace ritual disguised as routine. Maybe, if Beatrice saw the effort, she’d see the sincerity too.
But when Ava reached the greenhouse, it was dark. The usual warm glow of the string lights was gone. No soft hum of a heater, no silhouette moving among the leaves. The space felt hollow, emptied of the person Ava had been waking up for every morning.
Nevertheless, Ava kept walking. Her feet moved on their own—past the empty paths, past the locked greenhouse door—until she found herself standing outside Beatrice’s dormitory.
She couldn’t undo weeks of waking before sunrise in a single morning. Her body was wired for this hour, restless and waiting. Ava scanned the windows, every one of them was dark.
Fishing her phone from her pocket, she dialed Beatrice’s number, holding her breath as she strained to catch the faintest sound of a ringtone.
The call didn’t go through. Not even a ring. Just a dead, empty silence. Of course. What had she expected? That Beatrice would pick up before dawn, voice thick with sleep, and pretend everything was fine again? Maybe she had. Maybe some part of her actually believed Beatrice would glance out the window, see her standing there, feel a flicker of pity, and come out to meet her.
The air was colder here than it had been in the greenhouse. It pressed against her skin, biting, reminding her she didn’t belong in this space anymore—not in Beatrice’s mornings, not in her quiet routines. Somewhere behind one of these windows, Beatrice was sleeping through a morning that used to be theirs.
***
After school, Ava went back to the greenhouse, half-hoping, half-dreading that she would finally catch Beatrice there.
And she was.
The space was steeped in a soft, suspended quiet—only the steady whirr of the ceiling fan and the delicate rustle of pages breaking the stillness. Sunlight slanted through the high windows, spilling over the long worktable where Beatrice sat surrounded by her world: scattered jars, trimmed leaves, open books, and careful sketches. Her hair was pulled up messily, held in place by a pencil, a few strands falling loose as she bent closer to her notes.
Ava stopped at the doorway, watching her for a moment. Beatrice looked completely at ease here—focused, untouchable—ringed by a fortress of botany guides and labeled samples that seemed to warn Ava, without words, don’t come closer.
She took a deep breath and approached, balancing two cups of coffee. “I brought peace offerings,” Ava whispered, setting one down beside Beatrice’s elbow. “Organic. Sustainably sourced. Brewed with love.”
Beatrice didn’t look up. “Does it come with silence?”
“Sorry,” Ava said, sitting down anyway. “Fresh out of that.”
Beatrice’s hand moved across her sketchpad, labeling the cross-section of a fern with precise lettering. “I’m working, Ava.”
“I can tell,” Ava said. “The wrinkles on your forehead screams ‘please go away,’ but your fern says ‘I secretly miss you.’”
That earned her a brief look, the kind of look that felt like Beatrice was deciding between laughter and homicide. “You’re reading into ferns now?”
“Some people journal, I emotionally project onto flora.”
Beatrice sighed through her nose, returning to her notes. “The Fair’s next week. I have to finalize our species list and prep the display layout. So if you don’t mind.”
Ava leaned on the table, lowering her voice. “I didn’t come here to distract you. I came to…” She trailed off, searching Beatrice’s face for a sign that she was being heard. “…to say I’m sorry.”
“What I want you to do is call your twin. I have something for him to do.”
Ava perked up. “I can do it.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Yes, I can.”
The words slipped out before she could stop herself. A flicker of irritation sparked in her chest, sharp, defensive.
“I need him to haul sacks of fertilizer with a wheelbarrow from the greenhouse to the club’s booth. Can you do that?”
Ava hesitated for a brief moment. “Of course I can.”
“Don’t be stubborn, Ava.”
“Hey, these arms can lift.”
Beatrice’s eyes flicked to her arms, so quick it could’ve been imagined. But for a fleeting second, Ava swore she saw it: the slightest pause, the faintest trace of attention that wasn’t purely pragmatic. Then Beatrice blinked, expression resetting to its usual calm efficiency.
“I need your arms to lift your chair and leave,” Beatrice said evenly, then, more softly, almost to herself but loud enough for Ava to hear, “you’re good at that anyway.”
“Bea, look—”
Beatrice’s hand shot to her phone on the table. She pressed it to her ear. A second later, Ava’s phone buzzed from inside her bag.
Beatrice’s brows knitted together. She glanced at her screen, checking the caller ID—confirming what Ava already feared.
Under the table, Ava fumbled through her bag, thumb scrambling for the mute button. The ringing cut off with a sharp, guilty silence. Beatrice’s eyes flicked to Ava—a quick, cutting glance that said more than words could. Ava mustered the most innocent smile she could at that moment.
Beatrice lifted her phone again, pressing it to her ear, waiting for Michael to answer.
The ring tone filled the space between them, thin and shrill against the walls of the greenhouse. Ava sat frozen, her throat tight, her pulse keeping time with every ring that didn’t stop. “If you’re calling my brother, he doesn’t wake up until 11am. They usually have practice after class and it knocks him out cold every night.”
Beatrice held her gaze. Ava tried her best not to look away from it, afraid of failing a test she somehow found herself in.
Then Beatrice lowered her phone slowly, eyes still locked on Ava. Her voice is steady but stripped of warmth. “Seems like disappearing runs in the family,” Beatrice murmured, reaching for her notes again.
Ava felt her energy plummet from the dismissal. She stood, the chair scraping softly against the floor. “I should, um… let you get back to work.”
Beatrice didn’t look up. “You should.”
Ava hesitated, wanting to say something, anything, that might soften the edges she’d only made sharper. But Beatrice was already writing again, pen gliding over paper like Ava had never been there.
So she left. Quietly, carefully, as if any sudden movement might break something fragile that was already cracked.
***
The morning of the fair hit like a fever dream. The campus was a blur of banners, folding tables, and students sprinting around with clipboards and bundles of string lights. The air smelled like fried dough and paint thinner.
Near the east courtyard, the Botany Club’s booth was a storm of motion. Stacks of potted herbs and flower arrangements cluttered the tables, and cardboard signs leaned precariously against crates labeled “Compost Tea — Do Not Drink.”
At the center of it all was Beatrice, clipboard in hand, commanding the chaos with surgical precision. Her hair was tied back in a loose braid, a few strands sticking to her temple from the heat.
“Lilith, shift the ferns closer to the entrance. Camila, stop flirting with the Agri booth and finish hanging those tags.”
Lilith didn’t even blink, already hauling a tray of plants with practiced efficiency. “On it.”
Camila, who was halfway through balancing a watering can on her head, grinned. “Relax, Bea, we’re the first ones here! Plenty of time!”
Beatrice exhaled through her nose, clipboard in hand. “We don’t need an audience to get things done, Camila.”
It was then that Beatrice spotted Ava, the sleeves of her volleyball team shirt rolled up, looking awkwardly at the wheelbarrow full of soil she’d just nearly tipped over.
“Michael! You’re late!”
Ava flinched at the name but straightened, lowering her voice an octave. “Yeah, sorry. Took a wrong turn and ended up helping this kid build a time machine out of a car. Long story.”
“Time machine,” Beatrice repeated, unimpressed. “Grab those pots and move them to the second table. Carefully. And don’t mix up the basil with the lemon balm.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“After that, fix the canopy. Then run to the greenhouse for the extra compost. And tell Mr. Morales to lend us his extension cord.”
Ava blinked. “All of that?”
Beatrice’s head snapped up. “Do you have somewhere else to be?”
“No, ma’am.” Ava adjusted her cap and jogged off, muttering under her breath, “I swear you’d make a great military officer.”
Lilith caught it. “You haven’t seen her during exhibit week.”
“Don’t scare him,” Camila said with a wink, looping a vine across the booth’s banner. “He might run before the seedlings do.”
“I can hear you both,” Beatrice cut in, sharp but distracted, scanning her checklist again.
For the next half hour, Ava became a one-man delivery system. She ran between the booth and the greenhouse, carried soil, taped signs, and accidentally watered her shoes. The more Beatrice barked orders, the more her hat slipped and the deeper her scowl became—though not once did Beatrice look at Ava long enough to notice how her scalp had inconsistent hairlines. As Ava scratched her wig again, feeling the dampness and irritation, she wondered how drag queens do it.
By the time Ava dropped the last sack of compost near the booth, sweat darkened the back of her shirt and dirt streaked her cheek. She leaned against the pole, chest heaving.
“Camila,” she managed, “I think the plants are judging me.”
“Only because they can tell you’re stressed,” Camila said cheerfully, misting a tray of seedlings. “Plants pick up on negative energy, you know.”
Lilith deadpanned, “That’s pseudoscience.”
“Still true though.”
Beatrice didn’t even glance up. “Michael, stop talking to the plants and go get the labels from the greenhouse.”
Ava blinked. “Again?”
“Now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ava muttered under her breath, trudging away.
She made it just past the music booth before collapsing onto a bench behind a stack of unused chairs. The world tilted slightly—a blur of laughter, chatter, and someone announcing raffle tickets over the speaker system. Ava yanked off her cap and wiped her forehead with the back of her sleeve.
She’d thought facing Beatrice would help. That doing something useful—even under disguise—might make things less heavy between them. Instead, it only seemed to widen the gap. Beatrice didn’t even look at her the same way anymore, not even when she was supposed to be Michael.
Ava took a long, shaky breath. The air smelled like fried bananas and sunburn. She was just about to close her eyes when her phone buzzed in her pocket.
It was JC. “Yo, where are you? Need you ASAP.”
She hesitated before answering, forcing her voice low again. “What’s up?”
“You got a sister, right? Ava?”
Ava’s pulse kicked. “Uh. Yeah. Why?”
JC’s tone was excited—too excited. “We’re short one girl for the kissing booth. Your sister’s cute?”
“I don’t know if I should answer that.”
“Tell her to swing by!”
Ava froze. “…You’re joking.”
“Not even a little bit. It’s for charity! So get your twin here fast!”
Ava blew air from her nostrils, “Fine.”
JC sounded nervous, “So, uh, where are you?”
“Botany booth,”
“Oh. Uh, you’re not gonna visit our booth?”
“Haven’t had a chance to, kinda booked and busy over here.”
“Oh, well. You should stop by, you know? Didn’t we have a deal?”
“...Deal?”
“Well, weren’t you gonna feature your band? You're the lead vocalist, remember?”
Ava hung up before he could say more, staring at her reflection in the dark phone screen—the smudged face, the dirt on her shirt.
“FUCK!”
***
Out of the baggy shirt and back in her usual, more feminine style, Ava moved cautiously through the crowd, scanning for the basketball team’s kissing booth. She’d done her best to rid off the fertilizer stench by using wet wipes and could only hope she hadn’t missed a stubborn smudge of dirt somewhere on her skin.
Tables were stacked with stuffed animals, signs, and an unfortunate amount of sticky candy. Finally, she spotted JC, standing near the booth with that familiar half-grin, looking distractedly at the line of students. She tapped him lightly on the shoulder.
JC spun around, eyes widening—just slightly. “Oh—hey.” His voice was casual, though the quick clear of his throat betrayed him. “Uh… you’re… here. Um, Ava, right? Wow, you look exactly like him.” His gaze flicked past her. “Where’s Michael?”
Ava caught the faintest flicker in his expression—disappointment, maybe. “Beatrice has him doing drills, unfortunately.”
JC let out a short laugh. “What are his chances of survival?”
“Honestly? May he rest in peace,” she said, deadpan, earning another laugh.
“So… the kissing booth?” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the table. “Follow me.”
As they walked, Ava noticed he kept a subtle distance, glancing over at the next guy who was up for a kiss. The boy was…less than hygienic, hair sticking up in all directions, sleeves stained with what might have been yesterday’s pizza.
JC’s nose twitched slightly.
“Yeah…we’ll, uh, we’ll rotate you in next,” JC said, his voice low. “Get in, do your thing, get out. Simple.” He gave her a tight-lipped smile and a subtle shake of his head, like he was second-guessing his own plan.
“So I just…” Ava gestured to the vacant booth with a considerable line of people.
“Yeah, go for it. I’ll be here in case there’s funny business.”
Just then, Ava’s phone buzzed. She managed only a quick glance, it was a text from Beatrice:
Bea: Michael, where are you?
Beatrice was never one to use more than a single symbol to show urgency, yet Ava could feel the weight of that lone question mark echoing through the screen.
She sank onto the seat inside the kissing booth, the curtain closing her off from the fair’s glow. Shadows draped over her face, but the faint spill of light from her phone cast a soft glow across her hands. Her fingers hovered, then began to move — hesitant, uncertain — tapping out words she wasn’t sure she wanted to send.
Ava: walked Ava to the kissing booth. Brb
Ava only caught that the message had been read before the curtains flew open. She had to squint—a freshman-looking boy beamed at her with a wide, toothy grin. Ava forced a smile back, hoping he wouldn’t catch the faint scent of fertilizer clinging to her.
“Hey, what’s your name?” Ava managed, unfamiliar with the formalities of a kissing booth.
“I’m not here for a chat,” the boy announced. “I’m just here to collect my kiss.” He whipped out a tube of lip balm then proceeded to coat his lips in an unapologetically thick layer and puckered theatrically.
Ava blinked, half-amused, half-bewildered. “You do realize this isn’t a drive-thru, right?”
He grinned, completely undeterred.
Ava couldn’t help but laugh. She leaned forward, catching only a glimpse of the boy’s glossy lips before closing her eyes, bracing for the inevitable transfer of lip balm.
“Ow!”
Her eyes flew open. The boy was gone—and in his place stood the next person in line, a few feet away, wide-eyed and just as stunned. They stared at each other for a split second before he awkwardly stepped back then bolted.
Just then, she heard JC’s voice. “Hey, B! What brings you here?”
Only then did Beatrice step into her line of sight. Her nostrils flared, her expression unreadable—anger? Annoyance? Concern? Ava couldn’t tell.
Beatrice came around, her steps quick, decisive. She grabbed Ava’s hand and pulled — not gently.
Ava didn’t fight it. Something in her chest ached as she let herself be dragged along, fingers caught in Beatrice’s grip. Whatever this was, wherever it was leading, she was ready to follow.
***
Beatrice didn’t stop until they were well past the last booth. The sound of laughter and pop music dulled into background noise as they crossed the open field toward the side of the gym, where the breeze smelled faintly of popcorn and cut grass. The noise of the fair faded, replaced by the soft creak of the bleachers and the distant hum of the generator.
When she finally stopped, Beatrice let go of Ava’s hand — or rather, she dropped it like it burned her.
Ava’s skin still tingled where Beatrice had been holding on.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. Beatrice stood there, arms crossed tight, her breathing a little uneven. Ava waited, trying to read her face, but Beatrice was looking off somewhere else, jaw clenched.
Then Beatrice said, “Really? A kissing booth?”
Her tone wasn’t loud, but it was sharp enough to sting.
Ava blinked, startled. “What about it?”
Beatrice turned to her, eyes narrowing. “You were just—what? Going to kiss strangers now?”
Ava frowned. “It’s not like that.”
“Oh, really?” Beatrice shot back. “Because from where I was standing, it looked exactly like that.”
Ava took a small step forward. “It’s for the event, Bea. It’s literally a fair. You know—fundraising, fun, community spirit—”
Beatrice’s laugh was short and humorless. “You think it’s fun to have people line up to—” She stopped herself, shaking her head as if even saying it was too much.
Ava tilted her head, confused. “You know, if you wanted a kiss from me, there was a line. You didn’t have to punch a freshman.”
Beatrice froze. Her mouth opened, then closed again. “I did not punch…” she started, “I just pushed him and I didn’t expect he would…tumble so easily.”
“I didn’t actually see anything. I was just guessing.” Ava couldn’t stop the grin tugging at her lips as she caught the faint bloom of color rising in Beatrice’s cheeks.
“Well, you guessed wrong.”
“Hm. Then I have another guess.”
Beatrice said nothing, her eyes fixed on the grass—clearly avoiding Ava’s.
Ava tilted her head, voice lilting with mock curiosity. “What were you doing in the kissing booth anyway? I can only assume you wanted a kiss. And judging by your reaction, you definitely weren’t expecting me to be the—what do they call it—the kiss vendor.”
She paused, watching Beatrice’s jaw tighten.
“So…were you expecting a kiss from someone else? Maybe the other girl who was running the booth before me?”
“That’s ridiculous. I don’t care about kissing booths.”
“Really?” Ava smirked. “Because from what I saw, you just vaporized a freshman for wanting one.”
Beatrice threw up her hands, exasperated. “Fine. Sure. Michael told me you were in the kissing booth, and I didn’t want you there.”
Ava blinked. “Why?”
“What do you mean why? I—of course I don’t want you kissing strangers! And I’m going to have a stern talk with Michael about letting you in the first place.”
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Ava said.
“Yes, it does.”
“Strangers or not, Bea, it’s just a kiss.”
“No it’s not –”
“It doesn’t matter–”
“It matters to me!”
Beatrice looked at her then—really looked—and the pain in her eyes was impossible to miss. “I’m… so confused by you, Ava.”
The humor drained out of Ava in an instant.
Beatrice went on, voice trembling between frustration and something rawer. “You go on a date with me…and then you just vanish. And now you’re suddenly okay with giving away kisses that I’m trying to—”
She stopped herself, the rest caught in her throat.
Ava stared at her, heart pounding. Trying to what?
“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.” Beatrice looked at her, her face blank, signaling to Ava to keep talking. “You didn’t want to talk to me.”
Beatrice gave a small shake of her head, her eyes drifting toward the fair—to the blur of lights and laughter in the distance. Then, softly but firmly, she said, “What is this, Ava? What’s going on?”
Ava felt her heart slam against her ribs. She tried to breathe, but the air was too thick. “I don’t know,” she managed, voice unsteady. “I just…I didn’t plan to—” She faltered, every word slipping away as soon as she reached for it. “When I met you, I—”
Beatrice’s gaze was fixed on her, sharp yet trembling. “You what?”
“I don’t know,” Ava said again, this time softer, almost breaking on the words. “I keep trying to figure it out but whenever I’m near you, everything just—” She gestured helplessly between them. “It doesn’t make sense.”
Beatrice exhaled shakily, a humorless smile tugging at her lips. “You think this makes sense for me?”
Ava opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. All she could do was look at her—the hurt in her eyes, the frustration barely held together.
Beatrice took a slow step forward, close enough that the space between them felt charged. Her hand brushed against Ava’s, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt straight through her.
“Why don’t we start somewhere simple,” Beatrice said softly, her voice steady but her eyes uncertain.
Ava swallowed hard. Her heart was pounding so loud she could barely hear over it.
“I’ll…go first,” Beatrice said, though her voice wavered. Then Beatrice’s fingers found hers, tentative at first, then surer. Her palms were warm, grounding, and the slow drag of her thumb across Ava’s skin made it impossible to think.
Ava’s breath hitched. The world around them—the noise, the laughter, the distant hum of music—seemed to fade, leaving only the thrum of shared silence between them.
Beatrice’s touch lingered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I like you, Ava.”
Ava tried to find the words, the right ones, but they tangled in her throat. Everything she wanted to say—apology, confession, explanation—crowded at once, demanding to be spoken yet refusing to come out.
“I…” she began, eyes flicking up just long enough to meet Beatrice’s. But before she could finish, a voice cut sharply through the air.
“Bea! Ava!”
They both froze, the spell breaking. Beatrice released Ava’s hands quickly, stepping back. The loss of contact was instant and cold.
JC was waving as he jogged toward them, oblivious to what he’d interrupted. “Hey! Have either of you seen Michael? The stage team’s freaking out, he’s supposed to sing in five!”
“He’s at our booth,” Beatrice said curtly, eyes fixed anywhere but on Ava.
“Oh, good,” JC said, catching his breath. “Thanks.” He glanced between them, brow furrowing slightly. “Everything okay?”
Ava forced a smile. “Yeah. Just talking.”
JC nodded, unconvinced but willing to drop it. “Alright. I’ll find him then.” He jogged off, leaving the two of them standing in silence again, but the moment was gone, fractured by his interruption.
Ava stared at the spot where Beatrice’s hand had been moments ago. “I was going to say something,” she murmured.
Beatrice’s expression softened for half a heartbeat before she shook her head. “Maybe next time,” she said quietly, and turned toward the fair.