Page 22 of Seven Lost Summers (Broken Oasis #3)

Almost as fast, she turns to Nate and kisses him too. Unbothered as ever. No hesitation. No second-guessing. She doesn’t give a single fuck who’s watching. Let them talk, whisper, judge, stare.

Seconds later, she’s back in front of me, her eyes locking on mine, searching.

Her gaze lifts slowly, dragging over the hood pulled low across my head. The one I never take off here. It isn’t just clothing. It’s the only thing that lets me breathe when the world won’t stop staring, the thin barrier between me and everything I don’t want to face.

She lifts her hands, and before I can react her fingers hook the edge of the fabric. She eases it back, slow, as if she’s unwrapping something fragile and broken.

I stand there with my throat tight, heart hammering, every part of me screaming to yank it back up.

But I don’t. Because in her eyes, she sees every fucked-up piece of me and doesn’t even blink.

Her hands frame my face as she says, “You don’t need to hide behind anything, Theo. Let those assholes see how beautiful you really are.”

I swallow hard and give a small nod. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to tell her I’ll try.

Her smile spreads, and her hand slips into mine. Fingers lace tight, claiming. She’s mine. I’m hers.

We move. Step after step through the chaos of this place, through every stare waiting to rip us apart.

Behind us, Quinn says something as she falls in beside Nate. Their words trade back and forth in an easy rhythm, too casual for how heavy the air feels.

The stares hit before we even reach the steps.

Heads turn. Eyes lock on us. Whispers crawl up my spine. Every glance lands like a shove, judgment cutting into my skin.

I tense, my grip tightening. Part of me waits for her to pull away.

But she doesn’t. She leans in, her breath brushing my jaw.

“Let them watch,” she says. “Let them judge. Fuck what they think. That’s their problem, not ours.”

We step into the hall, and everything in me coils tight. My chest locks, heartbeat pounding louder than it should.

The hallway swallows us whole.

I used to keep my head down. Today there’s no hood to drag low, nothing to shield me from the stares that always find me. I feel exposed. Skinned alive.

The noise crashes over me. Locker doors slam, the echoes rattling down the corridor. Shouts bounce off the walls, voices overlapping, every word scraping across my ears.

A textbook drops somewhere behind us, followed by a burst of laughter. Overhead, the fluorescent lights buzz and flicker, throwing everything off.

Each step seems too heavy, too exposed.

Reflex has me squeezing Bianca’s hand harder than I should, desperate to anchor myself in her skin.

Everything around us moves in slow motion. Groups crowd the lockers, eyes dragging over us. Conversations cut off, mouths frozen mid-sentence. Heat crawls up the back of my neck.

Someone’s backpack brushes my side and I flinch.

Every glance seems targeted.

Every laugh seems meant for me.

A girl with blonde braids watches from the water fountain, her eyes flicking to our joined hands before her lips curl.

Further down, the jocks sprawl against the walls, shoving each other just enough to show off. Shoulders broad, voices raised louder than needed. Alpha bullshit. Their stares crawl over my skin, dragging nails I can’t shake.

They don’t need to say a word. They’ve said it all before.

Psycho. Fuck-up. Freak.

They decided who I was in this hall a long time ago.

Shoved me into a box I never asked for, branded by wisecracks and cheap shots in the middle of crowds.

Sideways looks that said more than words ever could.

Their laughter always carried loud enough for me to hear—because that was the point. They wanted me to.

I heard it all.

Every name.

Every word.

And now I’m walking straight into their line of fire with no armor.

My grip tightens.

One of them chuckles under his breath and grabs his crotch, making sure I see it. That’s all I’ve ever been to them—an easy target. A quiet punchline. The guy who keeps his head down and takes it.

For years, I let them think I didn’t care. Let them believe their shit didn’t land. But it did. Every fucking time.

Up ahead, one of the cheerleaders drifts to the side, all hairspray and hollow smiles, held together with lip gloss and lies. Her perfume hits hard, sweet enough to rot teeth and thick enough to choke out anything honest.

She leans into her friend, whispering behind her hand, all fake nails and faker friendship.

The other one laughs out loud, a sound sharp enough to bruise.

They brush past with choreographed indifference, all hips and attitude, plastic confidence cracking at the edges.

We’re almost past the stairwell when I hear it.

“Well, fuck,” Jared Ross calls out, his voice carrying off every locker. “Didn’t know Theo knew what to do with pussy.”

Jared pushes off the wall, loud and smug, dripping with the same cocky swagger he’s worn since freshman year. His letterman jacket hangs open, school colors on display, ego stitched into every step. Every inch of him screams spoiled jock who’s never been told no.

“Seriously, man, thought you only had eyes for Nate,” he calls out, louder this time. “Guess I got that wrong. You finally gave up on Nate and went for an easier target, huh?” He shrugs. “Guess you’re just a freak. Closet case with a new toy.”

A few of Jared’s buddies snort, one of them clapping him on the shoulder.

Heat crawls up my spine.

I say nothing.

I can’t.

My body’s stuck between freezing and exploding.

Quinn is the one who steps forward, planting herself between Jared and me, standing dead center with her hands loose at her sides.

“Oh, this is rich,” Jared says, rolling his eyes. “What, the frigid bitch here to babysit the broken boy?”

“You’ve got a loud mouth for someone whose only experience with pussy comes from porn and his own fist.” Quinn doesn’t blink as she closes the distance. “You run your mouth like you’ve got game, but every girl you’ve touched had to fake it so hard they deserved Oscars.”

She tilts her head, her voice dropping cold. “Maybe if you spent less time mouthing off about other people and more time figuring out what to do with a real girl, they wouldn’t bolt the second your pants hit the floor.”

Jared barks out a laugh, fake and forced.

“You still talking, Thomas?” he says. “No guy wants to fuck a mouth that bites back. Maybe if you dropped the attitude and opened your legs once in a while, you’d matter.”

He smirks, but the laugh in his throat dies before it can make it out.

Nate steps forward.

One second he’s behind me, the next he’s in Jared’s face. His fist slams into Jared’s jaw, the crack sharp, clean, beautiful.

Jared crashes into the lockers on his way down. Blood smears his lip, his spit turning pink, and he doesn’t get back up.

Nate looms over him, eyes dead cold.

“You open your mouth about Theo or Quinn again, and I’ll break every fucking tooth in your head.”

Jared spits blood onto the floor.

“You’re all fucked,” he mutters, wiping his mouth. “Every single one of you.”

Nate tilts his head. “You fucking done?”

“Nate Reynolds. Principal’s office. Now.”

The hall freezes.

Mr. Hanley stands there with his clipboard, his scowl, the same tired bullshit.

Nate doesn’t move.

He just stands there, blood drying on his knuckles, fury still burning in his eyes. Slowly, he turns his head, his gaze landing on me first.

“You good?” His voice is steady, that rare version of him that only comes out when shit gets real.

I nod. “Yeah.”

His eyes move to Quinn. “You alright?”

She shrugs, a small lift of her shoulders. “Fucker had it coming.”

Nate’s mouth twists into a smile that never reaches his eyes. Then his gaze shifts to Bianca, watching her for a beat.

“You deaf, Reynolds?” Mr. Hanley barks again.

Only then does Nate turn and step away.

The hallway parts around him, students pulling back as if he might swing again. Jocks step aside. Cheerleaders hold their breath. Every eye tracks him, heads turning, too scared to look away. He walks straight ahead, spine rigid, silent.

Bianca pulls me forward, and my legs move on instinct.

We leave the hall, leave Quinn, leave the echo of Nate’s punch and the burn of a hundred stares behind us.

We slip down a side corridor, out of sight. Past the lockers and peeling posters, until we’re tucked behind the stairwell, hidden from them all.

Bianca lifts her hand, her fingers brushing my jaw.

I freeze.

“Do you know what I see?” she asks.

I shake my head.

“I see someone who’s been surviving for too fucking long. Someone who’s been told he’s nothing so many times he started to believe it. But you’re not nothing, Theo. You’re everything.”

My throat tightens. I stare at her, frozen, unable to speak.

“Do you even see it?” she whispers. “What I see when I look at you?”

“No.”

“I wish you did. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes for one fucking second. You’d never believe you were nothing again.”

She steps closer, and her necklace shifts with the movement, swinging forward—silver angel wings, tarnished at the edges. The chain catches the weak light spilling through the high windows.

She always wears it.

I’ve seen it a hundred times. Wrapped around her throat in class. Tucked into her shirt when she plays. Catching against her collar bone when she laughs. It’s always there. Always part of her.

“You’re beautiful, you idiot,” she says, almost laughing, though her eyes shine. “And you’re funny. So fucking funny I can’t wait to hear what comes out of your mouth next. Quinn sees it. Nate sees it. The only ones who don’t are those fuckers who were never worth a damn anyway.”

She notices my eyes on the wings and a small smile tugs at her mouth.

Without a word, she reaches behind her neck, fingers working the clasp until it gives. The wings slip into her palm. Then she steps back into my space, close enough that I forget to breathe.

“I want you to be exactly who you are,” she says. “Not the version they shoved you into. Not the shadow you think you have to become just to survive this place. I want you to be spectacular. Beautiful. All of it.”

She lifts the chain and settles it around my neck, her knuckles brushing my skin as she fastens the clasp. I feel every second of it.

I close my eyes for a moment.

I want to believe her. I want to be the boy she sees when she looks at me.

The one who isn’t broken. The one who isn’t scared.

“I’m not giving this to you because I want you to keep it,” she murmurs. “I’m giving it to you so you can remember. Every time you start to shrink. Every time you want to fade. This is proof that someone fucking sees you.”

My throat burns. Something cracks beneath my ribs. I stay frozen.

Bianca steps back, her eyes on the angel wings now hanging around my neck.

“One day, when you finally believe you’re worth more than you think… you’ll give it back.”

“I…” My voice splinters. I clear my throat. “I will. I promise.”

“I love you, Theo.” Her voice softens. “I just wish you’d learn to love yourself a little more.”

She leans in and presses a gentle kiss to my mouth. When she pulls away, that smile is there—the one that asks for nothing, the one that tells me she sees all of me. Every scar, every shadow, every dark corner.