The whole week turned into one long mess with homework.

Very glamorous.

Roxie went to school, cheered at practice, smiled when people stared too long, and pretended her house did not feel like it was waiting to collapse every time she opened the front door.

Claire had not apologized.

Obviously.

She had spent most days on the couch with one arm hanging off the side, hair stuck to her cheek, a half-empty bottle on the coffee table and cigarette ash on her shirt. Roxie had stood in the hallway for almost a full minute, watching her mother breathe.

Just breathe.

That was the level they were at now.

Congratulations, Claire. Bare minimum achieved.

Then Roxie had gone upstairs, blocked her door, checked the window, and done her AP Chem worksheet on her bed with Zac’s football shoved against her hip like the world’s ugliest emotional support object.

The saddest thing is she talked to it.

Maybe she would name it Wilson.

At school, Zac barely talked to her in public.

That part was new.

And irritating.

He still looked at her. That was the problem. In the hallway, in the parking lot, from the football table, across the field when Coach Miller was yelling about counts. His eyes would find her, stay for half a second too long, then move away like someone had yanked an invisible leash.

Roxie hated it.

Not because she needed attention.

Please.

She had attention.

She had freshman girls copying her ponytail, boys turning around when she walked past, and half the cheer team pretending they did not want to know if Zac Prescott had touched her waist during powderpuff practice.

She did not need Zac.

Her phone disagreed.

Her phone had become a traitor with a glowing screen and terrible timing.

Zac texted her more now.

Not huge things. Not dramatic things. Nothing that could be screenshot and turned into a school-wide scandal by lunchtime.

Just enough.

Zac: Window?

Roxie: Still a window.

Zac: Door?

Roxie: Still a door.

Zac: You eat?

Roxie: Why do you text like a prison guard?

Zac: Answer the question.

Roxie: Food happened.

Zac: That means no.

Roxie: That means you’re nosy.

She liked it.

That was the humiliating part.

She liked having him there without him being there. Liked that her phone could light up while Claire was passed out downstairs and suddenly the house felt less big. Liked that Zac could be across campus barely saying two words to her, then send something stupid enough to make her smile into her locker like a total loser.

By Thursday, Roxie had accepted that her self-respect was in danger.

She was in the cafeteria with Angela and Karen when her phone buzzed beside her tray.

Angela was mid-story, waving a fry like evidence.

"And then Karen said, ’That dress looks like a cupcake with shit on it,’ and the saleslady heard her."

Karen took a calm sip of water. "If you’d seen it, you’d agree with me."

Roxie smiled, but her mind was only half there.

Her lunch sat mostly untouched. The cafeteria was loud around them, everyone talking over everyone else, chairs scraping, boys laughing too hard at things that were not that funny. Bianca sat two tables away with Lily and three girls from the red powderpuff team, looking perfect and annoyed. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

So, normal.

Roxie’s phone buzzed again.

She glanced down.

Zac: You looked pretty with that bow.

Her hand froze around her fork.

Roxie looked up before she could stop herself.

Zac was at the football table, sitting sideways on the bench with Mason talking in his ear and Dylan beside him. Zac was still not looking.

Too suspicious.

Roxie picked up her phone under the table.

Roxie: Stop staring at me from across cafeterias. It’s giving unemployed stalker.

The reply came fast.

Zac: You wore a bow. You wanted people to notice.

Roxie looked down at the black ribbon tied around her ponytail.

It was cute. That was the point.

Still.

Roxie: People, yes. Quarterbacks with emotional problems, no.

Zac: Too late.

Roxie bit the inside of her cheek.

Angela stopped talking. "Why are you smiling like that?"

"I’m not."

"You are. It’s gross."

Karen leaned slightly to see Roxie’s phone. Roxie flipped it facedown.

Karen’s eyes narrowed. "Interesting."

"Nothing is interesting."

"That was very defensive."

Angela gasped. "Is it him?"

Roxie picked up her fork again. "There are many hims in the world."

"Only one makes you look like you swallowed glitter."

Karen nodded. "Accurate."

Roxie stared at both of them. "I hate you."

Her phone buzzed under her palm.

Zac: Are your friends interrogating you?

Roxie glanced up.

Zac still was not looking.

Ridiculous.

Roxie: No.

Zac: You looked offended. That means yes.

Roxie: Stop looking.

Zac: Hard. It’s a pretty face.

Her stomach did a stupid little flip. She remembered him saying that in the stadium.

She typed fast.

Roxie: Weak line.

Zac: Worked though.

Roxie: Did not.

Zac: You’re blushing.

Roxie stopped smiling immediately.

Across the cafeteria, Zac lowered his head like he was hiding a laugh.

Mason looked from Zac to Roxie and grinned.

Roxie sent Zac a look sharp enough to ruin his bloodline.

Zac only smiled at his tray.

Annoying.

Angela slapped her hand on the table. "Okay, before Roxie starts mentally kissing someone in public, look."

"I’m not mentally kissing anyone," Roxie said.

Karen looked bored. "That sounded like a confession."

Angela turned her phone around.

The screen showed a dressing room mirror photo of Angela in a pale blue homecoming dress with thin straps and a soft skirt that looked annoyingly perfect on her.

Roxie’s chest squeezed.

She forced her face to stay normal.

"Oh," she said. "That’s cute."

Angela beamed. "Right? It’s giving innocent but still hot enough to make people regret ignoring me in middle school."

"You were never ignored in middle school," Karen said.

Her dress was black. Simple. Fitted. Sharp enough to look like it could file taxes and ruin someone’s life.

Roxie whistled. "Okay, murder widow."

Karen’s mouth curved. "Thank you."

Angela leaned forward. "Now show us yours."

Roxie’s fingers tightened around her fork.

There it was.

The question she had been dodging all week.

Her dress.

Roxie had nothing.

And now Angela and Karen were looking at her with their bright, normal faces like homecoming was just a shopping problem.

Roxie lifted one shoulder.

"I’m not showing it."

Angela blinked. "Why?"

"Because."

"That is not an answer."

"It’s a surprise."

Karen’s eyes stayed on her face. Too sharp. Always too sharp.

Angela gasped. "Wait, is it insane?"

Roxie smiled.

"You’ll see."

Angela grabbed Karen’s arm. "Oh my God. It’s insane."

"What color?"

Roxie took a sip of water to buy two seconds.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?"

"Yes," Karen said. "That’s why I asked."

Angela leaned over the table. "Is it red? Please tell me it’s red. Zac would die."

Roxie almost choked.

"My dress choices are not based on Zac Prescott’s cardiovascular health."

"They should be," Angela said. "He looked at you during powderpuff like he was about to forget his own name."

Karen’s mouth twitched. "Low standard. He’s a football player."

Roxie rolled her eyes, but her face felt hot.

Her phone buzzed again.

She should not look.

She looked.

Zac: Are they talking about me?

Roxie: Sadly.

Zac: Good things?

Roxie: Medical things. Angela thinks a dress could kill you.

Zac: What dress?

Roxie stared at the message.

Her stomach went weird.

There it was again.

The dress.

The stupid dress that did not exist.

She typed before she could think too hard.

Roxie: The mysterious one.

Zac: Mysterious?

Roxie: Yes.

Zac: Sounds dangerous.

Roxie: You scare easy?

Zac: No.

Roxie: Good.

Zac: Should I be scared?

Roxie looked across the cafeteria.

This time, Zac was looking at her.

His mouth did not smile, but his eyes did something warmer than they should have from across a room full of people who lived for gossip.

Roxie’s chest tightened.

She typed slowly.

Roxie: Maybe.

Zac looked down at his phone.

His ears went red.

Victory.

Tiny, private, deeply pathetic victory.

Angela snapped her fingers in front of Roxie’s face. "Hello? Dress color?"

Roxie locked her phone. "You people are obsessed with me."

"Yes," Angela said. "That is literally friendship."

Now she did not just need a dress.

She needed a moment.

A Roxie Jones entrance.

With zero dollars and a mother passed out on the couch.

Perfect.

Her phone buzzed again.

Zac: My birthday’s at the end of the month.

Roxie blinked.

That was random enough to save her and ruin her at the same time.

Roxie: Are you fishing for gifts?

Zac: No.

Roxie: Suspicious.

Zac: I’m informing you.

Roxie: Like a school announcement?

Zac: Exactly.

Roxie: Attention Briarwick students, QB1 would like presents.

Zac: I accept cake or anything. A kiss would be better.

Roxie smiled before she could stop herself.

Then the birthday part sank in.

End of the month.

Zac’s birthday.

Her stomach tightened again.

She had no dress. No money. No mom she could ask. No normal way to show up in someone’s life and not feel like she was taking up space she could not afford.

Angela was still talking about accessories. Karen had gone quiet, watching the cafeteria like she was giving Roxie privacy by pretending not to notice too much.

Roxie looked down at Zac’s message.

She looked up.

He was looking again.

This time, he did smile.

Small. Quick. Gone before Mason could follow his line of sight.

Roxie’s pulse tripped over itself.

She hated him.

A normal amount.

The bell rang before she could answer.

The rest of the day dragged.

Practice was worse.

Coach Miller was in a mood, Bianca was too quiet, and Kendall kept watching the sidelines like she expected an ambush with glitter. The whole squad felt off. Too much whispering. Too many eyes. Too many girls who smiled when Roxie looked at them and stopped when she turned away.

Roxie hit every count anyway.

She snapped her motions sharp, kept her smile clean, corrected two freshmen, and pretended her chest was not full of panic about dresses, money, Claire, Zac’s birthday, and whatever Bianca Reeves was planning.

By the time practice ended, the sun had started dropping behind the school, turning the parking lot orange and ugly.

Roxie stayed behind to help put mats away because Coach Miller had given her the look. The captain look. The you wanted the title, carry things look.

Fine.

She carried things.

Kendall, co-captain in title and professional liability in spirit, left first with two varsity girls, laughing too loudly at something on her phone.

By the time she reached her locker, the hallway had thinned out. The school after practice felt different. Less alive. More echo. Sneakers squeaked somewhere far off. A door slammed near the gym.

Roxie opened her locker and froze.

A folded note fell out.

It landed near her shoes.

For a second, she just stared at it.

Then she bent down and picked it up.

Her name was written on the front in black marker.

ROXIE.

Watch your back, slut.

The hallway seemed to go quiet around her.

Roxie read it once.

She stared down the empty hallway, the note crushed tighter in her fist.

Then she smiled.

Small.

Mean.

Private.

Because whoever wrote it had made one very stupid mistake.

They thought Roxie Jones scared easily.