"You can say whatever you want. No matter what it is, I'm listening."

A month before final exams, a high-end prep academy from the city opened a branch in our town. Because the classes were small and exclusive, parents scrambled to get their children enrolled. Eden’s English grades were already top-tier, but her mother signed her up anyway, forcing her to sit through four consecutive classes every Sunday.

During piano practice that evening, Eden was so drained that her mind wandered. She hit several wrong notes in a piece that should have been simple.

It wasn't a big deal, really. But the piano teacher’s sharp rebuke happened to be overheard by a few mothers who had arrived early to pick up their kids. They huddled together, whispering that Eden wasn't actually all that perfect—that she made mistakes just like anyone else, and wasn't the prodigy everyone cracked her up to be.

The gossip reached her mother’s ears by nightfall. Her mother blew up, punishing her by making her copy out sheet music scores dozens of times.

Eden didn't argue. She didn't explain. She just sat silently at the corner of her desk, bathed in the harsh light of her lamp, tracing the staff lines with her pencil, one slow stroke at a time.

Eden wasn't allowed to be tired, and she certainly wasn't allowed to fail. A girl who hit a wrong note was a disaster, a grave sinner who deserved the harshest penance.

If she could have chosen, she wouldn't have been Eden anymore.

But she didn't have a choice.

The next morning, she dragged her exhausted body through four hours of class, spending the entire morning fighting off the heavy fog of sleep.

The first period of the afternoon was PE. Everyone else was on the field, leaving the classroom empty. Eden slumped over her desk, staring into space, desperate to sleep but unable to drift off.

She was the type of person who struggled with insomnia the more exhausted she became. And today, she was shattered. Truly, deeply shattered.

"Hey, there’s a giant bug on your shoulder. A huge one." Lucas Powell walked over, basketball in his arms, his tone laced with that familiar, annoying playfulness.

Eden stiffened. "Get it off me! Right now!"

"Do it yourself. Isn't the great, invincible Eden Anderson afraid of a little bug?"

"I am afraid! So what? Why can't Eden Anderson be afraid of bugs?" She suddenly snapped her head up to look at him, her eyes rimmed with red. Tears spilled over in an instant.

"Whoa, what's wrong? I’m sorry, don't cry..." Lucas rushed to explain, plucking a stray bit of pollen off her shoulder. "I was just teasing. It’s not a bug, it really isn't..."

He leaned in. "What’s actually going on?"

"Nothing. I’m just tired," Eden said, her voice hollow. She looked at him. "Do you know there’s a kind of tired that just makes you feel absolutely miserable?"

She regretted the question the moment it left her lips.

She’d asked Bryce something similar before and had been met only with his confused, blank stare. Now, she was repeating the mistake with Lucas, who carried himself with that same effortless, superior grace. What was she thinking?

"I don't know," Lucas said, his tone turning sincere. "But I can listen to you."

"Listen to what?"

"Whatever you want. No matter what it is, I'm listening."

"You know, since I was little, my mom hasn't let me play video games, watch TV, eat snacks, or drink soda... I have a cousin who’s brilliant, and my family is always comparing me to him, but I can't keep up. He’s too smart, and I’m just... I’m just stupid. I have a million classes on the weekends, I have to learn everything, and I’m just so tired. I’m so sick of it. I want to sleep in, I want to skip class, but if I don't go, my mom will just scream at me..."

Eden sobbed through her confession. Lucas sat opposite her, occasionally cracking a small smile at her disjointed, frantic rambling, using his sleeve to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

"What are you smiling at?" she asked, her voice thick with snot and grief.

"I’m smiling because you’re having a really rough time," Lucas said, his tone playful again.

Eden went to swat him, but he caught her wrist in mid-air.

"From now on, if you’re having a bad day, you can tell me," he said, looking at her with an intensity that was uncharacteristically gentle.

Eden blinked, staring at him blankly. "And then what? Are you going to tell everyone else? Are you going to laugh at me with them?"

"As if," Lucas sighed, looking helpless. "You’ve got a grip like a vice. I’m terrified you’ll beat me to death."

Eden let out a wet laugh, then immediately started crying again. "And if I want to find you, you aren't allowed to make yourself unreachable!"

Lucas nodded.

"Am I scary?" she asked.

Lucas nodded, but when he saw her glare, he immediately shook his head.

"Do you hate me?" she asked again.

"Why would I hate you?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"Because I have a bad temper, I’m difficult, and I’m nothing like the version of Eden you had in your head..."

"Hey," Lucas laughed, cutting her off. "What exactly do you think I thought of you? You glared at me the day I transferred. You shoved your chair to the other side of the room. You lied to me about not knowing the way to the gym. You told me you hated me..."

"Why are you so petty?" Eden wanted to throw her used tissue at him.

"That’s exactly who you are to me," Lucas chuckled, leaning closer. "Do you think that's what everyone else thinks of you?"

Eden shook her head slowly.

Lucas was probably the only person, aside from Bryce, who had ever seen the real, unvarnished Eden.

"But I think this version of Eden is actually pretty cute," Lucas said with a grin. He added, so softly she almost missed it, "I like this Eden."

"What did you say?" Eden asked, bewildered.

"I said, you’ve got snot all over your hand!" Lucas shouted.

"You are the worst!" Eden lunged, burying her fist into his shoulder.