The shift was quiet at first.
Whispers.
Glances.
That slight pause in conversation when Claire walked into the hallway.
By Wednesday, it wasn't subtle anymore.
She noticed it when she entered the classroom and two girls by the window immediately stopped talking. When she passed a group near the lockers, someone muttered "karma." She kept walking, kept her expression blank — but inside, her pulse was racing.
At lunch, her table was half-empty.
No one said anything directly. No accusations. No questions.
Just absence.
Until Miko slid into the seat across from her, brows drawn. "You heard it too?"
Claire didn't look up. "Heard what?"
Miko lowered his voice. "The rumor. That Sam… was in love with you. That you rejected him. That's why he was depressed."
Claire finally looked at him, stunned. "What?"
"They're saying it started with something Sam wrote in his journal. That he was struggling because you pushed him away. Someone's twisting it — making it sound like you led him on. Used him."
Claire's heart dropped into her stomach. "That's not true."
"I know that," Miko said sharply. "But not everyone does. And people… they want a clean story. A reason. Someone to blame."
Claire's hands tightened in her lap. "Sam was struggling. But not because of that. He never said anything like that to me."
Miko looked away for a moment. "He liked you. That part's true. But he respected you more. You were important to him, Claire. But not like that."
Claire nodded slowly, her voice quiet. "I knew. I always knew. And I was careful. I tried to make sure he never felt like I was taking advantage of him. He was… one of the only people who made me feel safe."
Her voice cracked.
"I thought that was enough."
It should've been.
By Thursday, even Vienna had stopped answering her texts.
Claire spotted her in the corridor after class, talking to two girls from the journalism club. When Vienna caught her eyes, she froze — and then looked away. Quickly. Intentionally.
It felt like a slap.
Claire stood there for a long moment, frozen in place.
She didn't chase after her.
Didn't explain.
Because what was there to say?
That her best friend was gone.
That the boy who protected her had died.
That the truth was buried under lies, and now it was being rewritten by cowards hiding behind rumors?
That night, she sat on her bed with her notebook open, but she didn't write.
She just stared at Sam's name.
And the circled line beneath it:
"Someone doesn't want her to remember."
And now that someone wanted her to take the fall.
Claire swallowed the knot in her throat and closed the book.
Tomorrow, she decided, she would go to the counselor's office. She'd ask to see Sam's journal — the real one. Not the one quoted at the memorial. The original.
If someone was using his words to twist the story…
She would find them.
And this time, she wouldn't stay quiet.
The walk home felt longer than usual.
Claire kept her head down, her bag heavy on her shoulder, her footsteps dull against the pavement. The air was thick — not from rain, but from everything she couldn't say, everything pressing against her chest. Her throat ached from holding it all in.
When she reached her gate, she saw him.
Randy.
Standing just outside her front door, hands in his pockets, school jacket still on like he hadn't gone home either. His head snapped up the moment he saw her, concern immediately flooding his face.
"Claire."
She stopped in place, startled, then hesitated before walking slowly toward him. "What are you doing here?"
"I… I wanted to check on you." He stepped forward, voice soft. "You didn't reply to any of my messages."
Claire exhaled, unlocking the gate. "I wasn't in the mood to talk."
"Can I come in?"
She didn't answer right away, but after a beat, she gave a small nod and pushed the door open. "Yeah."
They walked into the house quietly. Her mother was out — there was a note on the kitchen counter saying she had gone to visit a friend. The silence felt louder than usual.
Claire set her bag down slowly, then walked to the living room and sat on the couch, curling into the far corner. Randy followed, but sat at a careful distance.
She stared at her knees.
"Something happened at school," she said quietly.
Randy's brows pulled together. "What kind of something?"
Claire swallowed. "Someone's spreading a rumor… that Sam killed himself because of me."
Randy's face went still. "What?"
"They're saying I rejected him. That I led him on." Her voice cracked slightly. "That I used him."
Randy leaned forward, tone sharp now. "That's not true. Everyone knows that's not true."
"No, Randy," she said bitterly, "they don't. Not anymore."
He looked at her — really looked. Claire's eyes were glassy, but not a single tear fell. She was beyond crying.
"I never played with his feelings. I knew he liked me, and I was careful. He was my friend. One of the only people who really understood me."
"I know." Randy's voice was firm, almost desperate now. "Claire, I know that. And anyone who really knew Sam would know it too."
Claire looked at him for a long moment.
"He didn't die because of me, Randy. But someone wants people to think that."
He was silent.
Then he asked, "Do you think someone planted that rumor… on purpose?"
She nodded slowly. "Yes."
Randy's jaw clenched. "Why?"
"I don't know," Claire whispered. "But maybe… maybe because they're scared I'll remember. Scared of what Sam knew. And scared I'll find it out."
She looked away, voice dropping.
"I feel like I'm losing everything. My friends. Vienna. Sam. And now… even who I thought I was."
Randy moved closer, just enough for their knees to almost touch.
"You haven't lost me," he said softly. "No matter what people say, no matter what you find out. I'm here."
Claire looked at him again, unsure.
He looked sincere. Worried.
But so did everyone… before they lied.
She didn't say anything back.
She just leaned back into the couch cushions and closed her eyes for a moment, exhaustion settling in her bones.
"Can I stay with you for a little while?" Randy asked.
Claire hesitated. Then gave a faint nod.
"Okay."
Because even if she wasn't sure she could trust him fully yet…
Tonight, she was too tired to be alone.
The room was quiet again, lit only by the soft amber glow from the lamp near the sofa.
Claire sat curled in the corner, her knees pulled up, arms loosely wrapped around them. Randy hadn't spoken for a few minutes, just sat beside her in silence — not pressing, not asking.
And somehow, that felt better than anything else.
Eventually, he turned to her, his voice calm but steady.
"Claire… whatever's happening, I'm not going to let you go through it alone."
She looked up, uncertain. Her face was pale, tired. Her voice was barely a whisper.
"Even if the truth hurts?"
Randy met her eyes.
"Even then."
Claire studied his face. There was something heavy in his expression — not fear, exactly. Something closer to regret.
"I should've told you more," he added. "About Sam. About the past. I thought I was protecting you. But maybe I was just protecting myself."
She didn't respond right away.
Then, quietly, "I don't want lies, Randy. Not anymore."
"I won't lie to you," he said. "Not ever again. I swear."
There was something honest in his tone — something aching.
He reached for her hand carefully, slowly, as if afraid she might pull away. But she didn't. She let him hold it for a moment. Warm. Familiar. Uncertain.
Then she gently slipped her fingers away.
Randy stood. "You should get some rest."
Claire nodded faintly.
He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, walked to the door, then turned around once more. "I'll ask around tomorrow. Quietly. About the rumor. If someone's trying to twist Sam's death into something it wasn't… we'll stop them."
Claire met his eyes. "Thank you."
Randy hesitated, like he wanted to say more — but then he just nodded and stepped out into the night, closing the door softly behind him.
Claire stood there alone for a moment, the silence pressing in again.
She walked back to the couch, sat down, and looked at the spot where he'd been sitting. The air still held the faint trace of his cologne, his warmth.
But even with all his promises…
Her heart still whispered a warning she couldn't ignore.
She rose slowly, walked to her room, and turned on her desk lamp. The notebook was still there.
She opened it and added a new line under Sam's name:
"The lie is spreading."
Then beneath it, for the first time, she wrote something she had never dared to put into words:
"If Someone behind this…
I have to be ready to find out."
And when she finally lay down, sleep didn't come easy.
Because even in silence…
She could hear the truth knocking.