Saturday - 11:42 AM

The college essay workshop was over.

Kenny hadn't written a word.

He'd sat in the back of the room, hoodie up, fingers twitching over his keyboard while everyone else tapped away, brainstorming dreams and futures and goals like they actually believed in them.

He didn't.

Not today.

Maybe not ever again.

Now he sat outside the rec center on a cracked stone ledge, legs drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around his knees like they were the only thing holding him together.

He hadn't expected anyone to find him here.

So when Devon walked up, he stiffened.

Paused.

Didn't look at her.

Didn't speak.

She didn't either-not at first.

Just sat down beside him, a careful few inches away.

The silence hung between them, tight as a wire.

Finally, she said, "You looked like you needed someone."

Kenny exhaled through his nose. "Don't you hate me right now?"

Devon was quiet.

Then, softly: "A little bit."

He flinched.

"But not as much as you hate yourself, probably."

That made him blink.

He turned his head.

She wasn't looking at him, just picking at a chipped edge of stone between them, nails painted soft lilac. The wind tugged at the frizz around her ponytail.

"You told him," Kenny said. It wasn't an accusation. Just... truth.

Devon nodded once. "Yeah. I did."

Kenny stared at the ground. "Why?"

"Because he deserved to know," she said gently. "Because I've watched him fall for you harder than he's ever fallen for anyone. And because he was starting to think he was imagining things. That kind of hurt? It eats people alive."

Kenny swallowed hard. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"I know."

"I was scared."

"I know that too."

His voice cracked. "Then why does it still feel like I ruined everything?"

Devon finally looked at him.

And her expression wasn't angry, or smug, or cold.

It was... soft. Sad.

Like maybe she understood more than he'd thought.

"Because you kind of did," she said. "But ruining something doesn't mean you wanted to. It just means you didn't know how to stop it."

Kenny's throat tightened.

He turned his face away, fast, but Devon must've seen it-the flicker in his eyes, the tremble in his jaw.

"Hey," she said, her voice suddenly lighter. "I'm not here to kick you while you're down. You already did that yourself."

Kenny gave a weak snort.

Devon offered a crooked smile. "You're allowed to mess up, you know. Even big time. That doesn't make you some kind of monster."

Kenny rubbed at his face. "It kind of feels like it does."

"You're not a monster," Devon said firmly. "You're just a seventeen-year-old boy trying to survive in a house that doesn't let him be real."

That made something in Kenny's chest collapse.

Because hearing it from someone else-someone who didn't have to care, who chose to show up anyway-it cracked something open.

"I feel like I'm two different people," he whispered. "And I don't know how to be just one."

Devon didn't answer for a long time.

Then she leaned forward, elbows on her knees, voice quiet.

"Maybe you don't have to be just one yet. Maybe you just need someone to remind you you're still you, even when it hurts."

Kenny closed his eyes.

Breathed deep.

It didn't fix anything.

Anthony was still gone.

His dad was still watching.

Carissa was still part of a lie he couldn't untangle.

But for one moment, sitting there in the sun with someone who saw him, who didn't demand anything from him except honesty-

Kenny didn't feel quite so alone.

"Thanks," he said hoarsely.

Devon nudged his shoulder lightly. "Don't get sappy on me, Payne."

He huffed a laugh.

Then, after a pause: "You think he'll ever talk to me again?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "But if he does... it'll be because you start telling the truth. Not just to him. To yourself too."

Kenny nodded.

Let that sink in.

Then they sat in silence again.

Not cold this time.

Just quiet.

And maybe... safe.