Chapter 2 — The Text That Changed Everything

Claire

The night was quiet, save for the soft hum of my bedside diffuser puffing out lavender-scented mist. The faint glow from the streetlights outside filtered through my curtains, casting long shadows across my meticulously organized room. My phone screen bathed my face in pale light as I scrolled through last-minute prom inspiration posts on Instagram. Everything had to be perfect tomorrow. I had planned every detail down to the exact shade of blush pink my nails would be.

The heart charm on my bracelet jingled softly as I reached to refresh the page. It had been a gift from Matt on our one-year anniversary, and I couldn’t help but smile as I twisted it between my fingers. I could still see him fumbling nervously, his cheeks flushed as he clasped it around my wrist. The memory made me feel safe. Secure. Like everything in my world was steady, polished, and exactly how I wanted it to be.

But lately, something had felt... off. Matt had been quieter this week, his texts shorter, his responses slower. When I’d asked if everything was okay, he’d smiled and brushed it off, saying he was just stressed about finals. I’d convinced myself it wasn’t anything to worry about. After all, we had prom tomorrow, and Matt knew how much it meant to me. He wouldn’t let me down.

A notification popped up at the top of the screen. My heart fluttered when I saw Matt’s name. I swiped it open immediately, expecting a sweet goodnight text or maybe a hint about a surprise he had planned for tomorrow.

Instead, my stomach dropped.

"I need space. I’m not coming to prom. I’m sorry."

I stared at the text, the words blurring as my vision clouded. My chest tightened, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. My hands began to tremble, the phone slipping slightly in my grip. The soft lavender scent, once calming, now felt cloying, suffocating.

No. This had to be a mistake.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, shaking. "What do you mean?" I typed, then deleted it. "Is this a joke?" Another delete. My thumb lingered over the keyboard, but no words seemed right. My chest ached as I re-read his message again and again, hoping it might shift into something less devastating.

Finally, I managed to send, "Matt? Can we talk?"

The message marked as "read," but no response came. Minutes ticked by. Ten. Fifteen. Thirty. Still nothing.

A sob broke free from my throat, and I slapped a hand over my mouth to stifle it. My parents were just down the hall, and the last thing I wanted was for them to hear me like this. I curled up on my bed, clutching my charm bracelet so tightly that the edges of the charms pressed into my palm, leaving tiny, sharp impressions.

What did I do wrong?

I replayed every interaction we’d had over the past week, searching desperately for a clue. Had I been too controlling about prom? I knew I’d been a little intense about coordinating our outfits and timing, but Matt had seemed fine with it. Or at least, he hadn’t said anything. A flicker of anger rose, hot and sudden, before it fizzled into guilt. Maybe I should’ve noticed the signs. Maybe I’d pushed him too far.

The heart charm dug into my skin, the tiny engraving catching the dim light. It felt mocking now.

My mind raced through all the potential fallout. Everyone at school would know. People would whisper about how Claire Porter, Miss Perfect, had been dumped the night before prom. I could practically hear the hushed voices, imagine the sideways glances in the hallways. The thought made my skin crawl.

I pulled my comforter up to my chin, burying myself in its warmth. The perfectly curated image I’d worked so hard to maintain was crumbling, and I couldn’t stop it. My planner sat on my desk, its pages filled with precise handwriting. Dinner reservations. Photo locations. The time we’d need to leave to get to the hall early enough for the perfect entrance. None of it mattered now.

The worst part wasn’t even the embarrassment. It was the gnawing, insidious thought that maybe Matt had finally seen what I’d been trying so hard to hide—that beneath the perfect grades, the perfect hair, the perfect plan, I wasn’t enough.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the flood of insecurities threatening to drown me. But it was no use. They swirled around me, relentless and unyielding.

Maybe if I hadn’t been so focused on making everything perfect, this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe if I’d been more spontaneous, more carefree, more like Jules—

Jules.

I grabbed my phone again, my thumb hovering over their contact. I could almost hear their voice, teasing but warm. "Claire, you know prom isn’t the end of the world, right? Just throw on your dress and come anyway." They’d probably roll their eyes at how much weight I was giving this. But how could they understand? Prom wasn’t just another school dance. It was supposed to be the pinnacle of my high school experience, the cherry on top of everything I’d worked so hard for.

The thought of Jules showing up at my door, hand-painted clutch in tow, made me hesitate. I could already picture them, their expression equal parts exasperation and determination, refusing to let me hide. The image was so vivid it almost made me laugh. Almost.

I glanced at the mirror across the room, catching a glimpse of myself: tear-streaked cheeks, messy hair, and eyes rimmed red from crying. I looked nothing like the girl who had spent weeks planning her dream night.

The girl Matt had chosen to leave behind.

I swiped my phone off the bed and tossed it onto my desk, where it landed with a dull thud next to my planner. The planner had always been my safety net, my way of controlling the chaos of life. But now, the neat lines and checkboxes felt like a cruel joke. What was the point of all this planning if it could all fall apart with one text?

A fresh wave of despair washed over me, and I curled tighter into myself. The lavender mist from the diffuser tickled my nose, but instead of calming me, it only reminded me of how carefully I’d orchestrated every aspect of my life.

I reached out blindly, my fingers brushing against the edge of my nightstand until they found the charm bracelet again. The star charm jingled faintly as I turned it over in my hand. I noticed for the first time that the edge of the star had tarnished slightly, its once-smooth surface now dull and imperfect. My stomach twisted, and I quickly closed my fist around it, as though hiding it could make everything feel perfect again.

I needed to make a decision. Either I stayed home tomorrow, let everyone talk, and wallow in the wreckage of my perfect plan.

Or I went to prom alone.

The thought made my stomach twist. The idea of walking into that hall, surrounded by couples and laughter and everything I’d lost, felt unbearable. But staying home didn’t feel much better. I imagined Jules showing up at my door, dragging me out kicking and screaming, telling me to stop hiding. The mental picture gave me the faintest flicker of hope, a reminder that maybe I didn’t have to face this alone.

I rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling as tears slid down the sides of my face. The weight of the decision pressed down on me, suffocating and relentless.

For the first time in years, I had no plan. No backup. No idea how to fix this.

And I hated it.