Late fall settled over northern Michigan with quiet authority. The trees had already surrendered most of their leaves, their bare branches now a lattice of gray against the thickening sky. Mornings were dipped in frost, and Ellie had started wearing two layers to cheer practice—even if it meant freezing between halftime routines and third-quarter chants.
Dylan had been gone for almost seven weeks.
She kept track of time like stitches in fabric. One week since he left. Three phone calls missed. Twelve selfies received. Twenty-five nights alone in the bed they used to share.
Most days passed in a blur of responsibility. She was keeping her grades steady, her job hours up, helping Anna wrangle the kids, and still managing to hit her stunts at cheer practice. But there were moments when the weight of it all pressed in—like walking through a cloud and pretending she wasn't suffocating.
That Friday started like most others. Ellie pulled her hoodie on over her uniform top, adjusted her ribboned ponytail, and grabbed a protein bar on the way out the door. As she slid into the driver's seat of the old Dodge Caravan Anna let her borrow, her phone buzzed.
DYLAN (9:17 AM):
So, who's this guy you've been walking to class with?
Ellie frowned, confused.
ELLIE (9:18 AM):
What guy?
DYLAN (9:19 AM):
Lexi said Anna saw you at school—said there's some "new guy" from out of town who's been glued to your side.
Her stomach dropped.
She knew exactly who he meant.
Nate.
Nathan Keplar. Her childhood neighbor from before everything fell apart—before her mom's obsession with the congregation tightened into a noose, before they weren't allowed to talk to "worldly" kids anymore. Nate had been her first real friend. They used to ride bikes through the neighborhood, trade sour candies under the treehouse, and sneak into his dad's garage to look at old comic books.
Then her mom put a stop to it.
But now, Nate was back. His mom had moved to Georgia, and he'd come to live with his dad full-time—three blocks from the high school. And when he spotted Ellie in the cafeteria two weeks ago, he'd called her name like no time had passed at all.
He wasn't "glued" to her side. But yeah, they talked. They shared a few classes. They walked to Bio together on B-days.
She blew out a breath and sent another text.
ELLIE (9:21 AM):
It's Nate. Nathan Keplar. My old neighbor from when I was a kid. He just moved back in with his dad.
DYLAN (9:22 AM):
And now you're just… friends again? Just like that?
She stared at the screen, tension crawling up her spine. She could hear the shift in his voice even through text. Not angry, exactly. But wary.
ELLIE (9:23 AM):
Yeah. Just like that. He's not a threat, Dylan. I didn't do anything wrong.
She slid her phone into the cupholder and gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.
Why was she so angry? Why did it sting?
Because she'd done everything right. She hadn't crossed a line. She'd been loyal, honest, careful. And yet here she was, feeling watched—judged by people who didn't even know the whole story.
She went through school that day with a tight jaw and even tighter cheer formations. During lunch, Nate sat beside her, totally oblivious to the brewing storm.
"You good?" he asked, unwrapping a sandwich. "You look like someone stole your car and replaced it with a goat."
Ellie snorted despite herself. "Dylan texted. He thinks we're… something."
Nate blinked. "Oh."
"I told him we're just friends. Which we are."
"Yeah. Of course." He nodded slowly. "He's not, like, mad, is he?"
"I don't know. I think he's just tired and far away and hearing things third-hand from people who see half a moment and fill in the rest with drama."
"Well, if it helps, I've been telling people I'm secretly dating a foreign exchange student named Anika who moved here from Denmark and is really into fencing."
Ellie laughed hard enough to spill her water. "You're ridiculous."
"But not a homewrecker."
"No. Not even a little."
That night, Ellie called Dylan before bed. She didn't wait for him to bring it up.
"Look," she said as soon as he picked up. "I know how it looks. But you've got to trust me."
"I do trust you," he said, but his voice sounded far away. Not from the distance—just something heavier, more tangled. "It's not even him I'm worried about, El. It's just… everything feels fragile out here. And I'm not there to see it for myself. So when Anna says you're laughing with some new guy and Lexi says you're walking to class together, I guess—my brain fills in the blanks."
"I get that," she said. "But you've got to give me the benefit of the doubt. I tell you what's going on. I'm not hiding anything."
He was quiet for a beat. Then: "You're right. I'm sorry."
She softened. "It's okay to be protective, Dylan. But not paranoid. I'm still yours."
He exhaled. "That's all I needed to hear."
The next day, Ellie wore Dylan's hoodie to school—on purpose. She didn't say a word about it, but she saw Lexi glance twice in her direction at lunch.
Let them talk.
She wasn't hiding. She wasn't guilty.
She was just a girl doing her best to hold the shape of her life together while the person she loved was hundreds of miles away, laying bricks and eating vending machine dinners. That didn't leave much room for rumors.
Later, after practice, she found Nate sitting on the bleachers, sketching something in a beat-up notebook. He looked up and smiled.
"Still friends?" he asked.
"Always," she said.
But when she got in the van and drove home, the weight settled again. The realization that nothing would ever be simple. Not now. Not ever.
Love, trust, freedom—they weren't just things you declared. They were things you fought for, one honest conversation at a time.
And tonight, at least, she'd won.