Chapter 2: Kassie Jane Learns Too Much
The rooftop stairwell smelled like rust and old rain.
Noime Hervi stood at the railing, her fingers wrapped around the corroded metal, and watched the campus sprawl beneath her like a map she'd never learned to read. The wind cut through the broken skylights in angry gusts, whipping her hair across her face, stinging her eyes. She didn't brush it away. She just stood there, letting the cold do its work.
Her mouth still tasted like him.
She'd brushed her teeth twice. Gargled with the travel bottle of mouthwash she kept in her bag. Chewed three sticks of gum until her jaw ached. None of it mattered. The memory lingered like a stain—salt and skin and the way his hand had felt in her hair, heavy and warm and surprisingly gentle.
She should have felt disgusted. Ashamed. Instead, she felt something closer to exhilaration, and that scared her more than anything that had happened in that washroom.
The stairwell door banged open behind her.
Noime didn't turn around. She knew the footsteps—quick, purposeful, the click of heels she'd recognize anywhere. Kassie Jane had a way of walking that announced her arrival before she spoke, like she was always stepping onto a stage of her own making.
"There you are."
Noime closed her eyes. Counted to three. Then turned.
Kassie stood in the doorway, backlit by the dim hallway light, her arms crossed over her chest. She was taller than Noime by a solid four inches—not that it took much—with dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and eyes that missed nothing. Her blouse was wrinkled, like she'd been sitting somewhere uncomfortable for too long. Her expression was unreadable.
"Been looking for you everywhere," Kassie said.
"Here I am."
"Yeah." Kassie stepped onto the landing, letting the door swing shut behind her. The bang echoed off the concrete walls. "Here you are."
The wind howled through the broken skylight above them. Neither of them moved.
"So," Kassie said. "You want to tell me what happened, or do I have to guess?"
Noime's stomach dropped. She kept her face still—years of practice, years of learning how to perform calm when everything inside was chaos. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't." Kassie's voice was sharp. "Don't do that thing where you pretend you don't know. I heard something. From Jenna. Who heard it from Marcus. Who apparently saw you coming out of the boys' comfort room looking like you'd just seen a ghost."
Damn.
Noime forced a shrug. "I got lost. Wrong turn. It happens."
"Wrong turn." Kassie's eyebrows climbed. "Into the boys' room. Right before your performance. And you came out looking like—" She stopped. Tilted her head. "Like what, exactly? Marcus couldn't describe it. Just said you looked different."
"Marcus needs a hobby."
"Marcus needs a lot of things." Kassie took a step closer. The fluorescent bulb above the sink flickered, casting jagged shadows across her face. "But right now, I need the truth. What happened in there?"
The sink. Noime hadn't noticed it before—a small porcelain basin tucked into the corner, stained with years of forgotten splashes. The mirror above it was grimy, streaked with something that might have been old toothpaste or something worse. The whole stairwell felt like a place where secrets went to rot.
"Nothing happened," Noime said.
"Bullshit."
"Kassie—"
"I'm not stupid." Kassie's voice dropped, softer now. Almost hurt. "I've known you since freshman year. I know when you're lying. Your left eye twitches. Just a little. Most people don't notice, but I do."
Noime's hand flew to her face before she could stop it. She caught herself, let it fall back to her side. Too late. Kassie had already seen.
"Gotcha," Kassie said.
The wind gusted again. Somewhere below, a door slammed. The sound traveled up the stairwell like a warning.
"Fine." Noime turned back to the railing, gripping it tighter. "Something happened. But it's not what you think."
"Then tell me what it is."
"I can't."
"You can't, or you won't?"
"Does it matter?"
Kassie was quiet for a long moment. Then she moved to stand beside Noime, her elbows resting on the rusted rail. The two of them stared out at the campus together—the sprawl of buildings, the distant parking lot, the trees that lined the main walkway like sentinels.
"I'm not going to judge you," Kassie said quietly. "Whatever it is. I just—I want to know. I want to understand."
Noime laughed. It came out bitter, hollow. "You don't want to understand. You want the story. The drama. Something to talk about at lunch."
"That's not fair."
"Life's not fair."
"Okay." Kassie's jaw tightened. "Fine. You're right. I'm curious. I'm nosy. I'm the worst person alive for wanting to know what my friend was doing in the boys' room right before the biggest performance of her life. Sue me."
Noime didn't respond.
The silence stretched between them, thin and brittle as old glass.
Then the stairwell door opened again.
Neither of them turned. But Noime felt it—a shift in the air, a change in pressure, like the barometric drop before a storm. She knew who it was before she saw him. Knew it in the way her pulse quickened, the way her skin prickled with sudden awareness.
Trav.
He stepped onto the landing and stopped. The door clicked shut behind him. He was wearing the same clothes from earlier—dark jeans, gray hoodie, sneakers that had seen better days. His hair was still damp at the temples. His eyes moved from Noime to Kassie, then back again.
"Am I interrupting?" he asked.
"Yes," Noime said.
"No," Kassie said at the same time. She straightened, her arms dropping to her sides. "We were just talking."
"Looked like more than talking."
"Then you weren't looking close enough."
Trav's expression didn't change. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and studied the two of them with that quiet, unnerving patience Noime had noticed before. The kind of patience that made you want to fill the silence just to make it stop.
Kassie's eyes narrowed. She looked at Noime, then at Trav, then back at Noime. Something clicked behind her gaze—a puzzle piece sliding into place.
"Oh," she said softly. "Oh."
"What?" Noime demanded.
"Nothing." But Kassie's cheeks had gone pink, and she was smiling now—a small, knowing smile that made Noime want to push her off the landing. "Nothing at all."
"You're lying."
"I'm not." Kassie's smile widened. "I just—I get it now. That's all."
"Get what?"
"Nothing." Kassie pushed off the railing, her heels clicking against the concrete as she moved toward the door. But she paused beside Trav, her hand resting on the frame. "Hey," she said, looking up at him.
Trav's gaze flickered to her. "Hey."
"You're in my broadcasting class, right? I've seen you around."
"Yeah."
"You're quiet." Kassie tilted her head, studying him with the same intensity she'd used on Noime moments before. "Observant."
Trav didn't respond.
Kassie's smile softened. Become something almost shy. "I like that."
She held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary. Then she pushed through the door and disappeared into the dim hallway beyond, the sound of her footsteps fading into nothing.
The stairwell felt smaller without her. Colder. The wind sighed through the broken skylights, and Noime realized she'd been holding her breath.
"What was that about?" she asked.
Trav shrugged. "You tell me."
"She thinks she knows something."
"She doesn't."
"How can you be sure?"
Trav pushed off the wall. He walked toward her—slow, deliberate, the kind of walk that made you want to back away even when there was nowhere to go. He stopped a foot from her, close enough that she could smell him again. Soap. Cologne. Something warm underneath.
"She doesn't know anything," he said. "Unless you told her."
"I didn't."
"Then we're fine."
"It's not that simple."
"It is."
Noime shook her head. Her hands were trembling again—she hated that, hated the way her body betrayed her when she needed it most. "Kassie doesn't let things go. She'll dig. She'll ask questions. She'll—"
"Let her."
The wind howled. The fluorescent bulb flickered.
"She'll figure it out," Noime whispered.
Trav looked at her. His eyes were dark, steady, unreadable. "Maybe."
"And then what?"
He didn't answer.
The silence stretched. Noime's heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. She wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn't come. They were stuck somewhere between her brain and her mouth, tangled up with the memory of what had happened in that washroom.
Trav reached out. His fingers brushed her chin—just barely, the lightest touch. Then he turned and walked toward the door.
"Wait," she said.
He paused. Looked back.
"What happened," she said. "In there. Does it—does it mean anything?"
Trav studied her for a long moment. The wind rattled the skylights above them. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang.
"It means you owe me," he said.
The door closed behind him.
Noime stood alone on the landing, her chin still warm from his touch, her heart racing, her mind spinning through possibilities she couldn't name.
She didn't know what she'd expected. Something reassuring, maybe. Something that made the whole thing feel less like a bomb waiting to detonate. Instead, she had a debt. A secret. A boy who'd watched her strip with the same calm he'd watch a TV screen and didn't seem interested in letting her forget it.
The fluorescent bulb buzzed overhead.
Noime pulled out her phone. She had three missed texts from Kassie, all sent within the last five minutes.
So you and Trav, huh?
I won't tell anyone I promise
But you HAVE to give me details later
She shoved the phone back into her pocket.
The wind howled through the broken skylight, and somewhere far below, a door slammed. Noime gripped the railing and stared out at the campus below her, her breath fogging in the cold air.
She should have felt relief. She'd made a deal with Trav, and he'd kept his word. For now, at least. Her secret was safe.
But Kassie wasn't stupid. Kassie saw things. And the way she'd looked at Trav—the way she'd smiled, the way she'd tilted her head—no. That wasn't just curiosity. That was hunger.
Noime had seen that look before. She'd worn it herself.
The thought settled in her gut like a stone. She didn't know what Kassie wanted. Didn't know what Trav wanted. Didn't know what she wanted—not really, not in any way she could articulate.
But she knew one thing for certain.
This wasn't over.
The stairwell door creaked open behind her. She spun around, heart in her throat, but it was just the wind. Just the wind, and the dark, and the silence stretching on like an open road.
Noime turned back to the railing.
The city glimmered below her like a thousand untold secrets. And somewhere in the humanities building, Kassie Jane was already weaving stories, her smile bright and sharp as broken glass.