***

~~AMELIA~~

***

“You’re not on my team this year.”

Those words hit harder than they should. I don’t even know why, but they landed in my chest like someone dropped a brick from a rooftop, and I was dumb enough to look up and say, “What’s that?”

I blink, standing perfectly still.

“You what?” I ask, even though I heard him. Every syllable. There’s a part of me… some wild, desperate part waiting for him to follow it up with Just kidding or Relax, Amy, I’m messing with you.

But Nathaniel doesn’t laugh.

He doesn’t smirk.

He just sits there, hunched over the tangled knot in his headphones like we’re still talking about wires instead of… whatever this is.

“I said you’re not on my team. For the science fair,” he repeats, flat. Casual.

Like it’s just a sentence.

Like it’s not the sound of a routine cracking wide open.

My hands pause mid-motion, the wire still coiled between my fingers. I haven't looked at him yet. I focus on the way the cord loops over itself, messy and careless, like everything feels right now.

“Since when?” I ask. I’m proud my voice doesn’t shake. But it’s a close call.

He shrugs.

“A couple of days ago,” he says. “Mira asked me.”

Mira.

My fingers are still again. I don’t need clarification.

There’s only one Mira at Keyway High. Mira freaking Carrow. The new girl. The one with the flawless braids, the perfect posture, and the weird ability to make teachers remember her name after one day. That Mira.

“The girl who transferred here two weeks ago?” I say slowly. “She asked you?”

Nathaniel nods, like it’s nothing.

“She’s doing something with AI and robotics. Seemed interesting,” he says, eyes still fixed on the wires, like maybe if he doesn’t meet my eyes, this won’t count as a betrayal.

“Interesting,” I echo, carefully.

Last year, he told me science projects that relied on buzzwords were “intellectually lazy.”

This year? He thinks it’s cool.

“But what about us?” I ask before I can stop myself. “You didn’t even say anything.”

“I figured you’d already have someone,” he mutters. “You usually plan everything out early. I thought maybe you’d want to try something new.”

Something new?

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. It’s the sound people make when their world shifts just enough to feel dizzy.

“This was supposed to be our fourth year,” I say. “We literally have a running folder called ‘Science Fair Chaos’ in our shared drive. You made a playlist called ‘Lab Rat Anthems.’”

“I know.”

“So what, you just… ditched me? Without warning? For someone you barely know?”

Nathaniel finally looks up.

And that’s the worst part.

Because his expression doesn’t look smug. Or mean. Or even defensive.

He looks… guilty.

Which means he knows he screwed up.

But he still did it anyway.

“Don’t make it weird,” he says quietly. “It’s just a project.”

That does it.

I let the cord fall into his lap, stand up, and sling my tote over my shoulder with way more force than necessary.

“Wow. Cool. Good to know that’s all this was to you.”

“Amy…”

“Don’t.”

He sighs, long and slow. “You’re seriously mad right now?”

“Seriously?” I snap. “You replaced me without even telling me. You’ve been acting like we were fine this whole time, letting me plan stuff and send ideas while you were already partnered with someone else.”

“It’s not like that…”

“Then what is it like, Nathaniel?” I ask, staring at him. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly like that.”

“I thought you’d be relieved,” he mutters. “No more dragging me through all your obsessively detailed plans.”

That one hits differently. Low. Sharp.

“Is that what this was to you?” I ask. “Dragging?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again.

I shake my head. “Forget it. Enjoy your robotics and your perfect new partner.”

“I never said she was perfect.”

“You didn’t have to.”

I turn and head for the door, heart thudding in my chest like it’s chasing me out of the room. My hand’s on the doorknob when he says…

“Wait.”

I pause. Just enough to give him a chance. One last one.

But all he says is, “Don’t be like this.”

I leave.

His little sister is watching some animated singing show downstairs, sprawled out with a juice box in hand. She waves. I wave back automatically, then push open the front door and step into the sticky afternoon heat.

My hands are shaking again. I shove them into the pocket of my hoodie and walk fast.

Down the block, and past the trees. I want to be far away from him.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

I ignore it.

Then it buzzes again.

And again.

I pulled it out.

Nathaniel Elijah Brown — 3 Messages

“You’re overthinking this.”

“It’s just for one project.”

“Mira just asked first.”

That last one sits differently.

Mira just asked first?

So that’s it?

He threw away years of teamwork, plans, and late-night experiments because Mira Carrow beat me to the question?

I shove my phone back in my bag, resisting the urge to throw it into the street.

By the time I reach home, my mom’s humming something old-school in the kitchen, slicing strawberries like they owe her money.

She glances up. “Back already?”

I mumble something that probably sounds like yeah.

“You eat?”

“I’m good.”

“Which means no.”

“I’m not hungry.”

She gives me a look but lets it go.

I head upstairs, dump my bag on the floor, and fall onto my bed.

Face down.

Everything feels off. Like I stepped sideways into a world where nothing's where I left it.

I roll over and dig the science fair flier out of my pocket.

Keyway’s Science Fair — 7th Edition

Theme: Future Forward

How ironic.

Everything about my future feels backward right now.

I stare at my ceiling. At the tiny glow-in-the-dark stars I stuck up there in seventh grade. One of them is missing. Probably fell off during one of my ceiling-deep existential spirals.

My phone buzzes again.

Nathaniel.

Calling this time.

I watch the screen light up, my thumb hovering over the red button.

I let it ring.

Ten minutes later, I’m still staring at that flier when I hear a ding from my inbox.

New email.

Subject line:

Science Fair Team Confirmation: MONROE / — TBA

Below it, a second email pops in. From Ms. Lanford.

Partner lists are final. No switching after today.

I click on the team list.

There she is.

Brown, Nathaniel — Carrow, Mira

My stomach flips.

Something catches my eye at the bottom of the email.

A small message: “Please note: Mira Carrow has requested a private lab period. She has approval for independent access after hours.”

Independent access?

After hours?

Weird. Students never get that unless they have a teacher watching them.

Why would Mira need private time in the lab?

Why would she…

My thoughts stop when I open the school group chat by reflex.

A new picture was just posted.

A photo of my old science fair binder… the one Nathaniel and I used every year.

Except this time… it’s in the trash.

Literally.

In the photo, the cover page has been torn in half.

Across the top, someone wrote in bold red ink:

“You’ve been replaced.”