As you walk through the bustling school halls with Ashley's hand clasped tightly in yours, you can feel every pair of eyes boring into your back. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting harsh shadows that seem to amplify the whispers echoing around you. Your throat tightens with each step, the scent of chalk and teenage sweat suddenly overwhelming as panic rises in your chest.

You glance at Ashley from the corner of your eye, her blonde hair catching the light as she squeezes your hand reassuringly. Your father's face flashes in your mind—the stern set of his jaw when he preaches about sin on Sunday mornings. The weight of his collar feels like it's around your neck instead of his.

Without warning, you pull Ashley into an empty classroom, your shoulder hitting the doorframe with a dull thud that sends a sharp pain down your arm. The room smells of old books and dust, a welcome change from the suffocating hallway air. You sink against the wall, chest heaving as you finally allow yourself to breathe.

"I wish loving you wasn't a sin," you whisper, your voice breaking as hot tears spill down your cheeks. You bury your face in your hands, the image of Travis's disappointed expression joining your father's in your mind. Would he tell? Would he understand? You don't know, and that uncertainty tears at your already frayed nerves.