Frequencies of Us Chapter 17: Eyes and a Fight

Mateo POV

I’m in the hall, the air loud with kids yelling and lockers banging, my hands shoved deep in my hoodie pockets. My chest’s tight, restless, since yesterday in the basement—Noah fixing my earbuds, his tease, “You owe me now,” and that dumb smirk of his sticking with me. Our knees brushing, him grinning as I left—it’s been buzzing in my head, warm and annoying, making my stomach flip every time I think about it. I shake it off, hard, kicking the floor with my sneaker, because it’s stupid—I don’t care, don’t want to—but my legs keep moving, heading toward the AV room without me telling them to.

I stop by the door, cracked open, and peek in—my heart jumps, quick and loud, because he’s there, Noah, hunched over a table, wires everywhere. But he’s not alone—some girl’s with him, short hair, glasses, laughing at something he said. She’s close—too close—leaning in, her hand brushing his arm, and my gut twists, cold and sharp, like a knife’s stuck in it. My face burns, hot and sudden, and my fists clench, nails digging in, because I don’t like it—don’t like her there, don’t like how he’s grinning back, easy and soft.

I turn fast, storming off, my sneakers pounding the tile, my chest heaving, mad and confused. My head’s spinning—her laugh, his grin—and it stings, bad, like something’s slipping away, something I didn’t even know I had. I mutter, “Dumbass,” under my breath, mad at him, mad at me, because I shouldn’t care—shouldn’t feel this—but I do, and it’s pissing me off. My hands shake, restless, and I shove them deeper, shoulders hunching, trying to shake it off, but it sticks—her, him, that touch—digging in deep.

Later, I catch him alone—outside the gym, bag slung over his shoulder, heading out. My legs move before I can stop them, carrying me over, my heart slamming, loud and wild. “Hey,” I snap, voice rough, stepping in front of him, blocking his way. He stops, eyes flicking up—dark, surprised—and my stomach twists again, warm and sour, because he’s looking at me, just me, but it’s not enough.

“What’s up?” he says, voice low, a little shaky, and my jaw clenches, teeth grinding, because I see her still—her hand, his grin—and it’s burning me up.

“Got a girlfriend now?” I spit, louder than I mean, stepping closer, my hands out of my pockets, twitching. My face is hot, sweaty, and my chest’s tight, anger spilling out, because I need to know—need him to say it—even if it hurts.

He blinks, head jerking back, and his mouth opens, confused. “What? No—she’s just a friend,” he says, voice rising, sharp now, and my gut twists harder, cold and fast, because he’s mad—mad at me—and it’s not what I wanted. “What’s your deal, Mateo?” he adds, stepping in, eyes narrowing, and my heart jumps, banging against my ribs, because he’s close—too close—and it’s messing me up.

“My deal?” I snap, voice loud, echoing off the gym wall. “You’re all cozy with her—laughing, touching—what am I supposed to think?” My hands ball up, shaking bad, and my face burns hotter, because it’s out—raw, dumb—and I hate how it sounds, hate how it stings, hate how much I care.

“She’s AV crew!” he yells back, hands up, like I’m crazy. “We were fixing stuff—nothing else!” His voice cracks, shaky and mad, and his eyes lock on mine—dark, fierce—and my chest locks up, breath stuck, because he’s telling the truth, I can feel it, but it doesn’t stop the ache, doesn’t fix this.

“Yeah, right,” I mutter, low, mean, and turn fast, storming off, my sneakers slamming the ground. My head’s buzzing—his voice, her laugh—and my chest’s heaving, hot and tight, because I’m mad—mad at him, mad at her, mad at me for feeling this. I hear him call, “Mateo!”—sharp, desperate—but I don’t stop, don’t look back, because it hurts, bad, and I don’t know how to make it stop.

I’m halfway across the lot, gravel crunching, my hands shoving into my hair, pulling hard, needing to shake this off. My face is still hot, my throat tight, and I kick a rock, hard, sending it flying. “Girlfriend,” I mutter, bitter, and my stomach twists, sour and heavy, because it’s not true—he said it’s not—but I saw it, felt it, and it’s tearing me up. My chest aches, confused and raw, because I don’t get why it stings—why him with her flips me inside out—when he’s just some guy, just Noah.

I slump against a tree, elbows on my knees, staring at the ground, my breath puffing out, shaky and loud. My hands fidget, restless, and I see him—basement, track, gym—grinning, teasing, sticking with me, and it’s warm, good, but now it’s tangled—her, him, me—and I hate it. My heart’s thumping, wild and fast, and I mutter, “Stupid,” mad at myself, because I yelled, stormed off, and it didn’t fix anything—just made it worse, made me feel dumb.

The lot’s quiet—wind rustling, sun dipping low—and my head’s loud, spinning with his voice—“She’s just a friend”—and my snap, loud and mean. My gut twists, guilt creeping in, because he didn’t deserve that, not really, but I couldn’t stop—couldn’t shut it off. My phone’s in my pocket, heavy, buzzing yesterday with that creepy text—“He’s closer than you think”—and my chest tightens, mixing with this, making it heavier. I shake my head, hard, trying to push it all out—her, him, them—but it’s stuck, pulling me down.

I stand fast, pacing, gravel crunching under me, my hands shaking, needing to move. My chest’s still tight, breath short, and I think about going back—saying sorry, fixing it—but my legs won’t turn, won’t let me. My head’s buzzing—his eyes, mad and hurt—and it stings, bad, because I did that, I pushed him away, and I don’t know why it hurts so much. I stop, leaning on a car, wiping sweat off my face with a shaky hand, and my heart won’t slow, won’t settle, caught between him and this mess.

Then I hear it—a low hum, engine rumbling, faint but growing. My head snaps up, heart slamming, and my eyes dart to the lot—headlights flicker, slow, bouncing across the asphalt. My hands grip the car, knuckles white, and my breath stops, stuck in my throat. The rumble gets louder—tires crunching, steady—and my legs tense, ready to run. The lights swing my way, dim but sharp, cutting through the dusk, and my stomach drops, icy and fast, because it’s them—again—that car, that laugh, back for me.

A shadow shifts—quick, dark—inside, and my heart locks up, wild and loud. My phone buzzes, sudden and sharp, and I yank it out, hands trembling bad—unknown number, one line: “He saw you fight.” My blood turns cold, ice in my veins, and the car creeps closer—engine growling, lights flaring—stopping yards away. A laugh rolls out—low, warped, chilling my spine—and my chest chokes, breath gone, because they’re here, they know, and something’s moving—fast, dark—outside the car, coming for me, cutting the night short.