Chapter Two: Stella with the Shiny Hair

By the time Zaniah was twelve, she had learned how to survive on silence.

She didn’t speak unless she had to.

Didn’t laugh too loudly.

Didn’t cry, ever.

She wore her hair in a tight puff now. Didn’t bother with lip gloss or earrings. Most girls at George Middle School wore big hoop earrings and glitter lip smackers, but Zaniah kept herself small and plain. On purpose.

People didn’t mess with what they couldn’t see.

Then Stella came.

She showed up in the middle of October, when the wind was cold enough to bite through your jacket. She wore a blazer. A real blazer. And boots that looked like they cost more than most people’s rent. Her braids were long, dipped in gold beads, and she smelled like fancy lotion and bookstores.

All the girls whispered about her.

All the boys stared.

But Stella sat next to Zaniah in math class. And when Mr. Collins passed out worksheets, she leaned over and said, “You’ve got really neat handwriting. Like, scarily neat.”

Zaniah blinked at her. “Thanks?”

“I’m Stella.”

“I know.”

“Okay,” she smiled. “Then what’s your name?”

“…Zaniah.”

And just like that, something shifted.

Stella didn’t care that Zaniah wasn’t cool. She invited her to her house after school — a two-story townhouse with a fireplace and almond milk in the fridge. She had a velvet reading nook. A velvet nook, like something out of a catalog.

Zaniah was awkward at first. She didn't know what to do with all the softness. But Stella didn’t mind.

“Girl, chill,” she laughed once. “You’re acting like I’m about to charge you rent.”

They did everything together — watched corny vampire movies, made slime, FaceTimed past bedtime. For the first time in years, Zaniah had someone who saw her. Really saw her.

And for a while, it was good.

Until James came along.

James, with the curls and dimples and confidence like he didn’t even know what rejection meant. He ruled the hallways without trying. Girls changed their hairstyles after he complimented them once. Boys tried to dress like him and failed.

Stella started looking at James.

Then talking about James. Then laughing too loud when he was around. Then whispering to Zaniah in class, “Do you think he’d ever go for someone like me?”

And Zaniah… she smiled through it.

Nodded.

Said the right best friend things.

But inside, a chill she thought she’d buried a long time ago started to come back. A feeling she couldn’t name yet, but it felt like being pushed to the edge of something… again.

She noticed the small things first.

Stella stopped replying to texts as fast.

Stopped asking Zaniah to come over after school.

Started sitting a little closer to James in the cafeteria. Laughing a little harder. Noticing when he looked Zaniah’s way — and then going quiet.

And Zaniah?

She pretended not to notice. Pretended everything was fine.

But something was cracking.

Just like it had before.

It didn’t happen all at once.

That was the worst part.

It wasn’t like Stella stopped being her friend. She still waved at Zaniah in the halls. Still sent the occasional TikTok link with a dozen laughing emojis. Still called her “Z” like only she was allowed to.

But the space between them started filling with… other things.

Other people.

Other conversations.

Other moments Zaniah wasn’t part of.

She’d see it from across the lunchroom sometimes—Stella laughing with a group of girls Zaniah didn’t know well. The “popular-adjacent” crowd. The ones with edges always laid, and backpacks with perfume samples in the pockets. Stella used to make fun of those girls.

Now she was sitting with them. Leaning into their circles like she belonged there.

Like Zaniah didn’t.

When Stella did sit with her, she was distracted. Her eyes would flick toward James as he walked past their table, and she’d nudge Zaniah with a grin. “Did you see that? He looked at me. Like looked-looked.”

Zaniah would nod. Smile. Say, “You’re probably right.”

But her hands would shake a little under the table.

Because it wasn’t just James.

It was everything else Stella seemed to be reaching for now — attention, status, something shinier. Something louder. Something Zaniah had never been, never tried to be.

One day in art class, Stella came in wearing lip gloss. It shimmered. It made her lips look expensive.

“You think James’ll notice?” she whispered.

Zaniah looked at her, eyes stinging.

“He’ll notice,” she said flatly.

She didn’t say: But will you even notice me anymore?

Later that week, Stella skipped their after-school FaceTime to hang out at the mall with Sasha and Taryn. She didn’t even tell Zaniah herself — just posted a story of them laughing at the food court, sipping frozen lemonades.

Zaniah watched it in the dark of her room, blanket wrapped tight around her, phone screen casting light across her face.

She didn’t reply.

Didn’t double tap.

Just stared.

The loneliness came back quiet, like fog creeping under the door.

It showed up in empty lunch tables. In group projects where Stella chose someone else “just for this time.” In inside jokes she didn’t understand anymore.

Zaniah stopped reaching out.

She told herself it was fine. That people grow apart. That she had survived worse. But at night, she’d catch herself wondering if maybe she was always meant to be the one left behind.

And still… every time Stella smiled at her, called her “Z,” or grabbed her arm in the hallway like nothing had changed, Zaniah felt this tiny spark of hope rise in her chest—

—and hated herself for it.

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