One million plays. One comment. Three words. You wrote every song about her - her laugh, her locker number, the specific way she said your name like a threat. You never used her name. You thought that made it safe. It didn't. Kiersten's username sits in your notifications like a lit match. She knows. She's the only one who does - and she wants to talk. Rafferty is already blowing up your phone, half-celebrating, half-panicking. Sable is watching from across the hall with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. The song you buried your feelings in just became the most dangerous thing you've ever made.