Julian didn't talk in crowds.
He barely spoke in class unless it was to answer roll call or ask for a different pencil.
But the day after Penelope's mic drop and Callie's epic takedown, something shifted. The halls buzzed with rumors—good, bad, and bizarre (someone claimed Julian was transferring to art school in Sweden to "recover emotionally").
Instead, he walked into fourth period English, dropped his sketchbook on the teacher's desk, and said, "I'd like to present something."
The room froze.
Even Mr. Howard blinked like his coffee had betrayed him. "Uh. Go ahead?"
Julian walked to the front, opened his sketchbook to a fresh page, and turned it around to the class.
It was a portrait.
Not just any portrait—Penelope.Laughing. Head tilted. A smudge of ink on her cheek.
But instead of just showing it, Julian began to speak.
"I'm not great with words. Which is ironic, because I've had a million of them thrown at me lately."
Some chuckles. Nervous ones.
"But this," he gestured to the drawing, "this is the truth. Not rumors. Not whispers. Not hashtags. Her."
He looked around.
"I'm tired of being the weird kid. The damaged one. The 'project.' I'm not a secret, and I'm not ashamed."
He looked directly at Penelope.
"I love you."
The world stopped.Penelope's breath caught. Her fingers curled around her desk like they needed something to hold on to.
Julian smiled—soft, vulnerable, brave. "That's the only thing I needed to say."
He sat down.
Dead silence. Then—slow, building applause. Callie literally screamed.
Mr. Howard wiped a tear and muttered, "God, I miss the '90s."
Penelope just sat there, stunned.
Because in a room full of noise, Julian had said the loudest thing of all:
Love. Out loud.