I played my part.
Lunch in the quad with Tristan and X. Talking stats and sneaker drops like my chest wasn’t caving in. Slamming Red Bulls between AP Econ and practice. Flirting with girls I didn’t care about. Brushing off the way everyone glanced at me sideways when Jade wasn’t by my side anymore.
She was gone—and that was my doing.
So I leaned in.
Cut her out of the group project. Told Ms. Whitlock I’d handle the PowerPoint myself. "She’s not showing up anyway," I said with a shrug that didn’t even sound like me. “Can’t have the grade riding on a no-show.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow but didn’t push—yet.
X just watched me. Quiet. Like he could see straight through the performance.
Basketball was picking up again. Coach was pushing us harder, ramping up for preseason scrimmages. My name had started floating around again—Notre Dame, maybe Michigan. Now that their starting point guard had entered the transfer portal, a few eyes were shifting toward me. My stats, my height, my last name.
Play college ball?
Or date a scholarship girl?
Have both? Never…
“Easy choice, right?” I muttered to myself, tossing a ball at the wall behind the gym with more force than necessary.
“You keep throwing like that, we’re gonna need a new wall,” Tristan said, strolling in with his usual chill.
I grunted.
He didn’t buy it.
“You done icing her out?” he asked casually, bending to tie his shoes.
“There’s nothing to ice,” I lied. “She’s a scholarship girl. She knew what this was.”
“Yeah, well…” he stood and looked me dead in the eye. “You didn’t.”
I opened my mouth to tell him to drop it, but X walked in, uncharacteristically silent. The tension settled like fog.
“She texted me,” X said suddenly, to no one and everyone.
We both turned.
“I didn’t answer,” he added. “Didn’t know what to say.”
“Who?” I asked, even though I already knew.
Xavier looked down at his hands. “Her. Jade.”
A beat passed. Then another.
“She okay?” Tristan asked, his voice softer now.
“She asked if I had the notes from Calc. Said she was… falling behind. I didn’t send them.”
“You scared?” I challenged, crossing my arms.
“No,” he replied, steady. “I just remember what happened freshman year.”
Tristan straightened.
