“There’s a first time for everything,” he says.
The next day at school drags on.Midday classes are already boring as hell, the kind that drain your energy before lunch even hits.Teachers talk.Pens scratch away.The clock hangs there, unmoving, as if it’s got a personal grudge against everyone stuck in the room.
Jace and I skip the next lesson silently, exchanging just a look that says enough.
We cut across the oval and duck behind the old sheds where no one ever bothers to check.It’s our spot.Out of sight.Out of mind.
We smoke.We talk.Sometimes we just let the silence do the talking.
Not many people know much about Jace and me.
We keep our lives quiet on purpose.Smart mouths.Careless grins.Jokes sharp enough to slice through anything real before it gets too close.It’s easier when people think they’ve got you figured out.Easier when they stop digging, stop asking, stop noticing the cracks.
Noah knows some of it.Enough to understand why Jace and I behave the way we do.Why we don’t trust so easily.But he doesn’t know the whole story.He goes home to Ken, to a place that feels secure, to a dad who genuinely cares and shows it every day.Food on the table.Stability.Someone who shows up.Noah has a version of life where adults don’t let you down over and over.
Jace and I don’t have that.
Jace knows my shit because I know his.We don’t sugarcoat it.We exchange truths the same way we pass joints, no judgment, no pity.Just understanding.That kind that comes from surviving similar messes.
He lives in an old trailer dumped out the back of his aunt’s place, rusted and cramped and barely holding together.She’s the type who smiles sweetly in public, all generous and selfless, telling anyone who’ll listen how she took him in.Behind closed doors, she’s a real cunt.Cuts him down every chance she gets.Reminds him he’s unwanted.Ensures he knows he’s a burden she never asked for.
Same story, different packaging.
People reckon she’s a saint.Jace knows the truth.
My old man is a prick in a subtle way.Not loud about it.Not obvious.The kind you don’t notice from the outside unless you know where to look.
He sort of gives a shit.There’s always food in the house.Cans in the cupboard, something frozen if you’re desperate.The lights stay on.Rent gets paid.He heads to work every morning without fail, steel-toed boots by the door, lunch packed, routine locked in.On paper, he does what he’s supposed to.The basics.The bare minimum that lets people say he tried.
But he’d rather drink himself numb than build a relationship with his son.Always has.The bottle takes what I don’t—his patience, his attention, any warmth he might have had to give.By the time he gets home, he’s already halfway gone, eyes dull, voice short, shutting the world out one drink at a time.
It’s been that way for as long as I can remember.
I don’t even know what happened to my mum.I don’t remember her.Not her face.Not her voice.Nothing tangible.Just a blank space where something important should be, a hole you don’t notice until you hit it.He never talks about her.Not once.Not a name.Not a memory.And I learned early that curiosity wasn’t welcome.
I remember being a little kid, standing in the kitchen, asking where she was.Just a kid wanting an answer, nothing more.The room turned cold.His face flushed red.The smell of alcohol hit me before the yelling did.He grabbed me by the collar and threw me onto the floor so hard I couldn’t catch my breath.
Told me to shut the fuck up.
So I did.
I learned quickly.Realized that some questions aren’t worth the pain they cause.That silence keeps you safer than curiosity ever could.
When the bell finally sounds, we head back up to the cafeteria, smoke still clinging to our clothes, heads a little quieter than before.
The halls are already loud—lockers slamming, voices bouncing off the walls, everyone spilling out all at once.
We calmly make our way through everything and head to our usual table.
Noah’s already there with Aubrey and the rest of the girls, bags dropped, laughter easy and familiar.
This is the part that fucks with me more than it ever should.
This is why Sam now runs deeper under my skin than she ever did before.Being so close to her is a problem I didn’t see coming.
Back when we sat at our old table, watching the hierarchy unfold each day, she was distant.A flash of red hair in the hallway.A presence I noticed without meaning to.Even though I always had a thing for her, it was manageable.I could look, file it away, lose myself in someone else, and forget about it by the end of the day.
Distance made it easier.
