I know exactly why it hit a nerve.Sam is all about school.Grades.Futures.Structure.She believes in earning her way out of this place.Skipping classes is everything she hates.Careless.Wasteful.Proof that some of us don’t give a shit about the things she works so hard for.
Jace reaches across the table and yanks the fork straight out of Lola’s hand.
“Hey,” she snaps.“What the fuck?”
“You’re taking too long,” he says, already stabbing another bite.
“That’s my food.”
“You offered.”
“One bite.”
He grins.“I’m on my third.Deal with it.”
She lunges for the fork, misses, then scowls at him.“You’re such an asshole.”
“You love it.”
She scoffs, shaking her head and muttering something under her breath about putting poison in the next thing she brings to school, but she’s smiling despite herself.
Sam doesn’t look at me again.Not once.She laughs with Lola, talks to Noah, and it eats away at me.
Every second she pretends I don’t exist, it digs deeper, clawing under my skin in a way I can’t shake.
Fuck, I’d even take another slap if it meant she’d acknowledge me.
By the time the bell rings for the day, I’m more than ready to get the hell out of here.My patience has run out.My head is pounding.Everything feels tight in my chest, in a way I don’t want to unpack.
I’m leaning against the lockers, waiting for Jace to grab his shit.I have no idea what the fuck he’s doing in there when he hasn’t pulled a single book out of his bag all day.He’s rummaging around like he’s lost something important, which is bullshit because nothing in that locker has ever been important.
I scroll through my phone, not really reading anything, just passing the time.
I feel it.
That shift.That awareness that doesn’t come from sound or sight.Pure instinct.The air changes.My spine straightens before my brain catches up.
Red.
I lift my head as she approaches, clutching her books close to her chest like armor.Her eyes lock onto mine, sharp and furious, with no softness in them.
She stops right in front of me, close enough to see the tension in her jaw and the faint flush high on her cheekbones.
No hello, how are you?Just coldness.
“We need to work on the assessment,” she says, flat and clipped.All businesslike.“I don’t care about you, and I wish I didn’t have to work with you at all.But I care about my grade.So this is happening whether either of us likes it or not.”
Each word lands clean and precise, like she’s rehearsed it.
I shrug, relaxed on the outside even though I’m watching her too intently.“You worry too much.”
Her eyes flash.“I am not failing because you think school is a joke.”
I tilt my head, take my time examining her.The tight grip on her books.The way her shoulders are squared, ready for a fight.“You really care about this.”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.Only the truth.It catches me off guard more than it ought to.
