Miss Mallory stands and walks around her desk, leaning against it as she looks at me. She’s holding the test, and I can see red marks all over it, corrections and comments in her neat handwriting.
Fuck.
“I’m not going to drag this out,” she says, her voice softer than usual. “You passed.”
The words take a second to register.
“I passed?” I repeat, still with some doubt. The words are foreign in my mouth.
“Yes. You passed,” she confirms, and there’s the smallest hint of a smile on her face. “Not barely, either. You got seventy-eight percent. That’s a solid C plus, Jace.”
Relief washes over me so hard I almost laugh. It hits me in the chest like a physical force, knocking the air out of my lungs. My chest is tight, my throat thick with something I’ve never allowed myself to feel before.
“Fucking hell,” I breathe out.
“Language, Mr. Cooper,” Miss Mallory says, but she’s definitely smiling now, her professional mask slipping just enough. “But yes, indeed. You did well, Jace. Really well. Your essay on Frost was particularly strong. You showed a genuine understanding of the material. You actually thought about it.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
Bells exhales a breath beside me, and when I look at her, her eyes shine with unshed happy tears. The kind that make her eyes gleam, all bright and wet, and so fucking proud it makes my chest ache.
“I knew it,” she says, her voice thick with emotion, barely above a whisper. “I knew you could do it.”
The way she’s looking at me, as if I’ve moved mountains instead of passing a damn English test, makes me want to be better.
“There is one more exam,” Miss Mallory continues, setting my passed test down on the desk in front of her. I can see the red marks all over it, but they aren’t all corrections; some are check marks. “In two weeks. It covers the second semester material:modern poetry, contemporary literature. If you pass that one as well, you’ll be on track to graduate with your class.”
Graduate. Walking across that stage in a cap and gown, proof that I’ve truly made it.
“I’ll pass it,” I say, and I truly mean it.
For the first time in my life, I actually mean it. I’m not simply saying what someone wants to hear. I’m making a promise to myself. Giving myself hope. There’s that fucking word again. The one I thought was bullshit. The one I always dismissed because faith in things only led to letdowns when they proved unsuccessful.
We stand, and Bells immediately grabs my hand. Her fingers thread through mine as she leads me toward the door. Her grip is tight, almost painful, but I don’t care. I’d let her break every bone in my hand if it meant she’d keep looking at me the way she is right now.
But before we leave, something makes me stop. Something that is important.
I turn back.
“Miss Mallory?”
She looks up from the papers on her desk, her pen hanging in mid-air.
“Thanks. For giving me another shot. And for not giving up on me.” The words feel awkward as they leave my mouth, but I mean them. “Most people wouldn’t have.”
Her expression softens, and for a moment, she doesn’t seem like a teacher. “Everyone deserves a second chance, Jace. What you do with it is up to you. But for what it’s worth, I think you’re going to do just fine.”
I nod, not trusting myself to say anything else without my voice cracking, and follow Bells out into the hallway.
The moment we’re alone, she throws her arms around my neck, and I catch her, lifting her off the ground. She’s laughing and crying at the same time, her face pressed into my shoulder.
“I’m so proud of you,” she whispers against my ear, her voice breaking on every word. “So, so proud. You have no idea.”
And for once, I let myself feel it. The pride. The accomplishment. The knowledge that I actually did something right. That I worked hard and it paid off. That I’m not the hopeless case everyone considered me to be. That I’m becoming someone worthy of the girl in my arms.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” I say, setting Lola down but keeping my arms around her waist, holding her close enough that her heart beats against my chest.
“Yes, you could have,” she says, pulling back just enough to look at me. Her eyes are red-rimmed behind her glasses and she’s never looked more beautiful. “You’re smarter than you think you are, Jace Cooper. You just needed to believe it. You just needed to try.”
