“Jace.”
I lift my chin, force my mouth into something that could pass for a smile. The kind I use when I don’t give a shit but want people to think I do.
“Ms. Mallory.”
Her gaze drops for half a second to my half-buttoned shirt, just long enough to notice the faint, sugary scent of cheap perfume clinging to me. I’m sure it hits her nose the same way it hits mine—loud, obnoxious, and impossible to ignore.
She doesn’t smile.
“Where were you just now?” It’s blunt, controlled, leaving no room for bullshit.
Yeah. She fucking knows.
“Bathroom,” I say, shrugging, running a hand through my hair as if this bores me. “Had a lot to get out of my system.”
“You’ve got four months left until graduation,” she says. “And you’re barely hanging on.”
I arch a brow because if she’s going to corner me, I’ll make it uncomfortable.
“That a threat,” I ask, voice lazy, mouth crooked, “or a pep talk?”
“A warning,” she says. “You don’t have the luxury of screwing around anymore.”
I snort, leaning back a bit, hands relaxed at my sides. “Screwing around’s kinda my thing.”
She completely ignores the bait, which somehow annoys me even more. “You’ve got potential, Jace. You just need to put in the time. I’ve seen it.”
“Are you watching me, Ms. Mallory?” I say. “Now I’m blushing.”
Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t give me the satisfaction of a reaction.
“I’m watching your grades,” she says coolly. “And your attendance. And the fact that you’re one bad week away from failing.”
I shrug again, because it’s easier than admitting anything. “Sounds exhausting.”
“It is,” she agrees. “Especially when you waste it. This is it, Jace. You either do the work and graduate, or you throw away what little future you’ve got left.”
I snort. “Newsflash. I don’t have a future.”
“Not with that attitude.”
She pulls a sheet of paper from the stack in her arms and holds it out to me.
“I lined up a tutor,” she says. “Someone who actually agreed to help you. Don’t make me regret it.”
“I don’t need a tutor,” I reply, not bothering to take the paper. I keep my hands where they are, loose and uninterested, because admitting you need help is its own kind of weakness.
Her eyes stay on mine. Calm. Unflinching.
“Do you want your life to change, Jace,” she asks, voice steady, measured, “or are you planning to keep living exactly the way you are now?”
I go still.
That house flashes through my mind. My aunt’s place. It’s big, clean, and warm. And then there is me, shoved out back in that damn trailer. Thin walls. Rusted steps. A heater that barely works. I work shifts at the diner to keep food on the table, to buy whatever crap I need to get through the week. All while she pretends I don’t exist unless it’s to remind me I’m a problem she never asked for.
That battered tin box is my future if nothing changes.
“You’re smart,” she continues. “I know that. You just don’t think you’re worth the effort. I disagree.”
