“That’s disgusting,” the skinny guy mumbles, finally getting his glasses to stay on his face for more than two seconds.
“What? Chewing gum?” Jax pops it again, even louder this time. His eyes lock onto mine, and there’s no mistaking the challenge there. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s having way too much fun doing it.
“Chewing anything with your mouth open like a farm animal.” The skinny boy gestures vaguely at the desk. “There’s a note.”
I pick it up.
Jax St. Clair
Sisk Zaitseva
Ivan Rosen
Detention: 2 p.m.—4 p.m.
Task: Bring this tape box to the library. Assist Ms. Rowan with shelving.
My eyes drift to the heavy, worn cardboard box sitting beside the paper.
“Ivan?” I ask, looking at the skinny guy.
He nods quickly. “Yeah.”
“Then I guess we’re all here.”
I reach for the box, but Jax’s hand gets there first. He lifts it easily, his eyes flicking to mine.
“Oh, look at that,” I say. “A gentleman. Almost believable.”
“What? I am a gentleman,” he says, popping his gum again like punctuation.
Ivan rolls his eyes, sweeps his controller parts into his backpack, and falls in behind us.
On the way to the library, a couple of guys down the hall decide to announce their presence?—
“Hey, ballerina—how flexible are you, really?”
“Yeah? Bet she bends real nice.”
I tense up instantly, every muscle in my body going rigid. Jax doesn’t say anything, he simply cracks his knuckles one by one. For a ridiculous second, I actually think he might do something, say something to shut them up. Like I’m some damsel in distresswaiting for a big, strong fighter to come rescue me. But why would he bother?I’m just the girl who’s been in his classes for years but never really been on his radar.
Ivan lowers his voice. “Ignore them. They’re just jealous they can’t touch their toes without crying.”
It’s so weird and unexpected that I can’t help but smile.
Jax notices, but keeps whatever he’s thinking to himself as usual. We’ve been breathing the same air in this school for three years, but we might as well be in different worlds. Sometimes I’d catch him watching me in the cafeteria, his eyes lingering a moment too long, before one of his friends would say something and he’d turn away, leaving me feeling like a stupid, hopeful idiot. Other times, I’d feel his eyes on me during school assemblies, a weight that was both unnerving and strangely compelling, like he can see right through the fake smile I paste on my face every morning.
But this is where we stick to. He has his world and I have mine. He’s got his crew and his reputation and I’ve got my pointe shoes and the empty studio where I can actually breathe. I’ve made it my business to keep it that way.
I’m the girl who takes three different staircases only to avoid walking past his locker. I’m out of my seat before the bell even stops ringing, dodging through the halls before him and his friends can fill them with their loud voices and that stupid confidence that seems to follow them everywhere.
I’ve scheduled my life around avoiding him, leaving practice early or staying late, anything to shut down the possibility of an interaction before it can even begin. Not that it should matter. Jax St. Clair operates on a whole different level, one where girls like me are invisible unless we’re useful somehow. We’re merely fillers in his story, and I’ve fought too hard for my own spotlight to fade into the background now.
You’d think ignoring a guy who acts like you don’t exist would be easy. It’s not. It takes work. Constant, exhausting work.
He is basically built to be stared at. Tall with that hair that looks perfect without him even trying, and those eyes that make you forget what you were about to say. His jaw is sharp with just enough scruff to make him look older than the other boys here. And he has this habit—this stupid, distracting habit—of running his tongue along his bottom lip when he’s thinking. He’s completely oblivious to the effect that little gesture has.
I notice all of it, of course. I'd have to be blind not to, but only from a distance. It’s like watching from behind glass. You see everything, you understand what’s happening, but you’re not part of it. And that’s how I like it. Because it keeps me safe. Wanting him would be like handing him a hammer and pointing to my own chest, and I’ve survived too much in this life to let myself be crushed by a boy who probably doesn’t even know my name.
