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Monday mornings always had a particular flavor of dread.
Lena Carter sat on the edge of her bed, tying her shoelaces too tightly and redoing them three times. Outside, the neighborhood buzzed with its usual rhythm—cars backing out of driveways, dogs barking, the distant hum of the bus pulling up at the end of the block. Her mother had already left for work, leaving behind a thermos of tea and a note that read: *Try not to let the world get to you today.*
Lena slipped the note into her backpack, unsure why it hit harder than usual.
Maybe it was because things weren't the same anymore.
Not after Jace.
Not after the fight. The letter. The way he looked at her now like he was seeing something no one else could.
It wasn't romantic.
Not yet.
But it was *real*.
That was somehow scarier.
—
At school, everything was just off-kilter enough to notice.
Drew and his group stayed away from her now. Too quiet. Too watchful. She wasn't sure if they were angry or embarrassed or just waiting for the next excuse to turn the temperature back up.
Jace wasn't in homeroom. Or first period.
Lena tried not to care.
Tried not to check the door every time it opened, hoping—*not hoping*—that he'd stroll in, hands in his jacket pockets, with that look that said *what did I miss?*
By second period, she gave up pretending.
At lunch, he still wasn't there.
Neither was Drew.
The air in the cafeteria felt thin without them. Like the drama had been sucked out and left behind a vacuum.
She sat with Kira and Amanda at the corner table. They were talking about some new reality show drama—two contestants had kissed in a hot tub and ruined everything.
Lena couldn't keep up.
Her eyes kept drifting to the entrance.
"Hey," Amanda said, nudging her. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Just tired."
Kira raised an eyebrow. "You sure? You've been kind of... spacey."
"I said I'm fine."
It came out sharper than she meant, and both girls flinched slightly.
Lena sighed. "Sorry. Rough weekend."
They nodded. Let it go. But their eyes stayed on her a few beats too long.
—
She found him after school.
By accident.
Or maybe not.
She was heading toward the student lot, backpack slung over one shoulder, earbuds in but music off—just wanting to walk and not think.
And there he was.
Sitting under the bleachers like something out of a teen drama, hoodie up, legs stretched out, head tilted back against the rusting beams.
For a moment, she thought about walking past.
Pretending she didn't see him.
Letting it go.
But her feet didn't listen.
"Skipped all day?" she asked, standing a few feet away.
Jace looked up slowly, one brow raised. "Nice to see you too."
"You're going to get suspended."
"Wouldn't be the first time."
Lena sighed and dropped her bag beside him, then sat down on the gravel, crossing her legs.
They didn't speak for a while.
Just sat in the filtered sunlight, the bleachers above casting long shadows across the field.
Eventually, she asked, "Why'd you do it?"
Jace didn't pretend not to understand. "Because he deserved it."
"You've let people talk before. About other girls. Other people. Why not this time?"
He was quiet.
Then he said, "Because they don't matter. You do."
Lena's heart stuttered.
It wasn't a confession.
Not really.
But it landed like one.
She didn't know what to say.
So she didn't say anything at all.
---
Part 2:
Lena traced patterns in the gravel with her finger. It gave her something to focus on besides the weight of his words. *Because they don't matter. You do.*
There was something terrifying in being seen like that—so clearly, without permission.
"I don't want to be your reason for getting into more trouble," she said at last.
Jace leaned his head back again and closed his eyes. "You're not."
"You literally punched your best friend for me."
"He's not my best friend," he said flatly. "Not anymore."
Lena swallowed. "Still. People are talking."
"Let them."
"That's easy for you to say."
He opened one eye. "Is it?"
And there it was—the part people never noticed about Jace Rivera. Not when they were too busy labeling him the "bad boy," the screw-up, the guy with too many warnings and not enough chances. There was a quiet kind of pain in him. Something hidden just beneath the smirks and smart remarks. She was beginning to see it clearer now.
"Why were you really out here?" she asked.
He didn't answer immediately. Then, "Just didn't feel like being around people."
"You mean Drew."
"I mean everyone."
Lena studied him. "You know, you could've just... come to class. Sat in the back. Blended in."
He gave her a sidelong look. "That's not exactly my specialty."
Silence stretched again, but it was different this time. Less awkward. More *known*. Like neither of them needed to talk, just share the same space.
Eventually, Jace reached into his backpack and pulled out a granola bar, tossing it at her.
"Peace offering," he said.
She caught it, raised an eyebrow. "You think food fixes everything?"
He shrugged. "Doesn't hurt."
Lena actually laughed.
It startled both of them.
—
By the time they stood, the sun had dipped lower, and the last bus had left. Lena groaned when she realized she'd have to walk.
Jace offered her a ride.
"My bike's by the shop," he said. "It's not far."
She hesitated. "I've never ridden on a motorcycle."
"It's not a motorcycle. It's just a bike. With a loud personality."
She rolled her eyes but followed.
The ride was... fast. Loud. The wind tangled her hair, and she clung to the sides of her seat harder than she probably needed to. But there was something freeing about it, too. She hadn't realized how much pressure she'd been carrying until the world rushed by and none of it mattered.
He dropped her off a block from her house.
She hopped off, adjusted her backpack. "Thanks for the ride. And the granola bar."
"Anytime."
She started to turn, then paused. "Hey, Jace?"
"Yeah?"
"I meant what I said. I don't want to be the reason you get in more trouble."
He met her eyes. "Then stop thinking you're trouble."
—
Later that night, Lena sat on her bed with her journal open, pen hovering over the page. She used to write every night. About school, about home, about everything she couldn't say out loud.
But lately, the words felt heavier. Like they carried more weight than they used to.
Still, she wrote.
*Jace isn't what I thought. Not even close.*
*He's real. Too real, sometimes. And I don't know what that means. For me. For us.*
*But maybe I don't need to know yet.*
She closed the journal softly, like it was a secret.
Because it was.
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