Chapter 11
At lunch, in the cafeteria, the three of them sat by the window. The afternoon sun spilled in, catching in Gina's earrings as she waved her fork animatedly.
Valerie leaned toward Carl, a smile on her face. "It's a start, Carl," she said warmly. "I'm proud of you."
Carl ducked his head a little, a soft smile playing on his lips.
"Today it's sharing notes," Gina cut in with a grin. "Tomorrow, you'll be sharing kisses."
Valerie nearly choked on her drink. Carl's eyes widened in horror, then all three of them burst into laughter.
---
Theo tossed his bag on the bed, letting it slump onto the sheets as he stood by his window, staring blankly outside. The lights of Willow Ridge blinked gently in the dark, but he wasn't seeing any of it.
His mind was still at school.
He replayed it again—Carl Hale, walking up to him, looking hesitant, like he was second-guessing every step.
"Hi... you forgot this yesterday."
Theo looked down at the small leather pouch now resting on his desk. His pouch. The one he thought he'd lost for good.
He hadn't even expected a word from Carl, let alone a direct conversation. And when the boy—the Carl Hale—asked to borrow his math notes… he had nearly laughed in disbelief.
Since when did someone like Carl Hale talk to people like him?
Theo had always assumed Carl looked down on him. On everyone. He had the clothes, the car, the last name, and the silence of someone who didn't need to explain himself. Theo had placed him in a box labeled "untouchable", and now—
Now he was asking for notes?
Now he was smiling in cafeterias?
It didn't make sense.
Theo leaned against the wall, arms folded, his jaw clenched. He didn't want to admit it, but something about the way Carl said "thank you" stuck with him. Like he meant it. Like he was trying.
But people like Carl didn't have to try.
So why was he?
Theo sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He needed to stay focused. He wasn't about to get distracted by a pretty face and a mysterious smile—no matter how many times it crossed his mind.
Still...
He couldn't help but wonder what Carl Hale was really like—when no one was looking.
---
Carl's parents were home when he returned. The house was unusually quiet, but the air felt heavy.
"We're attending the gala tonight," his mother, Yvonne, said the moment he entered. She didn't ask—she informed.
Carl frowned. "I don't want to go."
His father, Jonathan Hale, walked in, already dressed in a crisp black suit. "That wasn't a question," he said coldly. On Carl's bed lay an expensive outfit already pressed and laid out, the tags still on.
Reluctantly, Carl dressed. In the car, just before stepping out into the chaos of camera flashes, Jonathan turned to his son with a warning tone.
"Do not embarrass me."
Carl stared back silently. Yvonne reached out to him with a painted-on smile. "Come on," she said sweetly, slipping her arm through his. They had to look like a perfect family—even if they weren't.
Inside, the ballroom glowed with glittering chandeliers and the buzz of hollow conversations. Carl hated it. Everyone was pretending. Nothing about this event felt like charity.
As he moved through the crowd, he spotted Ruben—his former friend from his last school, the one he'd fought with. Carl turned sharply, hoping to avoid him.
But he bumped into someone.
A glass of red wine splashed against his shirt.
"Shit, I'm sorry," the man said.
Carl looked up—and froze. Robert.
Carl blinked. "Robert?"
Robert looked equally surprised. "Come on, let's get that cleaned up."
Carl followed him to a nearby restroom, the two of them awkwardly laughing as Robert dabbed at the wine stains with damp paper towels.
"What are you doing here?" Carl asked.
"A friend of mine's hosting. I'm just a guest."
Carl smiled faintly. "Didn't think you did places like this."
"You don't look like you enjoy them either."
Their eyes met. Close. Too close. Carl's gaze drifted—down to Robert's mouth, still tinted red from the wine. A memory flashed—heat, sheets, mouths crashing together.
Robert saw the shift in Carl's expression, the silent pull between them.
Then the door creaked open.
They both snapped apart like nothing had happened. A man walked in. Robert chuckled nervously, and Carl followed with a short laugh.
Back in the hallway, Carl's phone buzzed—his mother. He didn't answer.
"What's wrong?" Robert asked.
"I hate this place," Carl said honestly. "All these people pretending they care when they're just showing off."
Robert smiled slightly. "If you want… there's a room upstairs. My friend arranged it for me. You could catch a breather there."
Carl hesitated, then nodded. "Please."
Upstairs, the room was quiet. Carl walked in and immediately collapsed onto the bed, exhaling like he'd held his breath all night.
Robert watched him from the doorway, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Carl caught him. "What?" he asked, straightening up.
"Nothing." Robert stepped back. "I'll leave you to rest—"
"Stay."
Robert blinked. "You sure?"
"Unless you're busy," Carl added softly.
"I'm not." Robert stepped inside.
"Lock the door," Carl said.
Surprised, Robert paused, but obeyed.
Carl was already reaching for the laptop on the desk. "Got any movies?"
"Yeah. Something I started earlier."
"You can leave it there—we'll continue from where you left off," Carl said, smiling faintly.
He settled on the bed, and Robert joined him, shoulders brushing.
Halfway through the movie, Carl jumped slightly at a sudden scare. "I didn't know it was horror."
"I can change it—" Robert reached for the keyboard, but Carl's hand landed on his.
They both froze.
And this time… they didn't pull away.
Robert looked at him.
And Carl, no longer thinking, closed the space between them and kissed him.
Robert froze for a second, then kissed him back, pulling him closer.
The kiss deepened—urgent, full of everything unsaid. Carl's hands gripped the back of Robert's neck as their bodies leaned into each other. Robert's fingers dug into Carl's waist, tugging him closer, breath warm against his cheek.
Robert reached into his jacket and pulled out a condom.
Carl blinked,
'A gift,' Robert whispered.
Carl didn't question further.
They didn't speak.
They didn't have to.
The only sound in the room was the rustle of clothes, the soft gasp of mouths meeting again and again—and somewhere in Carl's pocket, his phone kept ringing.
But it was on silent.
And tonight, he didn't care.