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Jackson starts acting weird on Tuesday.
Not dramatic weird.
Worse.
Subtle weird.
The kind you only notice when you've accidentally memorized somebody without meaning to.
He still talks to me.
Still jokes sometimes.
Still throws sarcastic comments across the room while getting ready for practice.
But something's off.
It takes me almost two full days to figure out what exactly changed.
He stopped lingering.
That's the thing.
Before, Jackson always stayed somehow even when he acted like he wasn't, leaning against my desk while talking, stretching conversations out longer than necessary, stealing my fries, bothering me while I studied, saying annoying things just to hear me react.
Now everything feels shorter.
Cleaner, like he's carefully keeping one foot out the door at all times.
And unfortunately I notice immediately.
Which feels pathetic.
Wednesday night I'm sitting cross-legged on my bed trying to finish a psych reading while Jackson changes after practice on his side of the room, towel hanging around his neck while he digs through his dresser looking exhausted.
Usually he'd say something by now.
Complain.
Annoy me.
Accuse me of judging him.
Instead the room just stays quiet except for drawers opening and closing.
I last exactly four minutes before speaking. "You're weird lately."
Jackson glances over briefly. "That's hurtful."
"You know what I mean."
"No idea what you mean actually."
Liar.
I narrow my eyes slightly. "Did Scott finally drop you on your head too hard?"
"That happened twice."
"Concerning that you know the exact amount."
Jackson snorts quietly while pulling a clean shirt over his head, but even that feels smaller somehow, restrained in a way I can't explain properly.
Before, talking to him felt like trying to hold onto fireworks.
Now it feels like he's deliberately dimming himself around me.
Which annoys me more than it should.
"You okay?" I ask eventually.
Jackson grabs his water bottle from the desk. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"You're quieter."
"I'm literally talking right now."
"That was deeply irritating."
"That's my brand."
See?
Normally that would keep going for another ten minutes.
Now he just grabs his backpack immediately afterward.
Conversation over, like he's cutting himself off on purpose.
"Practice tomorrow?" I ask while watching him shove notebooks carelessly into his bag.
"Mhm."
"Game Friday."
"Also true."
I stare at him harder. "Are you being held hostage?"
Jackson finally looks over properly at that, one eyebrow lifting slightly. "You're overthinking."
Maybe.
Probably.
Still.
Something in my chest feels unsettled anyway.
Jackson notices me staring and points at me slightly. "You're psychoanalyzing again."
"You make it incredibly easy."
"That feels judgmental."
"That's because I'm judging you."
That finally earns a real laugh out of him, quick and genuine enough that something immediately loosens in my chest before I can stop it.
Annoying.
Very annoying.
Then he leaves for practice.
And the room somehow feels emptier than it used to.
-
By Thursday afternoon, Nola's officially become unbearable.
Not because she's annoying normally.
Because she's in love.
Or whatever the lesbian equivalent of football-player-induced psychological collapse is.
I'm sprawled across her bed while she pretends to study statistics from the floor, except every five seconds she checks her phone again like Yasmine might magically appear and confess devotion through text.
Peyton watches this happen for approximately three minutes before sighing heavily. "You're down catastrophic."
Nola gasps dramatically. "I'm literally sitting here peacefully."
"You just smiled at your calculator."
"It reminded me of her."
I lift my head slowly from the pillow. "That is the saddest thing I've ever heard."
Nola points at me immediately. "You have no authority here, Bennett Girl."
"I hate that nickname."
"Then stop acting like a woman in a nineteenth-century tragedy."
Peyton nearly chokes laughing while I throw one of Nola's stuffed pillows directly at her face.
"Nothing's happening," I mutter.
"That sounded suspiciously emotional," Peyton says.
"Everything you say sounds suspiciously emotional," Nola adds.
"That feels manipulative."
"It's because you're in love."
"I'm literally not."
Nola narrows her eyes slightly while tossing her phone aside finally. "Okay then what's wrong?"
I open my mouth automatically and pause.
Because unfortunately I already know the answer.
"He's acting weird," I admit finally.
Both of them go quiet immediately, too quiet.
Which is honestly terrifying.
Peyton slowly sits up straighter in her desk chair. "Oh my God."
"No," I say immediately.
Nola points at me like she just solved a murder case. "You care."
"I do not."
"You're upset because football Ken doll became emotionally unavailable."
"That sentence alone should get you arrested."
"But accurate," Peyton says.
I groan loudly into the mattress while Nola keeps staring at me with the kind of excitement people usually reserve for reality television.
"He's just acting different lately," I mutter into the pillow.
Nola's voice softens slightly. "Different how?"
I stare at the wall for a second before answering.
"Quieter." I shrug one shoulder helplessly. "Less annoying."
"That sounds devastating for you."
"Shut up."
"But continue."
I roll onto my back dramatically. "I don't know. He just..." I exhale slowly. "Feels further away suddenly."
The second the words leave my mouth, both Nola and Peyton make identical expressions.
Oh no.
"What?" I say immediately.
Nola looks genuinely emotional. "You like him."
"I absolutely do not."
"You said further away like a divorced sailor wife."
"That is not a real sentence."
Peyton points at me calmly. "You notice his moods."
"That doesn't mean anything."
"You notice when he talks less," Peyton continues.
"That still means nothing."
"You're currently spiraling in lesbian headquarters because a football player got quieter for four days," Nola says.
I open my mouth again and close it.
Because unfortunately when she says it like that, it sounds extremely bad.
Nola watches realization hit me in real time and immediately beams like she personally manifested this situation.
"Oh my God," she whispers dramatically. "She's realizing."
"I'm not realizing anything."
"Bennett Girl has fallen."
"I hate you both deeply."
Peyton raises her coffee slightly. "We know."
I groan again, dragging both hands over my face because the worst part is that some awful little voice in the back of my head is starting to think Nola might actually be right.
And honestly?
That feels like significantly more of a problem than Jackson acting weird ever did.