Chapter 1 #2
I pause for a second, feeling that familiar hollow ache in my chest. The one I keep pretending doesn’t exist, telling myself they’ll look up any second and see me standing here. See that I’m still here. Still part of the group.
Then I sit.
No one notices.
No one pauses their conversations. No one asks how my morning was.
I unwrap my sandwich slowly, pick at the bread, take a bite I don’t really want.
Their voices wash over me. Laughter. Teasing.
Reece says something that makes Sam groan and shove him again.
Noah murmurs something that makes Aubrey roll her eyes and smile anyway.
It isn’t personal. I know that. They’re just in their own little orbits now. Lovers’ gravity and all that. Strong pull. Tight circles.
So I sit there, quiet and smiling when I’m supposed to, chewing my sandwich and pretending I don’t feel myself drifting further out of frame.
My eyes drift across the table to the empty seat.
Jace’s seat.
God help me, I fucking miss the smirking asshole. The cocky flirt who never kisses anyone because, in his words, “kissing’s for people who want to feel something.”
I miss the way he made me feel seen, even when he was pretending he didn’t.
Even now, despite everything that’s happened, a foolish part of me still hopes he’ll walk through those doors and sit in that chair with a grin and a silly comment about my snack of the day.
But the seat stays empty.
And the silence around it is louder than the whole damn cafeteria.
I can’t finish my sandwich. The bread becomes dry in my mouth, and the noise in my head starts to become overwhelming. I stand up, needing to get out of here before that hollow splits me open completely.
No one looks up. I mutter something about forgetting a project, words more for myself than anyone else, and slip away from the table.
It hurts because there was a time when Tia was making my life miserable. Through it all Sam was there, pulled me in, sat with me on those days I wanted to disappear. She made me feel seen when it mattered the most.
And now I’m walking away from her and Aubrey, alone, trying to remind myself that being loved once doesn’t mean it can’t still hurt to feel left behind.
I walk the halls just to move. To be somewhere else. I head toward the east wing, past the rows of lockers and framed photos of smiling kids in last year’s musical.
I duck past the art room and round the corner when a voice stops me.
“Lola.”
I freeze.
It’s Ms. Mallory, the English teacher. Mid-thirties, wears sharp suits, with kind eyes. She has an aura about her, like she knows her stuff without needing to say it.
She steps out of her office, mug in hand. “I was just thinking about you.”
My brain fires off panic signals. What did I do? What assignment did I forget? Am I failing? But she waves me off.
“It’s nothing bad,” she says with a small smile. “Come in for a sec?”
I nod because saying no feels strange, so I follow her inside.
“Take a seat,” she says, motioning to the chair across from her desk.
I sit, hands fidgeting in my lap.
“I wanted to ask a favor. A small one,” says Ms. Mallory.
“Okay.”
She leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk, fingers intertwined. “You’re one of the top students in my class. Organized. Focused. You actually turn things in on time.”
“Uh… thank you?” My voice comes out unsure, like I’m waiting for the catch.
“There’s someone who needs help,” she continues. “He’s struggling. Academically, yes. But also…” She hesitates, choosing her words carefully. “Life hasn’t exactly handed him a fair deal.”
That gets my attention.
“He’s got potential,” she says. “I see it. But if something doesn’t change soon, he won’t graduate.”
I nod slowly, hands folded in my lap, stomach tightening as I wait for the part where she tells me what this has to do with me.
“I’d like you to tutor him,” she says. “Once or twice a week. After school.”
I wet my lips, my brain scrambling for a response. A hundred thoughts collide at once. Me sitting across from some boy I don’t know. Explaining homework. Filling silence. Being responsible for whether someone passes or fails.
I don’t know what to say.
But another thought slips in quietly. At least it will give me something to do in the afternoons now. Something other than going home to a house that feels too quiet, where the hours stretch on longer than they should and the absence of my friends sits heavier than I care to admit.
“Sure,” I hear myself say. “Why not.”
A small smile forms on her lips. “Thank you, Lola. I think this could really make a difference.”
I nod again, still not sure what I’ve just agreed to. Still not sure who this boy is. Only that my afternoons are about to change.
“It’s Jace Cooper.”
My stomach fucking drops.
I blink at her. “Jace?”
She nods, her expression soft but steady. “I know he can be a handful.”
That’s one word for it. There are others. Messy. Fire. Flirty in a way that leaves scorch marks. The kind of boy who takes up space whether you invite him to or not.
We haven’t spoken since that day, when Sam broke down in front of all of us and Reece almost broke Jace’s jaw right afterward.
Ms. Mallory studies me.
“You don’t have to say yes,” she says gently, giving me an out I’m not sure I want.
I stare at my knees, at the worn threads of my jeans, the chipped black polish on my thumb. Anything but her face. Anything but the weight of what she’s asking. Every part of me wants to say no. My pride is practically yelling for it. Telling me to protect what’s left of my dignity.
But beneath all that noise is something else.
A small, traitorous voice that reminds me I miss him.
“He’s not going to graduate if he fails this class,” she says. “And I don’t think his aunt really cares enough about him to push him to pass.”
I know she’s right. Aubrey told us enough—about the aunt with the big house, the perfect lawn, and the locked doors. About Jace tucked away at the back in a run-down trailer, like something she didn’t want inside her perfect life.
“I’ll do it,” I say quietly.
Relief washes over her face. “Thank you, Lola. But he doesn’t get to pull his usual…” She hesitates, lips tightening. “I’m sure you know how he can be. He has to show up. And he has to do the work. You’re not there to save him, Lola. You’re there to keep him on track.”
“Okay,” I say, even though my stomach is already knotting.
“I’ll set it up for tomorrow afternoon. The library’s quiet. I’ll book a table.”
I nod once, the decision already made, then stand up. I sling my bag over my shoulder.
“Thank you, Lola,” she says again. “And if it all becomes too much for you, you let me know.”
“I will,” I reply, turning for the door.
My pulse pounds loudly in my ears as I walk back toward the main building. I avoid the lunch table because I can’t bring myself to sit there and pretend I’m okay.
Instead, I push open the bathroom door and lock myself into the last stall, pressing my back against it.
I run a hand over my face and stare at the floor, heart pounding.
What the fuck did I just agree to?