Chapter Three
Lola
It was nice talking to Jace.
I’d never admit it out loud. Not to Sam or Aubrey, and definitely not to myself if I could help it—but sitting across from Jace Cooper again felt less like opening an old wound and more like pressing on a bruise that hadn’t faded yet.
It was strange how easily I slipped back into the rhythm.
One minute he was smirking at me over an Oreo, and the next I was reminding him that Shakespeare didn’t give a fuck about whether Juliet was hot.
He laughed. I laughed. And for a moment, it didn’t feel like we hadn’t talked in weeks.
He struggled, nonetheless.
Not in the typical lazy-ass, to-cool-to-care way most people assume.
No, this was different. He squinted at the pages, rubbed at his temples like the words were moving too fast, slipping sideways before he could grasp them.
He’d try to make it a joke by calling Romeo a dumbass or asking if Juliet was into knife play. But there was something else behind it. Something tight in his jaw when I made him read aloud. Like he was ashamed.
And that affected me somehow.
Because Jace Cooper isn’t easily embarrassed.
He fucks girls in bathroom stalls, flips off teachers, and walks through the world as if nothing can touch him. But the way he blinked at the words—trying, failing, trying again—it made me wonder if no one ever noticed. Or if they did, they didn’t care enough to call it what it was.
Maybe it’s something undiagnosed, like dyslexia. I didn’t know he had that problem, but I could see it. And I wasn’t going to be the next person to ignore it.
Next time we meet, I’ll tweak the lesson Ms. Mallory gave me. Less reading aloud, more visuals, shorter passages. I’ll even highlight the key parts in different colors.
This morning already feels like it’s been a lot.
Dad went all out with breakfast. Not the grab-and-go kind, but the sit-down, plates everywhere kind.
We sat at the counter longer than usual and actually talked.
I told him how I’ve been feeling a little left out lately.
How Sam and Aubrey have their own gravity now and sometimes I feel like I’m on the outside looking in.
He listened. Then he told me to hang in there, kid.
That friendships stretch and bend but they don’t snap that easily.
That Sam and Aubrey will always be my friends.
I carry that with me as I pull into the parking lot and kill the engine. I get out of the car and head toward the front of the building, my bag heavy on my shoulder. Halfway there, I stop. Just a quick second. Long enough to get annoyed with myself.
Tia is up near the front doors with her little group huddled behind her. Smaller than it used to be. Thinner now, less impressive. Nowhere near as big as Nicole’s crowd. She doesn’t run the school anymore. Aubrey made damn sure of that.
And yet my feet hesitate anyway whenever she is around.
I hate that I pause, that my body reacts before my brain has a chance to catch up. Muscle memory is a cruel thing. It doesn’t care about logic, growth, or the fact that she doesn’t hold power here anymore. It simply reacts.
I hate that I even give her a sliver of space in my head after everything.
After the cafeteria with the whole chocolate milk thing.
Cold and sticky, soaking through my clothes, dripping down my hair while the whole room stared.
While she laughed as my face burned, my stomach dropped, and the room spun.
That moment etched itself into me more deeply than I care to admit.
My brain still glitches there sometimes. Still stutters and short-circuits even when I know she’s been knocked off her throne.
I curl my fingers tighter around the strap on my shoulder, knuckles whitening, and straighten my spine. I force my feet to move even though every instinct wants to hesitate. I’m done letting old ghosts trip me up. I’ve got enough shit on my plate without dragging her name along with it.
I’m not that girl anymore. I survived that, survived her, and rebuilt myself piece by piece when no one was looking.
So I walk.
If she looks at me sideways today, I’ll survive that too. If she laughs or whispers, pretends I still matter enough to hate, I’ll get through all of it. Because she doesn’t get to own my mornings anymore.
She no longer gets to live rent free in my head. I carry myself forward, shoulders back, chin high, reminding myself with every step that I am still standing.
And that has to count for something.
I move up the steps, my grip still firm on the strap over my shoulder, and my heart is steady now.
Tia and her little crew are right there at the top, blocking half the entrance like they still own the place.
Tia’s voice cuts through the morning noise.
“For god’s sake, if you’re going to wear that, at least don’t stand next to me,” she snaps at one of the girls hovering behind her. “You look cheap.”
The girl flushes, mumbles something, and instantly shrinks back. No one defends her. They laugh weakly and shuffle closer to Tia, desperate to stay in her orbit no matter how sharply it cuts.
I walk straight through it, and none of them glance my way.
I push through the doors and into the building, the noise shifting, lockers slamming and voices echoing down the halls.
I see Sam and Aubrey up ahead near Sam’s locker.
Sam is smiling wide as Aubrey talks animatedly, hands flying as she shares a story I’ve clearly missed. Something in my chest softens at the sight.
I smile before I can stop myself. The kind that reminds me these are still my people.
I step toward them, already gathering the words in my mind. Visualizing Sam’s face when I tell her I’m tutoring Jace. The disbelief. The swearing. The are-you-out-of-your-fucking-mind look she does so well.
I just want to say it. Get it out. Let the moment breathe. Let them react and call me insane for agreeing to help the guy who basically fucked Reece and Sam over last semester.
I head toward them when a voice interrupts across the corridor.
“Lola! Hey!”
I turn and see Brianna jogging over, her ponytail bouncing and her glittery blue phone case waving in one hand as if flagging down a taxi. Her oversized art folio is tucked under her other arm, wide enough to take out anyone dumb enough to stand in her way.
“Did you hear Mr. Malvern’s moving the exhibit to Friday?” she blurts. “It’s a mess. I haven’t even finished my sculpture yet.”
I nod, forcing a smile that feels practiced. “You’ll pull it together. You always do.”
She beams, relief washing over her face. “You’re sweet.” Then, like she just remembered something important, she tilts her head. “Hey, are you still coming to the gallery opening next week?”
“Maybe,” I say, which is what I said the last time she brought it up. And the time before that. A polite maybe. The kind that means probably not, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings.
She chatters on anyway, filling the space easily. Complaining about deadlines. About paint not drying fast enough. About how her hands are permanently stained charcoal gray. I nod in the right places, murmur encouragement, laugh when I’m supposed to.
Eventually, someone calls her name from down the hall.
“Oh, crap,” she says, adjusting her grip on the folio. “I’ve gotta run. Text me later, okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Sure.”
She jogs off, already halfway turned toward her next crisis.
I turn back toward Sam and Aubrey, prepared to pick up where I left off.
But they are not there.
I scan the hallway more slowly this time, thinking it’s possible I missed them somehow and they might show up again if I look hard enough. But there’s nothing.
They’re gone as if they never existed there at all.
Guess I’ll tell them later.
I grab my books from my locker and slam it shut harder than necessary. The metal clang echoes down the hallway, sharp and final, and I shoulder my bag before heading toward the first lesson of the day.
I don’t get far before I pass him.
Jace, leaning against the lockers, his posture lazy, confidence rooted in him. He looks up, eyes scanning me in a way that makes my skin prickle.
“Bells,” he says, voice low, slipping under my guard whether I want it to or not.
“Jace,” I reply, without breaking stride.
And fuck me if he doesn’t look stupidly hot today.
Hair a mess in that effortless way. Shirt fitting him just right.
I hate that my brain homes in on his mouth—that stupid mouth he never kisses anyone with.
I catch myself wondering what it would be like if he did.
If it would be rough and reckless or slow and careful.
All heat and hunger or something softer I don’t want to admit I crave.
I shut it down and keep walking before the thoughts spiral out of control and mess with me.
I step into the classroom before the teacher arrives, the room already full. Sam and Reece are seated in their usual spots, knees angled toward each other. Noah and Aubrey are a few rows over, heads bent together, quiet laughter between them.
I hesitate for a moment, then head to the only empty table remaining.
Two seats over from them. Close enough to hear them if I lean in, but far enough to remind me I’m on the outside again.
I settle into the chair and put my books down. Once again, I’m sitting alone.
By lunchtime, I’m exhausted.
Not the tiredness you fix with coffee or a nap.
The other kind that settles behind your eyes and makes everything feel heavier than it should. Emotionally exhausted. Worn down. Too many silences stacked one after another. Too many damn reminders that everything has shifted, and I’m the one still trying to learn the new rules.
I drift into the cafeteria on autopilot, eyes flicking to the menu board out of habit, trying to decide whether I should eat the leftovers I packed today or cave in and grab whatever they’re serving. Today it’s chicken wraps and fries. I actually like the wraps when they’re not dried to hell.