Chapter Three #2
I grab a tray anyway and shuffle to the end of the line, staring at the back of someone’s hoodie while my mind keeps doing its thing.
I glance towards our usual table.
Sam is curled into Reece’s side, legs tucked in close, stealing fries straight off his plate while he talks about something and she laughs into his shoulder.
Aubrey is turned toward Noah, voice low, fingers brushing his wrist as she talks.
Intimate. Easy. Like this is the most natural thing in the world.
They look happy.
I stand there with the tray in my hands and feel that familiar hollow open up in my chest. The one that keeps telling me I’m about to sit down and disappear again. Smile. Nod. Eat quietly. Be background noise in a room that doesn’t notice when I leave.
I don’t think I can do that today.
I set the tray back on the pile, and turn away before I can change my mind. I push through the doors and walk out, letting the noise of the cafeteria fade behind me.
The library is practically empty, which is just what I need.
No boys draped over their girls. No couples tangled up in each other as if they’ll stop breathing if they aren’t touching. Just the quiet hum of the air vents and the familiar scent of old books and floor polish. Safe. Predictable.
I head to the back corner and drop my bag onto the same table where I tutored Jace yesterday. The chair scrapes softly as I pull it out. I take a deep breath before sitting.
I pull out my lunch. Leftovers. Creamy pasta with bacon and tomato.
Dad’s specialty when he’s trying to prove he can cook something that didn’t come from a jar.
I eat it cold straight from the container, twirling the noodles slowly and carefully, like if I take my time with it I won’t have to think so hard.
I flip open the battered paperback of Jane Eyre I shoved into my bag this morning. The spine is cracked, and the pages are soft from too many rereads. Comfort disguised as literature.
But I’m not really reading.
I wish I could tell Sam and Aubrey how strange this all is now.
How everything shifted so quietly I didn’t notice it happening.
How they’re orbiting new planets now, pulled into lives that revolve around someone else, while I’m still spinning in my own little galaxy, watching it all change from afar.
I don’t blame them. People fall in love. Lives expand. Priorities shift whether you’re ready or not.
And I don’t think they’ve noticed. That’s the worst part.
When people drift away and don’t even notice the pull.
Halfway through my second forkful of pasta, my phone buzzes.
I blink down at it, already bracing myself for something dull. A school notification. A group chat alert I should have muted. Maybe Sam or Aubrey finally noticed I vanished and are asking where I disappeared to.
But it’s not.
Jace Cooper: Didn’t know nerd rage could be cute.
There’s a photo attached.
My stomach drops.
It’s me.
Standing in the cafeteria, one foot forward, the other back, tray balanced in my hands, frozen mid-thought.
My head is tipped slightly to the side, lips pressed together, eyes narrowed.
You can practically see the indecision twisting through me, marking the moment I decided to leave instead of sitting down and pretending everything’s fine.
It’s not flattering. It’s real.
He took it without me noticing, which should really piss me off. It really should. But it doesn’t. I stare at the screen longer than I mean to, thumb hovering, pulse kicking for reasons I don’t want to unpack.
I should call him out, tell him to delete it, and ask why the hell he was watching me in the first place. Instead, I lock my phone and set it face down on the table, as if that will stop the sensation spreading through my chest.
It doesn’t.
He’s the only one who noticed I existed today, and that reality weighs more than it ought to. I pick up my phone before I can talk myself out of it and send a reply.
Lola: Stalking me now? Didn’t know you were into sad cafeteria girls with issues.
His response comes quickly, as if he was waiting.
Jace: I’m into confused nerds with an empty tray in their hand. Sue me:)
I laugh. A real, genuine one. Small and quick, but it loosens something tight behind my ribs. The sound surprises me enough that I glance around the library, half-expecting someone to tell me to keep it down.
I respond without overthinking.
Lola: This nerd is currently in the library with pasta and a sharp fork. Be warned:)
I stare at the screen after I send it, suddenly aware of what I just did. I told him where I am. Offered him an opening. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s loneliness or maybe it’s the fact that today felt too quiet and I don’t want to sit in it anymore.
His response comes in almost immediately.
Jace: Fuck. Dangerous combo. Pasta and attitude.
My lips curl up without permission.
I shake my head, set the phone down next to my book, and take another bite of pasta that suddenly tastes better than it did a minute ago.
My phone lights up again.
Jace: Are you gonna feed me or stab me?
I snort under my breath and type back.
Lola: Depends. Are you planning on saying something dumb in the next 30 seconds?
The reply is instant.
Jace: Probably
I don’t even hesitate.
Lola: Then stab it is.
I’m invested now, and I hate it. I type, delete, then type again.
Lola: I gave you Oreos yesterday, and you didn’t even say thank you.
There’s a pause this time, long enough for me to wonder if I pushed it too far—long enough for my brain to start overthinking tone, intent, and why I care at all.
Then the text appears.
Jace: I said thank you with my eyes.
I roll mine so hard it almost hurts.
Lola: Your eyes were looking at my ass.
Three dots appear, then disappear, then reappear.
Jace: That was the thank you.
Another laugh slips out of me before I can hold it back. The kind that sneaks up on you and makes your chest feel lighter than it has any right to be.
Lola: You’re impossible.
Jace: And yet you’re still texting me.
I pause with my thumb hovering.
He’s not wrong.
I glance down at my pasta, at my book, then back at my phone. The silence no longer feels quite as empty.
Lola: Don’t read too much into it.
Jace: It’s too late.
My lips curve despite myself.
I hate that this feels so easy. That the banter falls back into place like it never left at all. That, for a few stupid minutes, I’m not aware of being forgotten.
I take another bite and pull one leg up under me, smiling at my phone as if it’s hiding secrets.
I stab my fork into another piece of pasta, already halfway to my mouth, when the chair across from me scrapes loudly against the floor.
I don’t even have time to raise my eyes before someone sits into it, legs spread.
Jace Cooper.
My stomach flips so hard it’s annoying.
He leans back first, eyes sweeping across the table. Over the battered paperback, the container of pasta, and then finally up to my face, as if he’s taking inventory.
Without uttering a single word, he leans forward, reaches across the table, and pulls the fork right out of my hand.
Before I can react, he shovels a mouthful of pasta into his mouth.
I blink.
Once.
Twice.
“Seriously?” I say.
He talks with his mouth full. “This is good. What is it?”
“My lunch,” I snap. “You absolute menace.”
He grins around the bite, completely unbothered. Chews. Swallows. “Tell your dad he nailed it. A little more salt next time, though.”
I glare at him, heat creeping up my neck. “I hate you.”
“Liar.”
I roll my eyes and yank the fork out of his hand, reclaiming it like a small victory. “Get your own food.”
He shrugs, slouching further into the chair, his knee bumping mine. “Yours tastes better.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Nope.” He tilts his head, eyes flicking to my mouth for half a second before meeting mine again. “Usually I don’t talk after.”
I make a face. “Charming.”
He smirks, as if he is pleased with himself, watching me like this is the most entertaining part of his day.
I take another bite, keeping eye contact just to show I can.
“So,” he says, leaning forward, tapping the edge of my book with one finger. “Jane Eyre at lunch. That checks out.”
“Shut up.”
“Not judging,” he says lightly. “Okay, maybe a little. But it’s kinda hot.”
I choke slightly and cough, covering it with a scowl. “You are not allowed to call my reading material hot.”
“Too late.”
I look around the library, half-expecting someone to be watching us, but no one pays attention. We’re just two people at a table, talking too softly, too easily.
I sigh and slide the container into the center of the table, nudging it toward him with two fingers. Then I pass him the fork, even though every instinct I have tells me I shouldn’t.
He goes ahead and takes it regardless.
We eat like that for a minute, back and forth, with no rules.
He leans in without asking, stealing bites that are way too big.
I stab smaller ones when it’s my turn because I know he sometimes doesn’t eat at school since he can’t spare the money.
All the while, I pretend I’m not hyperaware of how close he is or how the space between us keeps shrinking without either one of us saying a word about it.
I notice how his gaze lingers and how it drifts to my mouth every time I take a bite, like he’s tracking the movement without meaning to.
It’s incredibly intimate.
“What’s happened, Bells?” he asks. “You don’t seem like yourself today. You haven’t for a while.”
I shrug because it’s easier than answering. I glance away, focusing on the bookshelf behind him. Anything but his stupid, perfect face.
“I’m fine,” I tell him.
It’s the biggest lie I’ve told all day.
He doesn’t call me out on it. He just watches me for a beat longer than necessary, eyes steady, unreadable, before he reaches forward and steals the last bite of pasta before I can get to it.
I gasp. “Hey.”
He flashes that smug grin of his, fork already halfway to his mouth. “Too slow.”
I scowl at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re the worst.”
He pops the bite into his mouth anyway, chewing slowly before he leans back in his chair and stretches out, exuding lazy confidence, with his knee still brushing mine under the table.
He swallows slowly, wipes his thumb across the corner of his mouth, and keeps his eyes locked on me the entire time.
“Thanks, Bells,” he says more softly now.
The way he says it hits harder than it should. It’s simple. Almost nothing.
I nod once, pretending my heart didn’t just trip over itself. “Don’t get used to it.”
His smile softens just a little. “Too late.”