Chapter Three
Caroline
I first noticed new signs of trouble with Linzie Slater on a chilly Monday morning, about a week before Valentine’s Day. Our middle school hallways had begun blooming with bright pink and red hearts, compliments of the upcoming holiday. The students were buzzing with excitement over the Valentine’s Day Dance and themed classroom activities; everywhere I turned, I caught glimpses of sparkly paper and heartfelt notes in progress. But the holiday spirit didn’t seem to reach Linzie.
I stood by my classroom door, greeting each 6th grader as they filed in, their chatter enlivened by talk of Valentines and possible secret admirers. Linzie slipped in last, hood drawn low, her dark hair obscuring most of her face. She muttered something I couldn’t catch, then slid into the desk in the far corner without so much as a glance at the decorations. Where the others giggled or whispered about candy grams, she just stared at her blank notebook.
All morning, I kept an eye on her. She completed the bare minimum during our writing prompt and barely participated in group discussions. It struck me that she wasn’t rolling her eyes or making sarcastic remarks as some kids might do; she was going quiet, withdrawing from the energy around her. A simmering anxiety emanated from her posture, much like I remembered from a younger Knox back in high school—though even he had been more outspokenly defiant.
After class ended, Linzie waited until the other students barreled into the hallway. I gently stepped over, hoping to offer some encouragement. “Hey,” I said. “You doing okay? Need any help with the assignment?”
She shrugged, her big brown eyes fixed somewhere around my shoes. “I’m fine,” she mumbled, then slid past me and into the bustling corridor.
The tightness in my chest grew. I’d been teaching 6th graders long enough to recognize when a kid was more than just a little off. Linzie seemed to be shouldering burdens she wouldn’t share. Recalling the old rumors about her family—her parents arrests and the involvement of Child Protective Services—I made a mental note to keep a closer watch on her progress. If Linzie was struggling, I wanted to catch it sooner rather than later.
The days leading up to Valentine’s Day were always hectic for teachers in Hope Peak. Between lesson planning, coordinating the upcoming dance, and trying to keep the kids on track with the curriculum, my schedule—and my nerves—were bursting. Still, I couldn’t shake my concern for Linzie. By Wednesday, I was noticing more missed homework as well as reluctance to engage with her classmates.
When I overheard her snapping at one of the girls in homeroom—a quiet spat about borrowed pens that spiraled into scowling silence—I decided it was time to bring Knox in for a conversation. Officially, parent-teacher conferences were set for the following week, but I didn’t want to wait that long. So, when the final bell rang that afternoon, I shot Knox a quick email suggesting we meet before the usual conferences to talk about Linzie’s recent behavior.
I didn’t expect him to reply so fast. By the time I was packing up to head home, my phone chimed:
“Sure, Ms. Belle. I can do tomorrow evening, say 5:30? —Knox”
A swirl of nerves coiled in my stomach. In high school, I’d dreamed about having a reason—any reason—to talk to Knox Slater. Never did I imagine it would be in my capacity as a teacher, concerned for his little sister’s academic and emotional well-being. But here we were, older and wearing grown-up roles, yet still shadowed by the memories of who we used to be.
Thursday flew by in a blur of lessons and school dance preparations. By the time 5:30 rolled around, most of the staff and students had gone home, leaving Hope Peak Middle School draped in the soft hush of after-hours. I graded quizzes at my desk, occasionally glancing at the clock while the winter sky outside darkened prematurely. Streetlights flickered on, and the building’s overhead fluorescents cast long shadows in the corridors.
The faint sound of footsteps in the hallway made me look up. A second later, Knox appeared in the doorway of my classroom, his broad frame outlined by the dull glow of the hallway lights. Despite the chilled February air outside, a hint of warmth spread through my chest at the sight of him.
“Ms. Belle,” he greeted, his low voice reverberating in the empty space. “Mind if I come in?”
I gestured for him to enter. “Of course.” My heart thumped harder than I cared to admit. I stood, smoothing the front of my sweater—an outfit I’d chosen almost subconsciously that morning, hugging a bit closer to my curves than usual. Was I hoping he’d notice?
He shut the door gently behind him. The quiet click made the classroom feel suddenly intimate, as if the world outside no longer mattered. “Thanks for asking me to come by. Got your email and figured if it’s about Linzie, it’s important.”
I nodded. “It is. Though it’s not a crisis.” I motioned for him to take a seat at one of the student desks near mine. He sank down, looking slightly out of place in the small chair that seemed better suited for a twelve-year-old, yet strangely comfortable with it all the same. “I’ve noticed a change in Linzie. She’s been getting more withdrawn these past couple of weeks, missing homework, not engaging in class activities. And with Valentine’s Day around the corner, I expected a certain level of restlessness—middle school crushes, candy-gram excitement, that sort of thing. But Linzie just…shuts down.”
Knox’s forehead creased. “She’s pulling away at home too. She used to at least help me out a bit at the cycle shop, maybe talk about music or shows she likes. Now, she shrugs or says nothing. Could be due to… puberty, maybe? Her new teenage hormones, that sort of thing. Don’t you remember? Being thirteen, and it’s all hormones and horniness…driving you crazy?”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “Yes, I do recall that general sense of chaos,” I managed, keeping my tone professional. Inwardly, though, the word horniness spoken in Knox’s gravelly voice made my stomach flip. “Linzie’s definitely in that age range, but a shift this sudden might indicate something else. Stress, family concerns, or maybe she’s just feeling lost.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to give her space without letting her slip through the cracks. She’s all I’ve got, you know?”
The vulnerability in his voice stirred a pang of sympathy. Knox, the once-reckless kid who’d left Hope Peak in a flurry of gossip, now the guardian of a troubled preteen. “What do you think might help?” I asked gently.
He hesitated before answering. “For starters, I can cut back on her chores at the shop if it’s draining her. I just hate the idea of her having too much idle time. But maybe she needs more after-school study, or a tutor? Whatever it takes, I want to do it.”
I nodded, relief easing the tension in my shoulders. “That sounds like a good step. I can also offer some one-on-one help after school if she’s willing. The upcoming Valentine’s festivities might give her a bit of joy, or at least a distraction, if she chooses to participate.” I paused. “Your support is crucial. She needs to know you believe in her.”
Something flickered in his expression. He stood from the desk, the sudden movement making me aware of just how small this classroom was when you had a tall, muscular, tattooed man in it. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For seeing more than just a kid acting out. And for giving me the heads-up early. We can’t let her slip further.”
“That’s my job,” I said softly, though my racing pulse reminded me there was more to this feeling than professional dedication. “But I’m also doing it because I want your sister to thrive. She deserves that chance.”
Knox’s gaze lingered on me, and the air between us felt warm—charged with an undercurrent I hadn’t anticipated. Outside, the hallway lights dimmed further as the janitorial crew likely started shutting things down. There was no one else around, no noise except the faint hum of the heating system. Time seemed to slow, and I realized we were standing very close.
“Caroline,” he said, his voice dropping the formal Ms. Belle. A faint smile teased the corner of his mouth. “You’re a good teacher—and a good person. I appreciate that you’re not judging Linzie…or me.”
“You’re showing me there’s nothing to judge,” I murmured, feeling my cheeks burn.
We stood there for a moment, inches apart, and I wondered if he could hear my heartbeat. The intensity of his gaze made my breath catch. For a split second, I thought he might move closer—or I might. Instead, he exhaled and stepped back, glancing at the clock.
“You have somewhere to be?” he asked, brow quirking.
I jolted out of the trance. “Yes—family dinner, actually. I’m late. They’ll be waiting for me.”
“Must be nice,” he said, turning toward the door. “Having a family to come home to for dinner.”
My heart clenched at the hint of sadness in his voice. I remembered what I knew about his parents—how they’d been in and out of jail, how people whispered that no one in his family had ever offered him stability. “Sometimes it is nice,” I admitted, “but it also comes with… expectations. Things can get complicated.”
He nodded, understanding in his dark eyes. “At least you got them,” he said, though his tone wasn’t accusatory. “Not everyone does.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but the thick weight of unspoken words formed a lump in my throat. There was something so raw in his admission, something that made me want to reach out. Instead, I forced a small smile and switched off the classroom lights. “We’ll keep each other updated on Linzie, okay?”
“Absolutely,” he said, following me into the hallway.
We walked side by side to the main entrance, the silence between us charged with a new awareness. Outside, the icy wind bit at my cheeks. I offered him a final nod and hurried to my car, every nerve ending lit by the memory of his gaze.
I’d been dreading this family dinner all week, but tonight, my nerves were unusually wound. My mind replayed the conversation with Knox in loops—his mention of puberty and hormones, the sincerity in his vow to help Linzie. And yes, the way he’d switched to calling me Caroline, the way it made something in my stomach clench pleasantly.
My parents’ upscale neighborhood materialized all too quickly. Row after row of large homes with immaculate yards and expensive cars in the driveways. Their house loomed at the end of the cul-de-sac, warmly lit, practically radiating comfort and success. I parked behind Mira’s sleek vehicle, forcing myself not to drag my feet up the walkway.
I loved my family—truly, I did. But even at the best of times, dinners here felt like stepping into a world that often left me feeling… small. They all saw me as the baby of the Belle family, the “soft one,” both sweet and pliable. Hardly the adventurous go-getter my sister Mira had become. Sometimes I suspected my parents saw me as a lesser version of her. The afterthought sister who never quite shattered their expectations enough to demand attention.
Inside, the warmth of the foyer smelled of my mother’s lemon-scented cleaning spray and the faint spices of dinner cooking in the kitchen. From the living room came Mira’s excited chatter. I entered to find her pacing in front of my parents, who sat on the plush couch sipping wine. Typical Belle family scene.
“Caroline!” Mira greeted. She turned, blond bob swishing around her shoulders. “I was wondering if you’d gotten lost on your way.”
I forced a smile. “I had a late meeting with a student’s guardian.”
“Oh?” My dad checked his watch. “You’re nearly forty minutes behind schedule, sweetheart.”
I suppressed a sigh. “I know. Sorry.” I slipped my coat off and hung it on the coat rack. “Mira, you seem excited.”
She practically glowed. “Colt might be moving to Hope Peak—he’s applied for a position running the after-school youth program! If it all works out, I won’t have to keep flying off to meet him on the cruise ships.” She beamed, clearly imagining their future cohabitation in our sleepy mountain town.
“That’s great,” I said sincerely, but I noticed how my father’s expression was more reserved than Mira probably realized. He nodded, though probably not as enthusiastically as she might have hoped.
“So,” Mira continued, “speaking of boyfriends…or at least crushes…has everyone heard? Knox Slater’s back in town.”
My face went hot. “I do not have a crush,’” I muttered, moving to the armchair opposite the couch. “Knox is Linzie’s guardian, and Linzie’s in my first-period English class. We had a meeting tonight about her schoolwork, in fact. That’s where I was coming from.”
Mom set down her wine and fingered the strand of pearls around her neck. “Knox Slater, right? The young man with an arrest record?” She frowned. “Caroline, dear, I hope you weren’t alone by yourself with that man. You know better than to get tangled up with someone like that.”
“He’s changed,” I snapped, surprising even myself with the quickness of my defense. “He’s opened a legitimate cycle repair shop and is taking care of his sister on his own. People can change. Don’t be so quick to judge.”
Mira’s eyes went wide with curiosity, and Dad’s brow knit. “Caroline, we’re only concerned,” he said. “He was in jail, wasn’t he? That doesn’t bode well for a stable environment.”
My heart hammered. I thought of how earnest Knox sounded about helping Linzie, the way he’d confided that she was all he had. “You don’t know him like I do,” I said through gritted teeth, feeling my cheeks burn. “He’s not some careless criminal—he’s been trying to keep Linzie afloat. And it’s working.”
Mom pursed her lips, as she always did when she disapproved. “I’m sure you think you see the best in him, but boys like that rarely stay reformed, Caroline. You shouldn’t get involved. Don’t be naive.”
The condescension in her tone lit a fire in my chest. “He’s not a boy,” I retorted, rising from my seat. “He’s a man doing everything he can. Doesn’t he deserve the same courtesy you’d give anyone else?”
Dad lifted his palms in a placating gesture. “Sweetheart, calm down. We’re not attacking you. We just don’t want you to get hurt.”
But I was already near tears, anger and hurt fighting in my throat. “You treat me like I’m a child,” I spat, voice shaking. “Like I can’t decide who’s worth my time. Maybe if you gave him a chance, you’d see there’s more to him than your stereotypes.”
Mira stood, stepping closer. “Caroline, wait…why are you so upset? It’s just dinner, we’re just talking…”
“They don’t even listen,” I snapped, my eyes stinging. “I’m done with this tonight.”
Before anyone else could speak, I spun on my heel and marched to the front door, ignoring my mother’s protest and my father’s exasperated sigh. My emotions twisted in a painful knot: embarrassment that Mira saw right through my defensive emotional reaction, anger that my parents were so quick to judge.
I grabbed my coat, yanking it on, and slammed the door behind me. The frigid February wind felt like a slap, but it was better than staying inside that suffocating house. I hurried to my car, each breath coming in ragged, angry puffs. My appetite had vanished along with my composure.
Behind the wheel, I let my forehead rest on the steering wheel. My heart pounded, tears threatening to spill. For years, I’d meekly shrugged off their judgments and let them label me as the unassuming baby of the family. Tonight, I refused to let them dismiss Knox Slater—or me—so easily.
At last, I turned the key in the ignition. The engine hummed, and I pulled away from my parents’ neat little world, heading toward my own quieter apartment in town. As the darkness of the Montana evening surrounded me, I allowed my mind to drift back to Knox—his guarded expression, his surprisingly gentle voice when talking with me about Linzie, the husk in his tone when he mentioned teenage hormones.
Something told me that everything was about to change. For me, for Linzie, for Knox. Maybe I wasn’t ready for the upheaval. But for the first time in a long while, I felt a spark of confidence that said: This is your life, Caroline Belle. Time to live it on your own terms.