Chapter 23 Aria
ARIA
Clara twirls through her dressing room the next morning while I sit on a beige chenille ottoman, watching gold flecks shimmer across her bodycon dress beneath the chandelier light.
“So, what do you think?” she asks, running her hands down her sides, her fingertips grazing the sequins.
“It’s pretty,” I murmur, smiling just enough to prove I’ve been paying attention.
Skipping another day of school isn’t what’s bothering me. Prom’s this weekend, so the whole week is basically prep anyway.
What’s really distracting me is work. I can’t miss today’s afternoon shift, not after barely getting the job back in the first place.
Turns out, not many new hires were willing to deal with Becca’s overbearing nature for minimum wage.
Shocker. The café isn’t within walking distance from Clara’s house, which wouldn’t be a problem if I had my car. Thanks, Mom.
“Hey, do you think you can drop me off at the café later?”
She lifts her gaze to the mirror lining the closet wall, its carved frame set against cream toile wallpaper, one Clara chose after flipping through my sketchpad last summer.
That was the first time I realized how much joy it brought me to see something I’d imagined take shape in the real world.
I had visions for my own room, too, but I didn’t have Clara’s budget.
So I kept my dreams confined to paper, and my expectations adjusted to whatever leftover trinkets I could get my hands on from work.
Shifting her weight to one hip, Clara keeps her eyes on the mirror. “Duh, of course I can.” She studies me for a moment. “But what about you? What are you thinking of wearing?”
I sigh. “I don’t think I’ll go to prom.”
“No, please don’t stay home,” she pleads, her bottom lip jutting out as she reaches an arm back to feel for her zipper.
I get up to help her with it. “You’re going with Jayce, anyway, aren’t you?” I hedge, curious but hoping it’ll steer things away from me.
“Oh, God no,” she says with a mock retch, her button nose scrunched as she shimmies herself out of the form-fitting dress. “I’m going with Gabe.”
“Class clown, Gabe?” I deadpan, scrunching my nose right back at her.
She shrugs, muffling a laugh as she pulls a bubblegum pink t-shirt over her head, the fabric scattered with miniature cherries. “So, what? He’s funny,” she says, gathering a thick bundle of blonde hair into a messy bun.
“So…What you’re saying is, you’re not dating Jayce Michelson?” I ask, walking back toward the closet island.
Sunlight from the afternoon heat spills through the arched window beside it, glinting off perfume bottles and scattered jewelry across the glass surface.
I grab a frosted pink bottle that catches my eye and spritz it onto my wrist before dabbing it onto my collarbone.
Crisp peonies. The scent is faint, perfect for spring, and expensive enough to cling to my skin all day.
I glance back up to see her roll her eyes, her lashes batting dramatically over milky skin. “Barf,” she says, sticking a finger in her mouth. “Okay, fine, he’s obviously Hillside’s poster boy or whatever, but we’re just friends.”
My brows pinch together. “Friends…”
“Can you pull open the second drawer to your left?” she asks, her shift in tone catching me off guard. “There’s a photo album inside. I want to show you something.”
I do as she says, lifting it out from the island drawer. “This?”
“Yeah, that,” she says, walking around to stand beside me. I hand it over, watching as she flips through a stack of photos before landing on the one she wants me to see. “Right here,” she says, pressing a ruby-tipped finger to the page.
I lean closer, squinting at the circle of kids in what looks like a library. A girl with pale, flaxen ringlets spilling over her shoulder sits in the middle, beaming. “That’s you, isn’t it?” I smile at the image, remembering how peaceful and whole life felt back then.
“Yes…” she says, drawing out the word, a strange look flickering across her face. “Guess who’s sitting beside me?”
I glance back down, eyes settling on a young boy with wavy, honey-brown hair and a deep dimple in his cheek. It takes a second to register, but when it does, I gasp through rounded lips. “Jayce?”
She laughs at my reaction. “Ding, ding, ding.”
“No…” I stare at her, stunned. “Why didn’t I ever know you two were childhood friends?”
She shrugs a shoulder, like it’s no big deal. “Just didn’t feel important enough to mention, I guess. Our moms used to be friends when we were younger. As we got older, we just drifted apart, and so did our parents.”
There’s a flicker, a faint quirk in her brow, but it’s gone in a blink. “So, anyway, we got closer again after what happened with Kels—” She cuts off mid-name, too late to take back.
The lightness drains from the room, the air turning thick with silence. My throat prickles, and for a second, I get an urge to crack a window open to see if the breeze might clear out the newly sparked tension between us.
She presses her thumb to the photo’s corner. “Anyways,” she says, her voice a little too chipper. “He wants to ask you to prom. He’s actually been interested in you for a while. It’s why he asked me for your number earlier this year.”
I go along, brushing past the earlier comment and zeroing in on the Jayce part instead. “His entire circle of friends hates me,” I mutter, brows drawing tight.
“Gabe doesn’t hate you,” she quickly jumps in.
I roll my eyes at that.
“Look,” she goes on. “Madison and Hunter are dickheads. That’s who you really mean. I get it. I gave Jayce shit for hanging around them, too, but I promise he’s nothing like them. Just give him a chance.”
I think back to yesterday when he approached me, how quick I was to dismiss him even though he did nothing wrong.
Just give him a chance.
Ledger drifts into my thoughts again as I sift through a row of hangers, looking for something to wear later. I hadn’t thought of him once during the conversation—not until she mentioned Kelsey.
My chest tightens with unresolved pain. He never cared about me. I know that now, but still, the ache settles in. I’m the reason he lost his friend. Why he almost lost his sister. I can’t blame him for not wanting anything to do with me after the dust settled. He’s gone now. Moved on.
Maybe I should try, too.
The door chimes open as I wipe down the steamer wand with a damp cloth. “Sorry, our espresso machines are off for the evening,” I call out, tossing the cloth into a nearby bin.
I expect a random customer when I glance over the counter. Instead, I find Jayce. I tense as I eye the door, half expecting more of his entourage to follow, but it’s still quiet.
He rocks on his heels by the entrance, casual as ever, then flashes me a confident, boyish smile the moment our eyes meet.
A pulse kicks at the base of my throat.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. I swallow down the nerves and try again. “Sorry, I just mean…our machines are down. I’m closing up.”
Why is he here? Did Clara know he was coming?
“I know,” he says, grinning. The dimple softens him in a way I’m not used to seeing in other jocks. “I heard you the first time.”
I force my shoulders to ease.
“Right. Sorry,” I repeat, quieter this time.
Nervously, I wipe my hands down the front of my apron, then tug it off and toss it over the swinging door. As I step out from behind the bar, he speaks at the exact same time as I do.
“Did you need—”
“I just—”
The words tangle together and fall flat. We both go quiet.
He exhales a soft, almost imperceptible laugh. “Well, this just got awkward.”
The evening sun spills through the window beside him, catching at the crown of his head and warming the gold in his hair as he rakes his fingers through it. “I hope it’s not too weird that I showed up at your job. I just noticed you weren’t in class today and…wanted to check up on you.”
An embarrassing thump fires off in my chest when I remember yesterday, the clicks, photos snapping while I could barely see past the thick coat of paint I was drenched in.
I haven’t checked social media since then, avoiding the fallout.
I’m sure he’s seen the pictures circulating, but he doesn’t mention it.
“Oh, well,” I stumble, grasping for something to say. “I’ve just been a little under the weather, but I’m okay.”
I channel my nervous energy into stacking the chairs onto the tables, only to stub my toe as I rush around the corner. I wince, letting my hair fall forward as I reach for the nearest chair. God, I’m so embarrassing.
“Here, let me help,” he says, grabbing a chair beside him and starting to stack it.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
“It’s okay. I want to.” He smiles again, a mischievous glint to his eyes. It’s almost like he’s enjoying how frazzled I am under his stare. If Clara set him up to this, I swear I’m going to kill her.
“Thanks,” I mumble, my chin tucked to my chest. We fall into a brief silence as we finish stacking all the chairs on the floor. Thankfully, Becca isn’t opening tomorrow morning, so the sticky tabletops and crumb-scattered floors will be someone else’s problem.
Once I close the register, I swing my backpack over one shoulder and follow him out, locking up the shop behind us. The evening breeze is colder than it was earlier this afternoon, the sky now more gray than gold as clouds roll in across the sun.
He scans the parking lot with a frown, probably trying to figure out where I parked. His navy Civic is the only car in sight.
“Did you walk here?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
Concern knits his brows, and already my skin tingles, dreading the obvious look of pity that flickers across his face.
“Anyways, thanks for stopping by,” I say quickly, already shifting my bag higher on my shoulder as I turn toward the sidewalk.
“Hold on a sec,” he calls after me, falling into step beside me. “I can give you a lift.”
Here we go.
I glance at him, slowing but not stopping. “Jayce, I appreciate you checking on me, but I don’t want to trouble you. I live, like, five minutes away.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” he says, flashing a wicked grin that half the school would’ve fawned over.
Oh, but he is. Trouble.
I keep walking, finger fidgeting with the collar of the linen shirt I snagged from Clara’s closet, the front knotted so the hem sits higher over my leggings.
Above, the sky darkens, and a light drizzle begins to fall, tiny droplets plopping over our heads.
“Look, it’s raining. Seriously, let me drop you off.”
We’ve just turned the corner. The early spring breeze plucks at my hair, whipping the strands across my face. “It’s fine, really. You can go back.”
I mostly expect him to drop it here and head back to his car now that it’s raining, but he keeps walking beside me, apparently making peace with the fact that I’m not turning back.
“So,” he begins slowly, almost hesitant. “Are you going with anyone to prom this Saturday?”
My heart takes flight. Of course, I already knew what he was about to ask next, and it made me feel unreasonably tense. I shake my head.
A grin tugs at his lips. “Would you want to go together?”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“We can go just as friends,” he says, his eyes flicking down to my lips, right where my teeth have been scraping without me noticing.
I swallow hard, something rough clawing in the back of my throat. “Yeah, maybe,” I offer, letting the conversation trail off.
We make it to my driveway. The light drizzle has soaked through my white shirt, turning it slightly transparent and exposing my pink bra underneath.
I cross my arms over my chest and face him one last time. Bet he regrets following me through the rain now that he has to walk all the way back to his car. His smile is annoyingly contagious, and despite my best efforts, I can’t stop the small tug at the corner of my own lips.
“See you again tomorrow for our walk?” he asks, brushing the damp hair from his eyes—a rich, deep shade of molasses that I’ve never paid attention to up close before. They’re warm. Kind.
But they don’t spike my veins the way a glance from a distinctive pair of icy gray eyes once did. Jayce’s are softer, more open, the kind that invite instead of consuming me whole.
Still, I shake my head, unable to lose my smile. “Seriously?”
He laughs, and the sound warms something inside me, thawing my soul in a way that feels oddly healing. I realize now just how starved of friendly connections I am.
Maybe Clara was right and all I had to do was open up a little more. I climb the front steps and tuck myself beneath the overhang to get out of the rain.
Tonight is the first time in a while I haven’t glanced over my shoulder at every car that passes along the road. It feels good for a change. To just walk.
He’s nothing like them. Just give him a chance.
Without saying anything, I shrug, but my lingering grin gives me away. That’s enough for him. He walks backward, still smiling broadly at me as the rain picks up. “I'll take my coffee black next time!” he calls out, his voice raised over the growing downpour.
My hands fly up to cover my mouth, stifling a gasp as the rain turns heavy. He pulls his varsity jacket over his head and jogs off, swaying as he disappears downhill.
I hurry inside, slamming the door shut behind me, and race upstairs with a jolt of energy that I don’t usually get after work. My phone dings from my back pocket as I reach the top step. I pull it out, hoping it’s my mom instead of Clara for once.
It’s neither. Unknown number.
I skim the message, then read it once. Twice. My stomach curdling each time.
Stay away from him.
I delete it fast and shove my phone deep into my pocket, pretending I never saw anything. My fingers go numb as I push into my room. What was that about? Maybe a prank?
My spine tingles. Suddenly, I’m overtaken with the irrational feeling that someone’s watching me.
Don’t be silly, I tell myself. It’s just a prank.
I unbutton my damp shirt, shivering as I strip off the rest of my clothes and toss them into the laundry basket near the light switch. My eyes drift past the bed, but then snap back with a sharp spike of panic. The burst of energy I felt moments ago evaporates into something ominous.
Something feels off.
I step closer to the bed and pause at the foot, scanning the mauve quilted duvet. The oddly dented pillows. The subtle dip in the center. It almost looks like someone was sitting there.
No, that’s insane. Why would everything else look untouched except for the bed?
I’m being ridiculous. Still on edge from that text.
Fatigue crashes into me all at once. My shoulders sag as I peel the cover back and sink into bed, my mind still racing.
I tell myself the message means nothing. That it’s harmless. But that doesn’t stop me from replaying it over and over in my head until morning.