Chapter 14 #2
I pull out my phone. Nothing catches my eye. A few texts from people I don’t care about. Some chick I hooked up with weeks ago asking if I’m around. Another one sending me a photo I don’t bother opening.
I don’t respond to any of them. I lock the screen, shove it back in my pocket, and take another drag.
The joint burns down to nothing. I flick it into the grass.
A few more classes pass by in a blur of noise and movement that hardly registers. I attend one and skip the other. When I do go, I sit in the back and let the words wash over me without sticking.
By the time lunch rolls around, I’m already exhausted again.
I walk to my old seat—the one where Noah, Reece, and I used to sit when we ran this place. Back when things were simpler. The one where I can see everything: the cafeteria doors, the lunch line, who’s walking in and who’s heading out. Habits don’t die easily.
And unfortunately, Nicole is sitting there too.
She’s already mid-rant, legs crossed, blonde hair falling perfectly over her shoulders in that way that’s supposed to look effortless but isn’t.
Her little group of followers sits around her, but they’re not hanging on every word anymore.
Not really. One of them is scrolling through her phone, barely pretending to listen.
Another keeps glancing toward the other tables, clearly wishing she was anywhere else.
The enthusiasm that used to be there, that desperate need to please their queen, has faded.
They’re tired of her shit. Fuck, most of the school is tired of the drama between her and Tia.
Of the constant bitching, backstabbing, and manufactured chaos that nobody cares about anymore.
Nicole’s hive is crumbling, and she’s too busy talking to notice that no one’s really listening.
Her laugh is loud, forced, and fake as fuck. I fight the urge to tell her to shut the fuck up before she shatters every window in this cafeteria.
The moment I sit down her eyes snap to mine. They linger as if trying to catch something—some sign that I’m still interested, that I still want her.
I don’t.
Her posture changes the moment she notices me watching. She sits up straighter and pushes her chest out just a little more. Always fucking performing.
She refocuses on her group, who appear about as excited to be there as they would be getting a root canal without anaesthesia.
One girl is picking at her nail polish with the kind of focus usually reserved for defusing bombs.
Another is staring at the ceiling tiles as if they hold the secrets to the universe.
Nicole keeps talking, louder now, performing for an audience that stopped buying tickets months ago. Her voice cuts through the noise of the cafeteria.
“Tia really thinks she can pull that off,” she scoffs, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a practiced flick that probably took her hours to master in front of a mirror. “It’s embarrassing. Honestly, someone should tell her before she makes an even bigger fool of herself.”
Only one pathetic girl giggles on cue. The rest look ready to chew glass just for something to do. One of them even has the audacity to yawn, not bothering to cover her mouth.
Nicole’s eyes flick back to me, checking to see if I’m watching, if she has my attention, if maybe, this performance is working.
I stare right through her. Past the bullshit, the desperation, and the constant need for validation she wears as obviously as that too-tight shirt.
She hesitates for half a second, her smile tightening at the edges, cracks appearing in that perfect facade she works so hard to sustain. But she recovers quickly. Keeps talking. Continues pretending she’s not affected.
But she is bothered and we both fucking know it.
I tune everything out and grab my phone from my pocket, a welcome distraction from the chaos around me.
My thumb hovers for half a second before I send a text to Bells.
Jace: How is he?
The three dots pop up almost straight away.
I picture her sitting in that stiff hospital chair, one leg tucked under her, her phone glowing in her hand. Machines beeping. That smell of disinfectant that clings to her clothes.
Bells: Same.
That word again.
Jace: I’m starting to hate that word.
Bells: Me too.
There’s a pause.
Then.
Bells: Have you eaten?
A slow grin tugs at my mouth.
Jace: I’m at school, not on a deserted island.
Bells: That wasn’t my question.
Jace: I had half of a muffin I found on the floor.
I smirk as I hit send.
Bells: That’s disgusting.
Jace: It was blueberry. I regret nothing.
Bells: Jace.
Jace: What?
Bells: Eat something proper.
Jace: You worried about me, Bells?
Bells: I asked a simple question.
Jace: You’re deflecting.
Bells: You’re annoying.
Jace: Yet, you still sleep with me.
Three dots.
They disappear.
Then come back.
Bells: You are actually the worst.
Jace: And yet.
Bells: Don’t.
I lean back in my chair and glance around the cafeteria.
It’s chaos. Bodies packed everywhere, voices bouncing off the walls in a constant roar of noise that makes my head pound. Trays clattering, chairs scraping, someone laughing too loudly at a joke that probably wasn’t funny.
Tia has some poor freshman girl cornered near the vending machines, tearing into her for some unknown fucking reason.
The girl’s face is red, eyes glassy, hands twisting together in front of her.
She looks two seconds away from tears while Tia stands there with her arms crossed, looking smug as hell.
Her crew stands behind her in formation, backing her up without saying a word. Typical pack mentality bullshit.
I turn my attention back to my phone.
Jace: I have work tonight.
Bells: What time?
Jace: Five. Finish at ten if the world is kind.
Bells: The world is never kind :(
Jace: That was dark.
Bells: I’m sitting in a hospital, Jace. I can pick you up.
I stare at the screen, reading the words twice.
Jace: Bells, you’ll be exhausted. I can walk.
There is a pause.
Bells: I’ll pick you up when your shift ends.
My heart thumps in a way I choose not to examine too closely.
Jace: Okay.
Bells: Eat something first.
Jace: Bossy.
Bells: Shut up.
And for the first time all day, I nearly smile. The tension in my shoulders eases just a little.
I peer up from my phone and see Nicole glaring at me, arms folded tightly across her chest, nails tapping against her elbow. That sharp expression she always gets when she’s about to start something. She probably thinks I’ve got some chick lined up. Someone other than her.
Good. Let her think that.
She leans forward, eyes flicking to my phone.
“Well,” she says, voice thick with fake sweetness, “this should be interesting.”
I glare at her, and when I don’t speak, she nods toward my phone.
“You smiling at your screen,” she says. “Didn’t know you were capable of that. Usually you just scroll until some girl is dumb enough to spread her legs for you.”
I slide the phone onto the table, unimpressed.
“Relax,” I say. “Your replacement isn’t sitting here.”
Her mouth tightens.
“Must be someone special,” she snaps. “You never smiled at your phone when you were texting me.”
I meet her eyes without blinking. “That’s because texting you was about as exciting as watching paint dry,” I say flatly. “And you were never that good a fuck anyway.”
The table falls into dead silence. A few girls laugh but quickly recover, stuffing hands over mouths and looking away.
Nicole’s face first drains, then floods red so quickly it creeps down her neck. Her mouth opens and closes as she tries to recover.
“You’re such an asshole,” she spits, voice sharp but cracking at the edges.
I shrug.
“And you’re fake as shit, Nicole,” I say.
“You spend half your day pretending you’re better than everyone here and the other half begging for attention from guys who wouldn’t even look at you if you stopped opening your legs.
Now go obsess over fighting Tia for your little queen crown.
I’m sure that’ll fill whatever void you’re trying to patch up. ”
Her eyes shimmer with tears she’s too proud to let fall.
Nicole presses her lips together, struggling to hold onto whatever dignity she believes she still possesses. Her throat convulses with each swallow, her shoulders clenched tight, nails digging into her arms so hard I’m surprised she doesn’t draw blood.
She opens her mouth, likely about to spit out some recycled insult she heard from one of her idiot friends. But she never gets the chance. Another voice pierces through the cafeteria.
Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Chairs scrape to a stop. People freeze halfway to their tables with trays in hand, mouths hanging open. Even the lunch ladies behind the counter halt, leaning forward over the sneeze guards to see what the hell is about to happen.
Every head turns, mine included.
Aubrey stands across the room. Right between Tia and the freshman girl Tia was tearing down a minute ago, Aubrey’s shoulders are squared, chin lifted, and her eyes are locked on Tia with the kind of quiet fury that usually ends with someone leaving this cafeteria bleeding.
Her hands hang loosely at her sides, but tension coils in her frame, ready to spring.
Here we go. Round two, baby.
A slow grin spreads across my face before I can stop it.
Fuck. Bells is going to be so pissed she missed this. She lives for this shit. The drama. The chaos. How Eastern High turns into a cage match the moment someone decides they’ve had enough.
Aubrey looks ready to tear someone apart.
Tia looks ready to try.
For half a second, I think about pulling out my phone, recording it, and sending it to Bells later with a caption that says you missed the main event. But I don’t bother.
This will be everywhere in ten minutes anyway. Eastern High doesn’t keep secrets. Someone’s already got their phone out, perfectly angled to catch whatever bloodshed is about to happen.