Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jace
Miss Mallory places the test paper on her desk and looks at me over her reading glasses.
The fluorescent lights above make her appear older than she probably is.
For a moment, I think she’s about to tell me I fucked it up.
That I came close but not close enough, and that all those hours Bells spent drilling information into my thick skull were for nothing.
That I’m still the same screwup I’ve always been.
But then she actually fucking smiles. “You passed, Jace.”
The words don’t register at first. I stare at her, waiting for the punchline. The “but” that always follows good news in my life. But, it doesn’t come.
“You passed,” she says again, and this time there’s something in her voice that sounds almost like pride. “Not just passed. You got a B-plus. That’s the highest grade you’ve ever received in my class.”
A fucking B-plus.
“That means...” I start, but my throat is tight, as if someone’s hand is wrapped around it.
“That means you’ll graduate,” Miss Mallory says, leaning back in her chair, with her fingers steepled under her chin. “Assuming you don’t fail anything else between now and then you’ll walk across that stage with the rest of your class.”
I’m actually going to fucking graduate. The realization hits fast. Four months ago, I was ready to drop out.
Ready to say fuck it and take my chances at finding a job.
Now I’m sitting here, staring at a B-plus on a test, and a warm, easy sensation develops in my chest, something that seems dangerously close to hope.
I have to look away before Miss Mallory sees whatever the hell is happening to my face right now. Before she notices that the guy who doesn’t give a fuck about anything, actually does care.
It’s all because of Bells. She was the one who sat with me night after night explaining the same stuff over and over until it finally clicked in my brain.
I’m out of the classroom before Miss Mallory can say anything else, my heart pounding in a way that has nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with needing to tell Bells, right fucking now.
I pull out my phone as I walk down the hall, avoiding the usual school chaos of students standing around their lockers talking, laughing, and wasting time.
A couple of guys from the basketball team are tossing a ball back and forth.
Some freshman couple is making out against the wall like they’re the only two people in the building.
I don’t give them a second glance.
My fingers dance across the screen.
Jace: Fucking hell Bells, I passed. B-plus. I’m graduating.
I stare at the screen, waiting for those three dots to appear, waiting for her to respond with something enthusiastic, sweet, and totally Bells. But, they don’t appear.
She’s probably in that student council meeting or whatever nerdy shit she had scheduled today. Some committee about prom decorations, fundraising, or some other thing I couldn’t care less about.
But she cares about all of it—the committees, the planning, the stupid decorations that’ll get thrown away the day after prom anyway.
So I pretend to care when she talks about it.
I listen when she tells me about color schemes, budgets, and all the drama among the committee members.
I nod in the right places and make comments that show I’m paying attention.
Because that’s what you do when you love someone.
You give a shit about the things they care about, even when it bores you to tears.
I slip my phone back into my pocket and keep walking. A grin creeps at the corners of my mouth despite myself.
I fucking passed. Bells is going to lose her mind when she reads that text.
My grin falters the moment I see Nicole. She’s standing alone by the lockers, her little group nowhere in sight for once.
Tia’s been flying solo lately too. Her crew is sick of the drama and pretending they care about whatever vendetta they’re nursing this week.
It turns out being a bitch eventually catches up with you.
I know she’s been talking shit to Lola. Aubrey pulled me aside two nights ago at the diner during a slow shift and told me about the things Nicole’s been saying to Bells. About how I will eventually get bored, and that girls like Lola don’t keep guys like me interested.
I need to tell Nicole to fucking stop that shit. Right fucking now.
I walk down the hallway, my eyes fixed on her, wondering, not for the first time, why I ever hooked up with her in the first place.
She’s hot, sure. Has a tight body, the kind of girl who knows exactly what she’s doing when she bends over in front of you or leans in close enough that you can smell her perfume.
But that’s all she is. Hot. Nothing else. No sharp wit, quiet strength, or anything that truly matters when you’re not just trying to get off. Nothing that makes me want to stay after I’m done or get to know her.
She was a quick
fuck. That’s it. A way to pass time and satisfy the urge. And now she’s a fucking problem.
When Nicole sees me coming, she straightens up, pushing off the lockers and adjusting her posture in that way girls do when they want you to notice their tits. A smile spreads across her face, as if she thinks this is like old times and I’m walking over here because I want something from her.
“Hey, Jace,” she says, voice dripping with that fake sweetness she uses when she wants something. She gives her hair that little flick.
It doesn’t work anymore. Nothing about her works anymore.
“You need to fucking stop,” I tell her, not bothering with pleasantries.
Confusion flickers across her face. “Stop what?”
“The shit you’ve been saying to Lola,” I say, voice flat and cold. “I know you’ve been running your mouth. Telling people I’m going to get bored. That she’s not good enough to keep me interested and whatever other bullshit you keep spewing.”
Nicole’s expression changes, her eyes narrowing a bit. The fake sweetness fades away, replaced by something more serious.
“I’m just being honest, Jace,” she says, crossing her arms under her chest and pushing up her tits in a way that’s supposed to grab my attention. “But you should know, everyone’s thinking it. I’m the only one with the guts to say it out loud.”
“Is that a fact?” I step closer, and her back hits the lockers with a dull thud. I’m not touching her, but I’m close enough that she has to tilt her head back to gaze at me. Close enough that she knows I’m not messing around.
“Well, here’s some honesty for you, Nicole. I don’t give a fuck what you think. I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks. So whatever fantasy you’ve got in your head about me getting bored and running back to you? Kill it. Bury it. Because it’s never gonna fucking happen.”
Her jaw clenches and for a second I think she’s going to argue with some bullshit about how we were good together or how I’m making a mistake. But then something else flickers across her face that looks almost like hurt.
Good. Let it fucking hurt. Perhaps it will teach her not to run her mouth about my girl.
“We had fun,” she says quietly. “You can’t tell me you don’t remember that.”
“I remember,” I say, letting the words hang there for a second before I drive the knife in deeper.
“I also remember not giving a fuck about you the second it was over. That’s all you ever were Nicole.
A fuck. That’s it. You were never anything more than that, and you’re sure as hell not anything now. ”
The words are harsh. Cruel, even. But they’re true. And I need her to understand that whatever we did before is over. Dead and buried six feet under.
“You’ve changed,” she says, and there’s real bitterness in her voice. “You used to be fun. Now you’re just... sad.”
I laugh. “If being sad means I actually give a shit about someone for once in my life, then yeah, I’m fucking sad. And I don’t care who knows it.”
I take a step back, creating space between us, because I can’t stand to be near her a moment longer.
“Stay the fuck away from Lola,” I tell her, my voice dropping lower. “Stop looking at her like she stole something from you because she didn’t. There was nothing to steal. And if I hear you’ve said one more fucking word, we’re going to have a serious problem. Got it?”
Nicole doesn’t respond. She just glares at me with those cold blue eyes, her arms still crossed and her face tight with barely concealed rage.
I don’t wait for a response.
The hallway is crowded, with people standing around their lockers in groups that block the flow of traffic. That’s when I notice the prom signs.
They’re everywhere.
A guy near the water fountain holds a poster board covered in glitter that says “I’d be LUCKY if you went to PROM with me,” with several paper four-leaf clovers taped to it. The cardboard is bent at the edges, likely from being shoved in his car, and glitter is falling off in a trail on the floor.
His girlfriend is squealing, jumping up and down, her hands covering her mouth as if he told her she won the lottery instead of asking her to a crappy high school dance.
It’s sappy as shit.
But I watch the girl’s face when she sees it. Her eyes go wide, and her smile spreads across her face.
Near the gym doors, some jerk from the basketball team is down on one knee holding a bouquet of roses. Red ones—the expensive kind from the florist downtown. He’s asking his girlfriend to prom as if he’s proposing marriage, his voice loud enough for half the hallway to hear.
She’s actually crying, tears streaming down her face as she nods repeatedly and says yes, her voice breaking on the words. Her friends are squealing and bouncing around her, phones out, recording the whole thing for Instagram or TikTok.
I shake my head and continue walking, weaving through the crowd.