Track 3
JAKE
THE NEXT TWO days moved in the same timeless blur all the others have since May.
At that moment, though, I needed it. The adrenaline spike that made every molecule of my being zing with life was worth the release. It was worth feeling alive for those few seconds, even if my hand is still throbbing.
Most of the sleep I got both nights felt like a cousin of death, like sinking into a void where nothing could touch me. I had no ideas. No thoughts. I simply ceased to exist. But of what I did dream, wintery gray-blue eyes and sun-kissed skin haunted me.
They kept finding me in the darkness of my mind.
Sometimes sharp and cutting, other times soft enough to grant me mercy.
Those pouty, full lips would split into a smile, only to fall into a frown when they realized I couldn’t speak—because I didn’t have a tongue.
I’d woken in a cold sweat with my heart pounding as if I’d actually been staring into those eyes all that time.
I tried to shake it off, but nothing helped. Each night, she was there—a beautiful stranger in the back of my head. And I knew she would stay. Because unfortunately for me, I’m not good at being an asshole.
This morning, my exhaustion is twisting into something else, something restless. Like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff. It’s unnerving and makes my skin crawl.
I’m half asleep when I get to Stanley’s class, and even more agitated with the day than usual. I’m on edge. Uncomfortable in my own skin. To make matters worse, Feeny Number Two is breaking the class into partners.
“Your business plan will be due at the end of the semester. The assignment will revolve around creating a model, designing the infrastructure, and showing projections of your business’s success.
I have no preference for business types, but I have very specific expectations of what the models should look like.
” He straightens a stack of papers on the desk before him.
“Partners were assigned at the beginning of the semester. Check the class page for who you’re to work with.
You have,” he peers down through wiry glasses at his leather-strapped watch, “the last five minutes of class to find your assigned partner and exchange information. Good luck.”
I don’t bother checking the class page. My one-on-one with Stanley before this class began solidified that I wouldn't be working with a partner on assignments. And seeing as I already took this damn class last semester, I’m sure I’ll do just fine without one.
“Um, Mr. Stanley?”
I recognize her voice but don’t dare turn her way. I don’t need any more images to shake from my psyche where she’s concerned.
I keep my eyes forward as she raises her hand, only to be met with a slight lift of Stanley’s brow in response.
“Sorry, it’s just…” She taps a finger on her laptop. “I’m on the class page, but… I don’t see my name listed with someone else’s.”
He holds out his hand, inviting her to bring her laptop to his desk. She gathers her bag, laptop in hand and makes her way up front.
The second she walks down the aisle, I start packing my bag.
My eyes shift up on their own accord, looking for her.
Her hair is in that same messy ponytail, but today she’s wearing navy leggings and a tight zip-up to match.
She looks like she’s about to head to the gym, except there’s a white bow trailing her ponytail like before.
Her sleeves nearly engulf her small hand as she explains her position animatedly, her hands flailing about as if they can get her point across more clearly.
“So my advisor was changed just before the semester began, and it turns out I was registered for the wrong course, which is why I registered late for your class. But my new advisor said it wouldn’t be a problem.”
Stanley continues to review her student access page before his eyes meet hers again. “Well, Miss…?”
“Dimerez.”
“Yes. Miss Dimerez. Unfortunately, everyone in class has been assigned a partner, and there is no room for a group of three. You are welcome to complete the project on your own. It’s double the work for the same grade, but other students have made that choice for themselves.”
His eyes land on me as I rise from my chair.
She turns her head, her lips parting slightly as her gaze follows his and finds me.
When our eyes meet, a sudden jolt in my chest cements my feet to the floor.
Remnants of guilt from our previous interaction surface, and I want to run before my mouth says something the rest of me doesn’t want it to. But I can’t move.
Her gaze falls to the floor before meeting with Stanley’s again, and I’m unlocked, finally able to move again.
“Thank you, sir. I’m sure I’ll manage.”
He gives her a curt nod before she places her laptop in her bag and makes for the door.
I don’t know what it is—maybe it’s the shitty feeling that’s sat with me for two days over being such a dick to her, or maybe it’s the way her frosted ocean eyes have flashed in my head repeatedly since I’ve seen them, sad and discouraged at my doing—but it’s pushing me to go after her.
That would be stupid, the voice in my head warns, but my feet are already moving, trailing her steps on the campus sidewalk.
“Hey!” I call out, but her head stays forward, her stride a perfect rhythm. I jog up beside her as she places an earbud in one ear.
“Hey,” I repeat, louder this time. She jumps back, brows furrowed and her shoulders hiked. “Sorry.” I almost laugh, slowing my steps to match hers.
Don’t do it, the voice warns again, but my tongue is moving with its own instruction, desperate for a chance to redeem itself.
“I heard what you said to Stanley,” I tell her. My stomach churns nervously. “I can help you with the project if you need it.”
She mocks a laugh, giving me a side-eye. She seems entirely put off by me, and while my head screams, yeah, jackass, that was the point, something in my gut—in my chest—makes me want to try harder.
“No, really,” I insist.
“And how’s that?” Her tone is flat. Uninterested. Her eyes stay trained ahead, and she tries to pick up speed, but my legs are longer than hers, so I keep up effortlessly.
Don’t do it, you idiot. You don’t need—
“I’ll be your partner,” I blurt, silencing the voice before it wins the war in my mind. My heart jumps in my chest, and my ears burn. It’s a strange reaction, but I don’t have time to place it.
She gives me a once-over and squishes her nose. “Yeahhh, no thanks.”
“Hey! That’s a really good offer.”
“I’m sure it is,” she deadpans. “You seem like a real gem, Coop.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s Jake.”
“It’s rude, and I’m not interested.”
I stop midstep, a tug pulling the corner of my mouth up into a crooked smile.
I have no idea why I want this girl’s attention right now, why I so desperately want her to look me in my eyes, but that flicker I felt the other day hasn’t left me.
That tiny bolt of excitement buried itself under everything I’ve been trying to outrun—the grief, the guilt—and I want more of it, even though the voice in my head tells me I don’t.
It warns me that following this path can only lead to destruction and heartbreak, but I want to keep pressing forward. I almost need to.
Maybe I’m a sick person.
Maybe I’m a masochist.
But she’s leaving, walking away from me. I have to figure something out. Fast.
“I took the class before,” I yell to her back.
It’s my last-ditch effort at stopping her, and it works.
My stomach squeezes in anticipation of those frosted eyes landing on mine.
I hold my breath until they come, and when they do, it’s like being set on fire for the world to see.
Her silvery stare pins me in place. Her eyes narrow, and it’s like she can see straight through me and the walls I’ve spent months stacking around myself.
For a second, I almost forget how to breathe, because there’s nothing casual about the way she looks at me. It’s sharp, questioning, and it makes me feel exposed and alive in a way I’m not ready for. I’m desperately pulled to it.
She slowly begins to swallow the space between us. “Why?” she asks.
I focus on catching my breath.
“I missed the final.” I hold her gaze, especially when she lands in front of me. The flicker within me grows warmer, brighter. “I have to retake the class in order to graduate.”
She shakes her head. “No. I don’t mean why are you retaking the class.
Why do you want to be my partner?” She folds her arms across her chest, her expression guarded.
The soft rim of yellow around her irises disperses into the icy blue of her eyes.
It glistens in the sunlight like stardust, creating a sting in my chest.
I want to tell her it’s because I feel pulled toward her in a way I can’t explain.
Like there’s some invisible thread wound tight around me since the moment I saw her.
I want to tell her it’s because her eyes—those frostbitten, storm-colored eyes—have popped up in my head more times than I can count in just two days.
Like a song I never asked to hear but can’t seem to turn off.
I want to tell her it’s because I’ve been hollowed out, dead inside for five brutal months, and the moment she looked at me, it was like a resurrection was slowly beginning.
But I don’t tell her any of that. Because you don’t say those things to a stranger.
Instead, I say, “Because. I want to help you.”
Her smile widens, and she purses her lips to stop it. I like how she does that, her beautiful lips pressed together like that.
She’s quiet for a moment, assessing my offer, or maybe assessing me.
“Nah,” she says with a shake of her head. “I don’t need help from the brooding rude guy who happened to eavesdrop on my conversation.” She scrunches her nose. “Thanks anyway, Coop.”
She turns to leave, placing the second earbud into her other ear with her first step. Casual and dismissive, like our whole exchange meant nothing. Something in me panics.
I feel myself grasping—for her. For anything that’ll keep her from walking away and taking that glowing light with her. My chest tightens with the sharp, irrational fear that if I let her go now, I’ll lose whatever it is she’s unknowingly offering me.
“I’m sorry, okay?” I yell, my heart jumping behind my ribs. She stops midstep. “I’m sorry I was an asshole.” She turns to me then, and it’s all I need to keep going. “It’s been a shitty few months. Not that it’s an excuse. I’m just…in a weird place. And… I’m sorry. I’m not normally like this.”
She walks back in front of me, one hand holding the strap of her backpack. “And how are you normally?”
I chew on my cheek. “Would you believe me if I told you I don’t really know anymore?”
Her eyes don’t waver on mine. “I think I would.”
A slow smile forms on my lips, created by that tiny flame.
Her gaze softens just barely, the steel in her eyes bending as she seemingly tosses my offer around in her mind. And in the moment, I realize I’ll selfishly wait forever for her to decide, because whatever this is that I’m feeling, it’s the first thing in months that makes me feel alive.
“This isn’t just a pity invite, is it?” she asks.
“No,” I answer honestly.
“It’s to make up for your unreasonably cold demeanor the other day.”
“Entirely,” I lie.
The deep curve of her cupid's bow expands with her smile, and her eyes twinkle in the light. “Okay, fine. You can be my partner.” My grin deepens from the tinge in my chest. “But you better not mess me up.”
“I won’t,” I answer too quickly.
“I’m serious.” She smiles.
“You have my word, Miss Dimerez,” I say, the smirk on my face feeling permanently placed. She examines me once more, the glitter of her eyes humming in the air around me. I wonder if she feels it, too—this static. This almost electric sound vibrating between us.
“You better be worth my time, Mr. Cooper.” She holds out a hand, steady and unyielding, and I take it into mine.
“Jake,” I correct. “And I will be.”
She smiles wider, and damn, does it feel good.
“Alana.”
For the first time in months, the air feels like it holds possibility.
The weight that’s held me down, forcing the air from my lungs, is lighter.
After months of living without wanting anything at all, I have something I’m actually looking forward to.
There’s a tiny crack in the armor I swore I’d never take off. It’s…revitalizing.
And it terrifies the absolute hell out of me the second she’s gone.