---
It took Lena a full forty-three minutes to process the disaster that was her English assignment.
The bell rang, and the classroom emptied with the frantic energy of kids escaping a burning building. Only Lena stayed in her seat, unmoving, gripping her pen like it was a weapon.
JaceRivera, of course, remained beside her, annoyingly calm.
He was scrolling through his phone, one leg bouncing in a lazy rhythm, like he didn't have a care in the world. His desk was still pulled close to hers from earlier—too close. Close enough that she could smell faint spearmint and something like cedarwood. It was unfair, how he always smelled like he belonged in a cologne commercial.
"I assume we're not working at your house," he said finally, without looking up.
Lena blinked. "Excuse me?"
"For the project. I figured you'd say no to that."
"I didn't say we were working at all."
Jace looked up, amused. "So, what's your plan? Flunk?"
Lena's jaw clenched. "I could do this entire project by myself."
"I'm sure you could. But you won't. Because unlike you, I don't ghost people when it gets complicated."
She narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He shrugged and stood, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "Nothing. Just that maybe the reason you hate working with people isn't because we're all beneath you. Maybe it's because it's easier not to let anyone in."
Lena's spine stiffened.
It was too accurate. Too fast.
And he said it so casually, like it didn't matter.
"You don't know anything about me," she said, quieter than she wanted.
Jace paused, turning toward her with a different kind of expression—not smug this time. Not playful. Just... observant.
"No," he said. "But I've been watching for a while."
And then he walked out.
---
By lunchtime, the whole school was talking.
Lena heard the whispers trail behind her like smoke.
*"Carter and Rivera, huh? I give it a week before they throw hands."*
*"Are they dating? Wait, are they enemies or—?"*
*"Maybe he'll finally get her to loosen up."*
She kept her face blank, fingers tight around her tray. Today's lunch was supposed to be pizza, but the slice looked like it had been run over by a golf cart.
"Don't let it get to you," Clara said, sliding into the seat across from her.
Clara Greaves had been Lena's best friend since middle school—smart, practical, and blessedly uninterested in school gossip. Her hair was always in two thick braids, and her backpack had more highlighters than actual books.
"It's just the novelty of it," Clara continued. "You and Jace have been mortal enemies since sophomore year. People love a plot twist."
Lena picked at her food. "It's not a plot twist. It's a war."
Clara smirked. "If it's a war, you looked awfully shaken on the battlefield."
Lena shot her a look.
"I'm serious," Clara said. "He got under your skin."
"Yeah, because he thinks he's clever."
"Or maybe... because he is."
Lena raised an eyebrow.
"You ever think," Clara added cautiously, "that the reason you fight so hard is because he actually sees you? Like, the real you?"
Lena didn't answer.
Because if she did, she'd have to admit that something Jace said earlier *had* stuck with her.
*"Maybe it's because it's easier not to let anyone in."*
---
That night, she stayed up late, sitting cross-legged on her bedroom floor with a stack of old English lit books and her laptop.
She'd made a folder titled "Capstone" and opened a blank document.
Project Theme: **Tension as Catalyst**
Assigned Book: \[to be decided]
Partner: *Jace Rivera*
She stared at his name for a long time before typing the next line.
*Ground rules:*
1. No personal questions.
2. No changing the topic mid-task.
3. No smug smiles.
4. Meet in neutral locations only—library, coffee shop, study hall. **Not** his house. **Not** hers.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
> hey. it's jace. got your number from dalton's partner sheet. cool if we meet tomorrow after school? library?
Lena blinked.
Then typed back:
> fine. 3:30. don't be late.
Seconds later:
> i'm never late. you just live in the future.
And then:
> bring that weird book you're obsessed with.
She didn't respond.
But she did smile—just a little.
---
### The Next Day
The library after school was practically a graveyard.
Most students preferred the football field or the nearby Starbucks. The place was quiet, dust-lit, and still smelled like old paperbacks and floor polish.
Lena arrived early, sat at the corner table by the windows, and opened *The Bell Jar*. She wasn't even sure they'd use it for the project, but it grounded her. The words felt like armor.
Jace showed up five minutes late.
He walked in like he'd just rolled off a magazine cover—messy hair, denim jacket, headphones around his neck. He spotted her and lifted one hand in a lazy wave.
"You're late," she said before he sat down.
Jace dropped into the seat across from her. "Four minutes. Chill."
Lena didn't chill. She opened her notebook and clicked her pen. "We need to agree on a book. I've narrowed it down to four—"
"Let's do *The Bell Jar*," he said, surprising her.
She blinked. "You hate Sylvia Plath."
"I don't hate her," he said. "I just don't get her. Which is kind of the point of this whole thing, right?"
Lena hesitated. "You're okay writing from a dual perspective on a book you don't understand?"
Jace shrugged. "You get Plath. I don't. That's tension."
He said it so simply, like it wasn't an argument. Like they weren't supposed to fight first.
Lena slowly nodded. "Okay. *The Bell Jar* it is."
Jace leaned back, arms crossed, eyes fixed on her. "So, tell me something. Why *this* book? You read it like it's a lifeline."
Lena hesitated. The question was too close. But there was something about the way he asked it—not mocking, not smug. Just... curious.
She spoke before she could stop herself. "Because it's honest. Messy. It doesn't pretend to tie things up with a bow."
"You like honesty?"
"I like when people stop pretending."
Jace went quiet for a moment. "Same."
For a second, the table felt smaller. The space between them, thinner.
Then Lena cleared her throat and looked down. "We'll split the essay. I take Esther's breakdown and transformation, you take societal pressure and conflict. We meet Tuesdays and Thursdays."
"Can I pick the café on Thursdays?" Jace asked.
"Library only."
He smirked. "You're no fun."
"Fun doesn't get scholarships."
"Neither does burning out."
Lena looked up sharply, but he was already pulling out a worn notebook, flipping through it until he found a blank page.
They worked in silence for a while.
And for the first time since the project started, Lena didn't feel like she had to prove anything.
She just... worked.
---
### One Week Later
They met three more times before the shift happened.
The first two meetings were strictly academic. Notes, outlines, long debates about what Esther's descent into mental illness symbolized. Jace argued it was more about freedom than failure. Lena disagreed—at first.
But by the fourth meeting, something changed.
They were sitting outside the library, the late afternoon sun cutting through the trees, their coffees growing cold.
"You always this intense about school?" Jace asked.
Lena kept her gaze on her paper. "Why wouldn't I be?"
He shrugged. "Just wondering if there's anything else that gets you fired up."
She paused. "Poetry. Real poetry. Not that Instagram fake-deep stuff."
Jace grinned. "Ouch. That a shot at me?"
She tilted her head. "Do you write poetry?"
"Sometimes."
"You're joking."
"Nope." He opened his phone and slid it across the table. "Go ahead. Roast me."
She hesitated before picking it up.
There it was—notes app after notes app, filled with pieces. Some were rough. Some were surprising. And one—titled *Streetlight Girl*—stopped her cold.
"You wrote this about someone?"
He scratched the back of his neck. "Kind of."
"It's good."
He looked up, genuinely surprised. "You're serious?"
"Yeah," she said. "I mean... it's messy, but it's real."
Jace blinked at her. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
"Don't get used to it."
They sat in silence again, but this time, it felt different.
Not heavy. Not awkward.
Just... new.
Like the start of something they hadn't quite named yet.
---