---
Lena traced patterns in the gravel with her finger. It gave her something to focus on besides the weight of his words. *Because they don't matter. You do.*
There was something terrifying in being seen like that—so clearly, without permission.
"I don't want to be your reason for getting into more trouble," she said at last.
Jace leaned his head back again and closed his eyes. "You're not."
"You literally punched your best friend for me."
"He's not my best friend," he said flatly. "Not anymore."
Lena swallowed. "Still. People are talking."
"Let them."
"That's easy for you to say."
He opened one eye. "Is it?"
And there it was—the part people never noticed about Jace Rivera. Not when they were too busy labeling him the "bad boy," the screw-up, the guy with too many warnings and not enough chances. There was a quiet kind of pain in him. Something hidden just beneath the smirks and smart remarks. She was beginning to see it clearer now.
"Why were you really out here?" she asked.
He didn't answer immediately. Then, "Just didn't feel like being around people."
"You mean Drew."
"I mean everyone."
Lena studied him. "You know, you could've just... come to class. Sat in the back. Blended in."
He gave her a sidelong look. "That's not exactly my specialty."
Silence stretched again, but it was different this time. Less awkward. More *known*. Like neither of them needed to talk, just share the same space.
Eventually, Jace reached into his backpack and pulled out a granola bar, tossing it at her.
"Peace offering," he said.
She caught it, raised an eyebrow. "You think food fixes everything?"
He shrugged. "Doesn't hurt."
Lena actually laughed.
It startled both of them.
—
By the time they stood, the sun had dipped lower, and the last bus had left. Lena groaned when she realized she'd have to walk.
Jace offered her a ride.
"My bike's by the shop," he said. "It's not far."
She hesitated. "I've never ridden on a motorcycle."
"It's not a motorcycle. It's just a bike. With a loud personality."
She rolled her eyes but followed.
The ride was... fast. Loud. The wind tangled her hair, and she clung to the sides of her seat harder than she probably needed to. But there was something freeing about it, too. She hadn't realized how much pressure she'd been carrying until the world rushed by and none of it mattered.
He dropped her off a block from her house.
She hopped off, adjusted her backpack. "Thanks for the ride. And the granola bar."
"Anytime."
She started to turn, then paused. "Hey, Jace?"
"Yeah?"
"I meant what I said. I don't want to be the reason you get in more trouble."
He met her eyes. "Then stop thinking you're trouble."
—
Later that night, Lena sat on her bed with her journal open, pen hovering over the page. She used to write every night. About school, about home, about everything she couldn't say out loud.
But lately, the words felt heavier. Like they carried more weight than they used to.
Still, she wrote.
*Jace isn't what I thought. Not even close.*
*He's real. Too real, sometimes. And I don't know what that means. For me. For us.*
*But maybe I don't need to know yet.*
She closed the journal softly, like it was a secret.
Because it was.
---
Tuesday came with a storm.
Not the kind that poured from the sky—but the kind that brewed in whispers and sideways glances. Lena could feel it the moment she stepped onto campus. Conversations that stopped when she walked past. Eyes that darted away just a second too late.
Someone had seen her and Jace under the bleachers.
Of course they had.
She tried to focus through first period. Math was math—numbers didn't care about high school drama. But even Mr. Carlson seemed to glance at her a little too knowingly, like her name had made it into the faculty lounge grapevine.
By second period, the buzzing was louder.
Amanda caught up with her outside English. "Did you really ride on Jace Rivera's bike?"
Lena blinked. "What?"
"Someone posted about it. On Snap. Said they saw you two leaving together."
Lena's stomach twisted. "We weren't... it wasn't like that."
Amanda tilted her head. "So what was it like?"
"He gave me a ride. That's all."
Amanda nodded, but her voice lowered. "Just be careful, okay? You know how people are."
*Yeah,* Lena thought bitterly. *I do.*
She spent the rest of the day trying not to be seen. Head down. Hood up. Mouth shut.
Jace, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected.
When she passed him in the hallway between third and fourth, he nodded at her like nothing had changed. Like the world wasn't twisting itself into assumptions and headlines. She almost admired it. How he could exist in the chaos and still carry himself like he was immune.
But she wasn't.
By lunch, Lena had skipped the cafeteria entirely and retreated to the library. She tucked herself into one of the far-back booths behind the nonfiction section and pulled out her sketchpad. She hadn't drawn in weeks, but her hands moved instinctively—lines, shadows, pieces of something forming.
It wasn't until halfway through the page that she realized she was sketching a motorcycle.
And a jacket.
And a pair of eyes shaded too carefully to be anyone else's.
She slammed the book shut.
—
The bell rang for last period, and Lena found herself lingering in the hallway, debating whether to just go home. Her thoughts were thick, heavy. Everything felt out of sync.
That's when she heard the shouting.
It was coming from the quad.
She shoved past the nearest doors—and froze.
Jace was standing toe-to-toe with Drew.
Again.
But this time, it wasn't fists. Not yet.
"You need to get your head checked," Drew spat. "Getting soft over a girl?"
"Better than hiding behind locker room jokes and fake laughs."
"At least I don't act like I'm better than everyone."
"You act like you've got anything left to prove. I don't."
Drew lunged, but someone held him back—Coach Navarro maybe, or Mr. Daniels. A crowd was already forming.
Lena's stomach dropped.
She pushed forward, but before she could call out, Jace turned and walked away. Shoulders stiff. Mouth set.
Lena didn't follow.
Not this time.
Not with everyone watching.
---
Lena didn't go straight home after school.
Instead, she took the long way—past the soccer fields, the old bakery with peeling paint, and finally, the back streets where Jace sometimes worked on cars with his uncle. She wasn't planning to find him there. She wasn't planning anything.
She just needed somewhere to breathe.
The shop was half-open, and music leaked out—a low, gritty guitar riff that felt like static in her chest. She hesitated, then stepped inside.
Jace was under the hood of a truck, sleeves rolled up, hands covered in grease. He didn't look surprised to see her.
"Figured you'd be by," he said without looking up.
"Really?"
He nodded. "You always come looking when you've got that tight look on your face."
"What look?"
He wiped his hands on a rag and glanced at her. "Like you're holding your breath."
Lena looked away. "Everyone's talking."
"Let them."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
She crossed her arms. "It's easy for you to say. You already don't care what people think."
"I care," he said, quieter. "I just learned not to let it drown me."
Lena sat on a metal stool near the tool bench. The room smelled like oil and old rubber. She glanced at a photo taped to the wall—a young boy with a wide grin sitting on a bike, helmet too big for his head.
"Is that you?"
Jace followed her gaze. "Yeah. My uncle took it the first time I rode alone."
"You look happy."
"I was."
There was something raw in his voice. Not sad. Not nostalgic. Just *open*.
"I don't get it," she said. "You used to be friends with Drew. You used to have... people."
"I still do," he said. "Just not the ones I thought I needed."
Lena nodded slowly. "I used to think I had people, too."
They sat in silence for a moment, the music still low in the background.
"Hey," Jace said. "I'm sorry. About the attention. The Snap thing. Everything."
She looked at him, surprised. "Why are you apologizing?"
"Because you didn't ask for any of this. And now people are making it into a thing."
"It's not a thing."
He didn't say anything.
"But maybe it could be," she added.
That caught him off guard. He blinked. "Yeah?"
Lena didn't know where the words were coming from. Maybe it was the grease-stained air. Maybe it was the way her heart had been thudding since she saw him walk away from Drew without swinging.
"Not a *thing* like everyone thinks," she clarified. "But a... I don't know. A friendship."
Jace leaned back against the truck, arms crossed. "You sure about that?"
"No."
He laughed, low and warm. "Fair."
"I just know I don't hate you."
"High praise."
"And maybe... I like not hating you."
There was a pause. Then he nodded.
"I can live with that."
They stayed like that for a while—two kids in a half-lit shop, surrounded by tools and tension and the strange relief of honesty.
Eventually, Lena stood. "I should go."
Jace didn't move. "I'll walk you out."
Outside, the clouds had gathered into something threatening. The sky churned in heavy shades of gray.
"Storm's coming," he said.
"Yeah."
He stepped back into the garage as she turned to leave.
"Lena?"
She looked over her shoulder.
"You don't have to hold your breath around me."
She smiled. "Maybe I'll try that."
As she walked into the wind, she realized something. The whispers might continue. The rumors might spread. But in that moment, she felt lighter.
Like maybe, just maybe, she'd found someone who saw the parts of her she wasn't sure anyone else ever had.
And she wasn't ready to run from that.
Not anymore.
---