New story đź’” đź’” 2
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POV: Ava Carter
Saturday at noon came and went—and I did not show up.
Not because I forgot. Oh no. I remembered. Every. Single. Second.
I sat on my bed, phone in hand, staring at his last message:
Jace: Still good for noon? Bring snacks or don't bother.
I chose the third option: don't bother and don't bring snacks.
Why? Because something about walking into Jace Collins' house, his territory, made my skin crawl. I could practically hear the smug satisfaction in his voice already, like he'd won a battle I never agreed to fight.
So, I stayed home. Studied. Cleaned my room. Reorganized my closet by color and mood—because apparently rage-red hoodies belong nowhere near passive-aggressive gray sweaters.
And then I ignored the two texts he sent after I didn't show.
Jace: Wow. Really?
Jace: Good to know who I'm working with.
Yeah, well, ditto, Collins.
By Monday morning, I'd almost convinced myself it wasn't a big deal.
That illusion lasted until second period.
The second I stepped into AP Government, Jace looked up from his desk, his jaw tight, lips pressed in a line that didn't match his usual smirk. I froze. That expression wasn't amused or smug. It was pissed. And controlled.
Mr. Hawkins, bless him, gave me a break by launching into a lecture about civic responsibility. But the second the bell rang, Jace was in my space.
"You flaked."
I didn't even get a chance to breathe. "Excuse me?"
"Saturday. My place. You ghosted me." His voice was low, too calm, which somehow made it worse.
I shrugged and started walking. "Something came up."
"Right," he said, falling into step beside me. "Like your pride."
I stopped and turned sharply, forcing him to halt mid-stride.
"Maybe I didn't feel like walking into your smug little kingdom just to be mocked and bossed around."
He raised an eyebrow. "You think I was gonna mock you?"
"I know you, Jace."
"No, Carter," he said, and this time his voice lost the calm edge. "You think you do. But you didn't even give me a chance."
Students brushed past us in the hall, some glancing our way. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks but held my ground.
"I gave you six years of chances," I snapped. "And every time, you found a new way to be a pain."
Jace scoffed, stepping back. "Cool. So we're dragging middle school into senior year now?"
"I'm dragging everything," I said. "Including that time you stole my flash drive before the debate finals."
He blinked. "Oh my God, you still think I did that?"
"Because you did!"
He laughed—actually laughed. "No, I didn't! That was Emily. She told me two years ago, but sure, blame me. It's easier, right?"
The words hit harder than I expected, and for a second, my throat tightened. Emily. My old lab partner. My friend.
But I didn't let it show.
"You know what? Doesn't matter," I said, walking away.
But Jace wasn't done.
"You're afraid," he called. "That's what this is. You can't stand the idea that maybe I'm not the villain in your story."
I stopped—but I didn't turn. Because if I did, he'd see the flicker of doubt that had just cracked through my carefully built walls.
Not the villain.
The idea lodged in my chest like a splinter.
POV: Ava Carter
I kept walking. Fast.
He didn't follow, thank God. I ducked into the nearest restroom and gripped the edge of the sink, forcing myself to breathe. My reflection looked like it wanted to slap me.
"You're afraid."
No, I wasn't.
I wasn't afraid. I was cautious. Strategic. Smart. Cautious people didn't walk into enemy territory without a battle plan. And they certainly didn't get distracted by blue eyes and veins that popped just right when he was angry.
Focus, Ava.
---
By lunch, the entire school knew we'd fought in the hallway.
"You guys are like a reality show," Layla said, sitting across from me at our usual table. "I swear someone should start live-streaming you."
"Over my dead Wi-Fi," I muttered, poking at my pasta.
"So what happened? I thought you were going to his house."
I sighed. "I bailed."
She blinked. "Okay... Why?"
I hesitated. "Because I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. I thought he'd be waiting with popcorn and a smug smirk, ready to gloat."
Layla gave me that look—the one that said I was overthinking again.
"But maybe," she said carefully, "he really was just trying to get the project started?"
I didn't answer. Because that's the thing with Layla—she was always too reasonable for my rage.
Instead, I glanced over my shoulder. Across the cafeteria, Jace sat at his usual table, laughing with Sam and Ash. But every so often, I caught him glancing my way—and each time, the laugh faded a little quicker.
I turned back to my tray, appetite gone.
---
By the time we had Leadership class—where the dreaded community project was actually graded—I braced for disaster. The teacher, Ms. Reeds, was the kind of woman who smiled like she wanted to be your friend and gave out D's like candy. She didn't do excuses.
"So," she said, hands clasped in front of her, "how are our partnerships progressing?"
There was a hum of positivity around the room. A few hands shot up. One couple had already picked out a project theme. Another had made a slideshow.
And then there was us.
Ms. Reeds smiled at me. "Ava? Jace? Progress report?"
I sat up straighter. "We've begun discussions and brainstorming. Still narrowing down ideas."
"Really?" she said, tilting her head. "Because Jace told me on Saturday you didn't meet."
I turned, startled. Jace was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, unreadable.
"That true?" Ms. Reeds asked me gently.
Heat rose to my cheeks. I forced a smile. "I wasn't able to make it. But we've been communicating."
It was a half-truth. A stretch. But not a lie.
"Interesting," she said, scribbling a note on her clipboard. "I expect a joint project outline by the end of this term. No exceptions."
"Understood," I said tightly.
Class moved on, but I didn't hear a word. I was too busy staring at the side of Jace's face, willing him to look at me, to say something, anything. But he didn't. Not until we were dismissed.
Then he brushed past me, leaned in, and whispered, "Don't worry. I told her I'd carry the team."
I spun on my heel. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
"That's not what happened."
"No," he said, turning to face me. "What happened is you ditched me, lied to a teacher, and now you're pissed because you got caught."
My jaw clenched. "You made me look like a slacker."
"You did that on your own."
Students were shuffling out around us, but I didn't care. I squared my shoulders. "You think you're so above everyone, don't you?"
"Actually," he said, voice low, "I think I'm tired of chasing someone who refuses to meet me halfway."
I faltered. "Chasing?"
He exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. "Forget it."
"No—say it. What does that even mean?"
He shook his head, then turned and walked away. Just like that.
---
The worst part?
He didn't text me all week.
Not a single word.
Not a "you ready for to start planning for the project?"
Not a "let's meet and plan."
Not even a meme.
And as much as I hated to admit it… that silence gnawed at me.
At 9:16 PM, I caved.
Me: Fine. I messed up.
Me: Can we meet at lunch tomorrow and throw something together?
Me: Please?
I stared at the screen, waiting.
Nothing.
I waited five more minutes.
Still nothing.
"Ughhh," I groaned, falling backward on my bed and covering my face with my arm.
I hated him. Hated how he always got under my skin. Hated how he could ignore me and I'd still care.
But mostly, I hated myself—for starting to wonder what would happen if we weren't always at war.
---
Friday lunch.
I sat at our usual table, waiting.
At 12:10, no Jace.
At 12:17, still no Jace.
By 12:23, I was about to explode.
When he finally walked in, he didn't come straight to me. He went to the vending machine. Took his sweet time picking a drink. Finally, at 12:27, he strolled over and sat down across from me like he wasn't twenty minutes late.
"You're late," I snapped.
He cracked open his soda. "So were you. Last weekend."
I closed my eyes. "Can we not do this now?"
He didn't answer.
I reached into my bag and pulled out a crumpled page of scribbled ideas. "Okay. So I came up with a few concepts last night. We could—"
He held up a hand.
I stopped.
"I already turned it in."
I blinked. "You what?"
"The outline. I turned it in during homeroom. I figured you'd flake again."
For a moment, I couldn't breathe. "Without telling me?"
He nodded. Calm. Unapologetic. "Yup."
"Jace—what the hell?"
He leaned back in his seat. "Relax. I put both our names on it."
"That's not the point!"
"No, the point is I'm not gonna fail because you've got commitment issues."
I stood up so fast my chair scraped. "You don't know anything about me."
He met my eyes then, voice low and firm. "I know you don't let people close. I know you always have an exit plan. And I know you're scared of losing control."
I didn't answer.
I couldn't.
Because the worst part—the absolute worst part—was that he was right.
I snatched my bag and walked out of the cafeteria without another word.
And for the first time in six years of knowing Jace Collins, I didn't feel victorious when I left him behind.
I felt... hollow.