The storm that had cut power at Crestwood High lingered into the night, leaving the town shrouded in damp silence. The streets glistened under the faint glow of streetlamps, and the air smelled of wet asphalt and ozone.
Lily Dawson lay in bed, her body stiff beneath the covers, but her mind refused rest. Her thoughts kept circling back to Jason—his words, his stare, the way his presence seemed to unravel her carefully constructed mask.
She hated it.
And yet… she craved it.
Every look, every unspoken exchange between them carried more weight than anything she had ever experienced. Her games had always been solitary, her mask impenetrable. But Jason had pierced it with nothing more than a glance, a whispered phrase, a folded note.
I should hate him, she thought, her nails digging into her palm beneath the blanket. He's a threat. He sees too much. He could ruin me.
But the image of his eyes in the flickering lightning—calm, unwavering, almost daring—slid into her thoughts again, and her breath caught in her throat.
He sees me.
The next day, Lily arrived at school with her mask firmly in place. Hair neatly brushed, posture composed, smile soft and practiced. No storm could reach her here.
Or so she thought.
Jason was already waiting. Not for her—not openly—but his presence lingered at the far end of the hallway like a shadow she couldn't shake. He leaned against the lockers, talking casually to Marcus, his teammate. But when Lily passed, Jason's eyes flicked to hers for the briefest second.
The contact was enough to send a shiver down her spine.
She looked away quickly, forcing her pace to remain steady.
No, she told herself firmly. I won't let him get inside me. I control the game. Always.
But the truth gnawed at her: she had already let him in.
English class brought the storm back into her chest. Mr. Holloway's lecture blurred into background noise as Jason sat two rows behind her again, the weight of his gaze heavy, deliberate.
She tried to ignore it, her pen scratching words across her notebook—words she didn't fully register. Her mind screamed at her to resist, to maintain control, to stay hidden.
But then she felt it. A slip of paper nudged against her elbow.
Her pulse quickened. She waited a full thirty seconds before daring to glance down.
The note was folded neatly, his handwriting precise as always.
You can't fight gravity forever.
Lily's throat tightened. She gripped the paper so hard it crumpled in her hand, fighting the urge to turn around, to meet his eyes, to demand answers.
Instead, she slipped the note into her notebook and kept writing, her words sharper, darker.
Gravity pulls everything down eventually. Even him.