Later that evening, the house had settled into its usual nighttime rhythm. Their dad was dozing off on the couch with the TV still on, their mom humming while doing the dishes, and Caleb's obnoxious gaming sounds leaked faintly from his room—battle music and the occasional "LET'S GOOO!"
Jenny sat on her bed, knees pulled to her chest, staring blankly at the messages on her phone. She hadn't replied to any. Not Maya. Not even the class group chat. The weight of the day was still clinging to her like fog.
A soft knock on her door.
"It's me," came Rachel's voice.
Jenny sighed. "Come in."
Rachel entered quietly, holding a mug of chamomile tea and wearing her favorite oversized cardigan—the one Jenny always secretly wanted to steal. She handed the mug over wordlessly and sat at the edge of the bed.
Jenny held the warm mug but didn't drink.
Rachel tilted her head. "Want to talk?"
"I don't even know what I'd say," Jenny muttered.
Rachel gave her a patient smile. "That's okay. You don't have to have the perfect words. Just... say what's on your mind."
Jenny hesitated. "I feel stupid."
"You're not."
"I know, but... there's this guy. And today just sucked. People were watching me. Judging. It's like... the second something weird happens, you become everyone's entertainment."
Rachel nodded slowly, not interrupting.
"I just hate feeling so visible," Jenny said. "Like I already don't fit in, and now it's worse."
Rachel was quiet for a moment, then said softly, "High school feels like it's forever when you're in it. Like everything that happens there will follow you the rest of your life. But it doesn't."
Jenny looked at her.
"I know that doesn't help much now," Rachel said. "But I promise, someday you'll laugh at half the things that feel huge right now. And the rest? You'll grow past them. You'll find your people, your voice... and trust me, guys like him? They're not the end of your story."
Jenny cracked a small smile. "You're annoyingly wise, you know that?"
Rachel smirked. "Occupational hazard. Comes with being amazing."
They sat in silence for a moment, the warm tea between Jenny's hands and the weight in her chest just a little lighter.
"Thanks," she murmured.
Rachel stood and squeezed her shoulder gently. "Get some rest. And remember—next time Caleb says anything about boys, just remind him he once cried because his Minecraft dog fell off a cliff."
Jenny laughed, genuinely this time. "Noted."
------
Jeremy lay sprawled across his bed, one arm draped over his eyes, the soft hum of his ceiling fan slicing through the silence of his room. His phone buzzed somewhere near his pillow, but he didn't reach for it. Not in the mood for the group chat, or Maximus's stupid memes, or Ashley's string of "u up?" texts.
He exhaled deeply.
He hadn't seen Jenny after Mr. Jack's class, and that weird feeling still hadn't gone away. That dull, uncomfortable twist in his gut. Like guilt... but for what? A candy stunt? A dumb moment of not knowing how to act when she looked at him like that?
"She always looks at me like I'm something she has to figure out," he muttered to the ceiling. "Like I'm... a puzzle she doesn't even want to solve."
The worst part? He didn't hate it.
There was a soft knock on his door before it creaked open. Maximus leaned in, already shirtless like he owned the place, holding a bag of chips and wearing that same smug grin he'd had since stepping off the plane.
"You dying in here or what?" Max asked, tossing a chip into his mouth.
Jeremy sat up with a groan. "What do you want?"
"To hang, obviously. You disappeared after dinner. Thought I'd come rescue you from your brooding cave."
Jeremy rolled his eyes. "It's not a cave. It's a room. And I'm not brooding."
Maximus sauntered in anyway and flopped onto the beanbag near the desk. "Sure, sure. Not brooding. Just lying in the dark like a vampire with emotional issues."
Jeremy didn't respond.
Max crunched loudly. "So... who's the girl?"
Jeremy stiffened. "What?"
"Come on, man. I've been here two seconds and I can already tell something's up. You're all moody, didn't even finish your dinner—which, by the way, was amazing—and you've got that look."
"What look?"
Max smirked. "The I'm-in-denial-about-my-crush look. Classic."
Jeremy grabbed a pillow and lobbed it at him. "Shut up."
Max dodged effortlessly. "You can lie to yourself, bro, but I've seen it a hundred times. Trust me—girls don't make you this miserable unless they mean something."
Jeremy fell back on his bed again, silent.
Max chuckled, standing. "Just sayin'. Mystery girl got you twisted. Might wanna do something about that."
When the door finally clicked shut behind Max, Jeremy stared at the ceiling again, his expression unreadable.
"What is wrong with me?" he whispered.
But the answer didn't come.
Only the ghost of a look in Jenny's eyes—soft, confused, a little sad—lingered with him, long after the lights went out.
The next morning at school came faster than Jenny would've liked.
She stood in front of her locker, pretending to rummage through her books while secretly trying to keep her head down. The hallway was alive with its usual chatter—shoes squeaking on tile floors, lockers slamming, people laughing at jokes she wasn't part of.
She hadn't spoken to Maya yet. Part of her wanted to, the other part just wanted to disappear into her textbooks until graduation.
"Morning, zombie," Maya greeted, appearing beside her out of nowhere with a bag of powdered donuts.
Jenny blinked. "Hey."
Maya tilted her head. "You look like you fought sleep and lost. Everything okay?"
Jenny gave a half-smile. "Just... didn't sleep great."
Maya didn't push, just offered her the bag. "Sugar therapy?"
Jenny took one and nodded, grateful.
As they made their way to class, she could feel it again—that quiet, invisible pressure in the air. A few glances. A whispered comment. Someone probably mentioned the letter. The way Jeremy looked at her. High school gossip had faster wings than truth.
Jenny slid into her seat before the bell rang. Mr. Delroy walked in right after, arms full of notes and that familiar caffeine-fueled energy that meant a pop quiz might be incoming.
Across the room, Jeremy was already in his seat.
He didn't look at her. Not at first.
But as Mr. Delroy started talking, their eyes met—just for a second.
And Jenny looked away.
She didn't want to guess what that glance meant anymore.
------
Meanwhile, from Jeremy's side of the room…
He'd barely heard a word Mr. Delroy had said in the last five minutes.
His eyes kept drifting toward her—Jenny.
She hadn't looked at him all morning, except for that brief flash. Not even the usual awkward glance when their paths crossed in the hallway.
He hated it.
It was dumb. He shouldn't care. But he did.
His mind played back everything from yesterday. The letter. The silence. Her disappearing act after class.
He had made up his mind last night. After Maximus had poked too many holes in his "I-don't-care" bubble, Jeremy had decided that today... he would apologize.
He just didn't know how.
And somehow, that was the worst part.
--------
The last bell of the day rang, dragging everyone into Mr. Jack's literature class like sleepy cattle. The air was thick with end-of-day restlessness—backpacks half-zipped, sneakers dragging on tile, yawns not even half-hidden.
Jenny slid into her seat near the window, her expression neutral but tired. Her book from lunch still sat in her bag, unread. She hadn't seen Maya since earlier, but just as she was settling in, her friend dropped into the desk beside her with a quiet, "Hey."
Jenny glanced at her. Maya didn't push, just offered a tiny, knowing smile—the kind that said I saw, but I'm not going to make you talk about it right now. Jenny gave a tight nod in return.
Jeremy slouched into the room a few seconds later, earbuds half-dangling and expression unreadable. He didn't even look in Jenny's direction, but his jaw was still tight from lunch. He hated how much that scene with Ashley was playing on loop in his head.
Mr. Jack shuffled in with his usual flair—lopsided tie, a tote bag full of papers, and a tired but amused look on his face. He dropped the bag by his desk and clapped his hands once.
"Alright, my favorite hormonal tornadoes, let's talk literature."
A few groans.
He grinned. "Today's topic: unreliable narrators. Also known as every single one of you when your parents ask how school's going."
That earned a few laughs. Even Jenny blinked a little slower, almost like a smile had tried to show up but got lost on the way.
Mr. Jack grabbed a chalk marker and scribbled on the board: Truth, Lies, and the Gray In-Between.
"See, sometimes the story you tell isn't the real one. Sometimes, it's just the one you're ready to hear."
He turned to the class, arms crossed. "Ever told someone you're fine when you were, in fact, the exact opposite of fine? Raise your hand."
Half the class raised their hands. Jenny didn't, but she did glance at her desk.
"Exactly," Mr. Jack said, nodding. "Even our boy Holden Caulfield couldn't tell you what was eating him half the time. Just a whole lot of sarcasm and dodging real feelings."
Jeremy tapped his pen against his notebook, eyes flickering toward Jenny just once—long enough to notice her stillness, how her hands stayed clenched in her lap the whole time.
Mr. Jack continued, "The point is, people aren't always good at telling their own truths. That doesn't make them liars. Just... complicated."
A pause. The class was quieter than usual.
Then he added with a smirk, "And if any of you try to write your essay in emoji, I swear I will mail it to your grandparents."
That earned a full laugh, even from Maya. Jenny let out a quiet breath. Not a laugh, but something close.
As the period ticked on, the atmosphere slowly shifted—less tension, more grounding. Even Jenny felt a little more human by the time the bell rang again.
Maya gave her a soft nudge as they packed up. "You okay?"
Jenny nodded vaguely. "Yeah. Just tired."
From across the room, Jeremy watched them go, arms folded. He said nothing. Did nothing.
But his thoughts screamed something else entirely.
That evening, Jeremy sat on the roof.
It was a habit he'd picked up years ago—climbing out of his window and onto the flat part above the garage when the house got too loud or his thoughts got too crowded. Tonight, it was both.
The sky was painted in streaks of orange and fading purple, a few stars daring to blink awake. The distant buzz of traffic and crickets filled the air, but all Jeremy could hear was the silence between two people who hadn't really spoken all week.
He leaned back on his elbows, one earbud in, the other dangling. His playlist was halfway through a song he wasn't listening to.
He kept replaying lunch in his head. Ashley's voice. Jenny's silence. The way she stared at her book like it could shield her from the world.
Jeremy exhaled hard through his nose. Why do I care?
That question had been repeating itself like a stuck record.
It wasn't like he and Jenny were close. Half the time, they barely exchanged more than a few sentences. But that moment—seeing her like that—it had done something weird to him. Stirred something in his chest he didn't have the vocabulary for.
He didn't like the way Ashley talked to her. And he hated that he hadn't stepped in.
"Not my business," he muttered aloud, like saying it would make it true.
Maximus had offered to hang out earlier, but Jeremy had waved him off. He wasn't in the mood for dumb memes or flirty Instagram DMs. Not tonight.
He stared up at the sky, the stars slowly sharpening above him.
What was it about Jenny that kept creeping into his head?
Maybe it was the way she always looked like she was trying to disappear in plain sight. Or how she kept her voice low in class but had this calm sharpness when she did speak. Or maybe it was that candy letter thing—how he'd read it a dozen times like it would reveal some kind of secret he'd missed.
He rubbed a hand over his face. "Get a grip."
But he didn't move. Didn't go back inside. Just stayed there, under the sky, trying to untangle thoughts that didn't make sense.
And somewhere in all that confusion, one truth stuck out like a sore thumb:
He didn't want to see her hurt again.
Jenny lay in bed, cocooned in her blanket like it might shield her from the world. The soft glow of her bedside lamp barely lit the corners of her room, and the shadows danced across her posters and bookshelves. Outside, the wind whispered against the windowpane, a steady hush-hush-hush like the night was trying to soothe her.
But her mind wasn't ready to rest.
She stared at the ceiling, eyes unfocused, her phone forgotten on the pillow beside her. Maya had texted earlier, checking in. Jenny hadn't replied yet. Not because she didn't care—but because she didn't know how to say I'm okay without lying.
Her thoughts wandered back to lunch. Ashley's words still echoed like poison. Next time you want to confess something to a guy, maybe don't make it look like a joke...
Jenny closed her eyes, breathing through the sting in her chest.
Why did it matter so much?
It wasn't like she actually had feelings for Jeremy. At least… she didn't think she did. He wasn't even nice to her most of the time. He barely spoke to her before the letter. And yet… something about the way he'd looked at her that day, confused but not cruel, had stayed with her.
And that silence afterward? The fact that he never acknowledged it, never teased her, never said anything at all?
That silence hurt more than anything Ashley had thrown at her.
Jenny turned onto her side, pulling her blanket tighter.
Maybe Rachel was right. Maybe high school really did feel bigger than it was. Maybe one day this would just be a funny memory. But right now, it felt like she was trapped in a spotlight she never asked for.
She reached for her sketchpad from under the bed. Her comfort place.
With soft strokes of her pencil, she started drawing—not anything specific, just motion, lines, shadow. Letting the quiet settle around her. Letting her hand speak what her voice couldn't.
By the time her eyes started to droop, the sketchpad rested on her chest—half-finished lines of a boy sitting under a tree, his face turned away.
Jenny didn't need to admit who it was.
Not out loud.