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The Monday after the showcase dawned with a muted gray sky, casting a subdued light over Jefferson High. Lena stood at the threshold of the school's main entrance, her sketchbook clutched tightly against her chest. The echoes of the weekend's events lingered in her mind—the compliments, the curious glances, and most vividly, the quiet support Jace had offered.
As she navigated the bustling corridors, Lena couldn't help but notice the subtle shifts in her surroundings. Students who once overlooked her now offered nods of acknowledgment; teachers greeted her with newfound warmth. It was as if the mural had peeled back a layer, revealing a version of Lena that had always been there but remained unseen.
In the art room, Ms. Thompson approached her with a gentle smile. "Your mural has sparked conversations, Lena. It's resonated with many."
Lena offered a modest nod, her fingers tracing the edge of her sketchbook. "Thank you. It means a lot."
Later, during lunch, Lena found herself seated under the old oak tree in the courtyard—a spot she'd often retreated to for solace. The rustling leaves whispered secrets, and the distant chatter of students formed a comforting backdrop. She opened her sketchbook, letting her pencil dance across the pages, capturing fragments of thoughts and emotions.
A shadow fell over her page, and she looked up to find Jace standing there, hands in his pockets, a hesitant smile on his lips.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked.
She gestured to the space beside her, and he settled down, the proximity between them charged with unspoken words.
They sat in silence for a while, the kind that felt comfortable, even necessary. Finally, Jace broke it.
"Your mural... it's more than just art. It's a window into your soul."
Lena glanced at him, surprised by his vulnerability. "I didn't expect it to have such an impact."
He chuckled softly. "Sometimes, the things we create hold more power than we realize."
Their eyes met, and in that moment, a silent understanding passed between them—a recognition of shared experiences, of battles fought in silence, and of the courage it took to bare one's soul.
As the bell signaled the end of lunch, they stood up, neither wanting to break the connection but knowing they had to return to the rhythm of the day.
"See you in Lit," Jace said, his gaze lingering.
Lena nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips. "See you."
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**Unspoken (Part 2)**
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the narrow windows of their Literature classroom, catching dust motes in the air like falling stars. Lena sat at her usual seat by the window, her notebook open but untouched. Across the room, Jace leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head like he had nothing to prove.
He looked different now—not in how he dressed or talked, but in how he carried himself. Less armor. More openness. And she realized: it wasn't that he had changed. It was that she had started *seeing* him.
Mr. Branson's voice droned on about metaphors in *The Catcher in the Rye*, but Lena wasn't listening. Not really. She was tracing patterns in the margin of her notebook. Lines. Shadows. A figure leaning against a tree. And a second figure walking up to it, hesitant but unafraid.
Halfway through class, a folded note landed on her desk with a flick of a practiced wrist. She looked up—Jace gave her a tiny shrug.
She waited until Mr. Branson turned to write something on the board before unfolding it.
**You're drawing.
You always draw when you're thinking about something that scares you.
Wanna talk after school?**
—J
She stared at the note, unsure how to respond. But her pencil moved almost on its own.
**Okay. But only if you tell me something you've never told anyone.**
She slid the note back when she walked by his desk to sharpen her pencil—an excuse, but a good one.
When class ended, Jace met her at her locker like it was the most natural thing in the world. They didn't say much, just walked the same direction without needing to plan it. Past the music room. Past the back exit. Into the open field behind the school where no one really went except the soccer team—and they had an away game that day.
The field was wide, edged with trees that had just started turning gold. Lena dropped her bag by the roots of one and sat, cross-legged, watching Jace kick a few pebbles before settling beside her.
They didn't talk right away. The silence between them wasn't awkward—it felt like stretching after being cooped up all day.
Eventually, Jace turned to her.
"You first," he said.
Lena smirked. "That's not what the note said."
"I'm modifying the rules."
"You're such a control freak."
"Only when I care about the outcome."
That silenced her. Because what did that mean? That this moment mattered? That she mattered?
He seemed to realize what he'd said and rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay. Something I've never told anyone."
He lay back in the grass, one arm folded under his head.
"My dad doesn't live with us. Not because of some dramatic divorce or anything like that. He just… kind of disappeared one day."
Lena blinked. "What do you mean disappeared?"
"I mean he left. No note. No explanation. Just gone. I was eight." His voice was calm, but not emotionless. Like he'd sanded down the pain to something manageable. "And ever since, I've been the 'man of the house.' Except I never asked to be. And I suck at it."
She turned toward him fully now, the autumn light brushing her face. "You don't suck."
"You don't know that."
"I'm starting to."
He looked over at her, like her words had weight. Then he smiled a little, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Your turn," he said.
Lena hugged her knees. "I think I'm scared of being *good* at something. Like if I'm actually good, then people will expect more. And what if I can't give it?"
Jace nodded slowly. "So you sabotage yourself before anyone else gets the chance to?"
Her throat tightened. "Yeah."
"You are good," he said softly. "At art. At—being."
The way he said it made her chest twist.
They were quiet again, until a bird chirped overhead and broke the moment.
He nudged her with his shoulder. "Okay. Your turn to ask something impossible."
She thought for a second. "What's the one thing you want that you don't think you deserve?"
He exhaled slowly, like she'd hit a nerve.
"I want someone to choose me. Not because they have to. Not out of guilt. Just… because they want to."
His words hung in the air like fog.
Lena swallowed. "What makes you think you don't deserve that?"
He shrugged. "I've messed up a lot. And I've never been the kind of person people pick first."
She wanted to say *I would*. But the words stayed behind her teeth.
Instead, she leaned back beside him, looking at the clouds.
After a while, she whispered, "I don't think anyone gets through high school without some scars."
He turned his head toward her, brows raised. "Is that your version of comforting me?"
She smiled. "It's my version of telling you you're not alone."
They stayed like that until the sky turned pink, and the wind picked up. When they finally stood, Jace surprised her by pulling something out of his jacket pocket.
It was a folded paper star.
"For you," he said simply. "To remind you you're not invisible anymore."
She took it, her fingers brushing his. "Thanks."
They didn't say goodbye.
They just walked back together.
And for the first time in a long time, Lena didn't feel like she had to hide who she was.
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