---
By Tuesday morning, the shift between Lena and Jace had grown so palpable, it hummed between them like a frequency only they could hear.
In the hallways, Jace no longer looked past her. Their eyes met in fleeting seconds, full of meaning. Sometimes he'd brush past her shoulder on purpose. Sometimes she'd let him.
It wasn't anything, not really. Not yet.
But it was something. A ripple.
Lena noticed it first in second-period Chemistry, when Grace leaned over during the partner assignment.
"So… you and Jace," she said, a sly grin playing on her glossed lips. "What's going on there?"
Lena stiffened. "Nothing's going on."
"Right. You just happen to spend every lunch with him now."
"I don't."
"Girl, you sit under the oak tree together like it's *your* spot. You used to sketch alone. Now you sketch with an audience."
Lena tried not to blush, but the heat spread anyway. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Grace rolled her eyes affectionately. "You're allowed to have a crush, Lena. He's hot. And weirdly charming when he's not being a total jerk."
"He's not a jerk."
"Oh my God. You *like* him."
Lena hissed under her breath, "Can we focus on covalent bonds, please?"
Grace grinned. "Fine. But you're telling me everything after class."
But the words stuck in Lena's throat long after Grace dropped the subject. *You like him.*
Did she?
The answer should've been obvious. But nothing about Jace Rivera was ever simple. He wasn't just the guy who used to tease her in freshman year. He wasn't just the aloof athlete with a perfect smirk.
Now, he was the boy who folded her paper stars. Who told her about his father. Who said she was good—at art, at being.
And she couldn't un-feel any of it.
---
Lunch came and went. Jace was absent from the courtyard.
Lena waited for five, then ten minutes, sketchbook unopened beside her. The wind tugged gently at the corner of her sweater, and she tapped her pen against her thigh, listening to the rustle of dry leaves and the low hum of voices drifting from the cafeteria.
He didn't show.
Her chest tightened, just a little. Enough to remind her that hope was a dangerous thing when left unchecked.
By the time the bell rang for fifth period, she'd convinced herself it didn't matter.
But then sixth period came, and Jace slid into his seat in Lit like nothing had happened. His hair was tousled from the wind. His hoodie was wrinkled. He looked tired. Not physically, but emotionally—like he'd been running in his head for hours.
He didn't look at her.
Not once.
The entire class, Lena kept her eyes on the paper in front of her. She was barely aware of what Mr. Branson was saying about the next writing assignment. Her pulse roared in her ears, and her thoughts spiraled like storm clouds.
Did she do something wrong?
Had something changed?
When the bell rang, she bolted from her seat faster than she meant to, her breath tight and quick.
She didn't look back.
---
That evening, Lena sat on her bed, legs curled beneath her, sketchbook open on her lap. But the page remained blank. The lines wouldn't come. Every attempt felt forced.
Her phone buzzed.
**\[7:42 PM — Jace Rivera]**
Sorry I didn't show today. Stuff came up.
Can we talk tomorrow?
She stared at the message. Read it again. And again.
Then slowly typed:
**\[7:43 PM — Lena Carter]**
Sure. Hope everything's okay.
He didn't reply.
Not that night.
---
The next day, they met behind the gym after school, near the field where they'd first started talking. The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting long shadows over the grass.
Jace was already there, hands in his pockets, pacing.
When he saw her, he stopped. "Hey."
Lena offered a tentative smile. "Hey."
There was a beat of silence. Then he sighed.
"I didn't mean to ignore you yesterday."
"It's okay," she said automatically, but even to her, it sounded too easy. Too fake.
"No, it's not," he said. "You were waiting for me."
She looked down at her hands. "It's not like we made plans."
"Still."
Another silence.
He ran a hand through his hair. "My mom lost her job."
Lena looked up.
"I didn't want to tell anyone," he said. "Not even Tyler or Mateo. It's not exactly something you want spreading around school. But I figured... if I'm trying to be honest with you, I shouldn't disappear every time my life implodes."
Lena took a small step closer. "You don't have to explain yourself to me, Jace."
"I *want* to."
She met his eyes then. And something in them—fragile and fierce all at once—held her there.
"I've spent most of my life pretending I'm fine. Pretending I don't care. But you make it hard to lie. Even to myself."
Lena's breath hitched.
"I thought if I just kept everything surface-level, I could control it. But now, I keep thinking about what it means to let someone in. And that maybe… maybe I'm not as okay with being alone as I thought."
The air between them grew still.
"I don't know what we are, Lena. But I know that when I talk to you, it feels *real.* Like more real than anything else in my life."
Lena blinked, the words washing over her like warm rain.
And then, carefully, she stepped forward.
"So don't pull away," she said softly. "Whatever this is… we figure it out. Together."
He looked at her like she'd just given him something sacred.
"I want that," he said.
And for the first time in years, Lena felt seen.
Not just for her art. Or her quietness. Or the mystery people liked to romanticize.
But for *her.*
---
---
**The Ripple (Part 2)**
The days following their heartfelt conversation behind the gym were a whirlwind of emotions for Lena. The once-clear lines between friendship and something more had blurred, leaving her in a state of hopeful confusion.
In the art room, Lena found solace. The familiar scent of paint and the soft scratch of pencils against paper provided a comforting rhythm. She poured her feelings into her sketches—abstract representations of tangled emotions, fleeting glances, and the warmth of unexpected connections.
During lunch, Lena and Jace continued their routine under the old oak tree. Their conversations were a mix of light banter and deeper confessions. Jace shared stories of his childhood, his dreams of traveling, and his love for music. Lena, in turn, opened up about her insecurities, her aspirations, and the solace she found in art.
One afternoon, as they sat beneath the tree, Jace pulled out his phone and played a song he had written. The melody was soft, melancholic, and hauntingly beautiful.
"I wrote this last night," he said, eyes fixed on the screen. "Thought you might like it."
Lena listened intently, the music resonating with her own feelings. "It's beautiful," she whispered. "Thank you for sharing it with me."
Their bond deepened with each passing day, but the high school environment was not without its challenges. Rumors began to circulate—whispers of their growing closeness, speculative glances in the hallways, and subtle comments from classmates.
Grace, ever the observant friend, approached Lena during Chemistry class. "You and Jace seem... different lately," she remarked, a teasing glint in her eyes.
Lena shrugged, trying to play it cool. "We're just friends."
Grace raised an eyebrow. "Sure, if 'just friends' means sharing secret smiles and disappearing together during lunch."
Lena chuckled, but the conversation left her pondering the nature of her relationship with Jace.
One evening, Lena received a text from Jace:
**\[7:42 PM — Jace Rivera]**
"There's a local open mic night this Friday. Thought maybe you'd like to come with me."
Her heart raced as she typed her response:
**\[7:45 PM — Lena Carter]**
"Sounds fun. I'd love to."
The anticipation of the upcoming event added a new layer of excitement to their interactions. They discussed song choices, outfits, and the possibility of Lena showcasing her artwork at the venue.
Friday arrived, and Lena found herself nervously preparing for the evening. She chose a simple yet elegant outfit and packed a few of her favorite sketches to display.
At the venue, a cozy café adorned with fairy lights and eclectic décor, Lena and Jace settled into a corner booth. The atmosphere was vibrant, filled with aspiring artists and supportive audiences.
Jace took the stage, guitar in hand, and performed the song he had shared with Lena. His voice, raw and emotive, captivated the audience. Lena watched, pride swelling in her chest.
After his performance, Jace returned to their table, a shy smile on his face. "What did you think?"
"You were amazing," Lena replied, her eyes shining. "Truly."
Encouraged by the positive energy, Lena decided to display her sketches on a nearby easel. The response was overwhelming—attendees admired her work, offering compliments and inquiries about her artistic process.
As the evening progressed, Lena and Jace found themselves drawn closer, their connection undeniable. They shared stories, laughter, and moments of comfortable silence.
Walking home under the starlit sky, their hands brushed, and Jace gently intertwined his fingers with Lena's.
"I've been wanting to do that for a while," he admitted.
Lena smiled, her heart fluttering. "Me too."
Their steps synchronized, they continued down the path, the night air filled with promise.
---