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**Part 1: A Question of Quiet**
The Monday after the bonfire felt strangely muted.
Lena Carter sat by the window in homeroom, chin propped on her palm, watching the flag outside barely flutter against the breeze. The sun was out—too bright for how dull everything felt in her chest. She was tired, but not in the physical sense. It was like her brain had hit pause on everything except the hum of thoughts she hadn't invited. Most of them led back to Jace Rivera.
They hadn't spoken since the bonfire.
She didn't know why that mattered so much. It wasn't like she owed him anything. Not friendship, not explanation, not whatever it was that had passed between them when the world had gone quiet behind the fence line and the night had folded around their shoulders like a secret.
Except… she did owe him something, didn't she?
She hadn't texted him back. Not after that half-message he'd sent at 1:12 AM: *"I didn't mean to mess everything up. Just—nevermind."*
And that was it. No follow-up. No morning nod in the hallway. Nothing.
"Earth to Lena."
She blinked, pulled back from the window. Jamie, her lab partner-slash-half-friend, raised her brows at her from across the desk.
"You good?"
Lena straightened. "Yeah. Just tired."
"Didn't sleep?"
"Something like that."
Jamie studied her a beat longer, then didn't press. Lena appreciated that. She wasn't ready to untangle the snarl of everything that had happened—the almost-kiss, the laugh that turned into something too quiet, the long silence that followed.
Mr. Travers started calling names for attendance. Lena answered to hers but barely heard the rest. The day dripped forward like thick syrup. None of her classes meant anything. The words on the board blurred together. Teachers talked like they were underwater.
By lunch, she found herself walking to the far bench behind the auditorium, the one no one really used because the birds liked it too much. She didn't care. She needed space. She needed to not pretend to smile for Natalie or laugh with Greg or avoid Jace like a shadow in her peripheral vision.
When she sat, her phone buzzed.
**Jace**: *You're avoiding me.*
Lena stared at the text. No hello. No how are you. Just that.
She didn't respond immediately. Instead, she read it again, slower.
He wasn't wrong.
She typed: *Maybe.*
Pause.
Then added: *I don't know how to talk to you right now.*
The reply came faster than she expected.
**Jace**: *So talk anyway.*
Another buzz.
**Jace**: *I'll meet you at the old court after school.*
She knew what court he meant. The abandoned basketball court at Eastfield Park, where the fence was rusted and the pavement cracked through the middle. No one went there. It was quiet.
Still, she didn't type yes.
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**Part 2: Cracks in the Silence**
Eastfield Park was quieter than Lena remembered.
The metal gate at the entrance groaned when she pushed it open, scraping along the ground like it hadn't been moved in months. She hadn't been here since freshman year, back when her world felt smaller and simpler—before everything had started changing in pieces she couldn't quite track. The court lay in disrepair, faded lines, rusted hoops, and a tree branch stretching out like a tired arm across one edge. The silence was the kind that had weight.
Jace was already there, sitting on the edge of the court with his knees pulled up, arms resting on them. He didn't look up at first. Just stared at the worn cement like it held answers he hadn't figured out how to ask for yet.
Lena stopped a few feet away.
"I didn't say I'd come."
He didn't flinch. "But you did."
She crossed her arms. "Yeah. I guess I did."
Jace looked up then, eyes more tired than she expected. Not the kind of tired that came from sleeplessness, but from something deeper—like he'd been carrying too many things for too long.
"I didn't mean to make things weird," he said finally. "That night—at the bonfire—I wasn't trying to confuse you."
"You didn't confuse me."
He raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"
Lena looked away. The wind tugged at her hair, and she pushed it behind her ear. "Okay, maybe a little."
There was a long pause.
Jace stood slowly, brushing off his jeans. "I just thought you should know I wasn't messing with you. What I said that night... I meant it. All of it."
"You barely said anything," she shot back, more defensive than she meant to be.
"Exactly." He gave a short laugh. "And I've been kicking myself ever since."
That made her pause. "Why?"
"Because I didn't say enough. Because I've spent so much time acting like this whole thing between us didn't matter, and then the second I got close to actually being honest, I panicked. I froze. And I let you walk away."
Lena's chest tightened. She hated how true that sounded. Hated how much it mirrored the echo inside her—wanting to be close, but never sure how to be.
"I don't know what this is," she said quietly. "I don't know what I want it to be."
"Me neither," he admitted. "But I know I don't want to keep pretending I hate you when I don't."
She looked at him then, really looked—at the way he stood like he was afraid to step too close, like this moment might break if he moved wrong. And suddenly, she remembered all the times he'd looked at her over the past year—quick glances, stupid comments that held weight, silences that weren't empty but too full.
"I don't hate you either," she said.
A breeze blew through the trees overhead. The branches creaked softly, and the world felt still in a way Lena hadn't felt in weeks.
"I think…" she began, then stopped. The words were hard, slippery. "I think I'm scared."
Jace's voice was softer now. "Of what?"
"That if I let you in, everything will change. And I don't know if I'm ready for that."
"It already changed," he said. "You just didn't notice."
Lena laughed under her breath, bitter and surprised. "You're annoying."
He smiled. "I know."
They stood there for a while, the distance between them a line drawn in chalk—easy to cross, but not quite erased.
After a long moment, Jace asked, "Can I walk you home?"
Lena hesitated. Then nodded.
They didn't talk much on the way back. Just walked in a kind of silence that felt… different. Not awkward. Not tense. Just shared. Like they were both letting themselves exist beside each other without trying too hard to define it.
When they reached her block, Lena stopped at the corner.
"This doesn't mean anything," she said quickly. "Not yet."
"I know."
"But maybe it could."
Jace met her eyes. "Yeah. Maybe."
And then he left.
Not with a wave. Not with a smirk. Just a glance back that held something she wasn't ready to name.
Not yet.
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