Chapter 5: Burn, Bit*h, Burn
1570 Words
I finish the last page of The Fault in Our Stars, set it down on my bed, and stare at the ceiling with absolutely wrecked eyes and a pile of soggy tissues that could fill a small bucket.
Nobody warned me. Nobody.
I knew it was sad. I didn't know it was destroy your entire afternoon and question the meaning of joy sad. I press the back of my hand to my eyes and take a dramatic, shuddering breath. Augustus Waters deserved better. I deserved better. I'm never reading a sad book again. I don't care how good the reviews are. Five stars? Cool. Did the main
character live? No? Hard pass.
I change into denim shorts, yank my earbuds in, and holler down the stairs.
"Mom! Cole! Going to Piedmont for a walk!"
"Be careful!" Mom calls from the living room where the TV is running at full volume because apparently she's
physically incapable of turning it down.
"Don't kiss strangers!" Cole shouts from behind his half-open door. "Don't fall on your face! Don't lick anything off a
park bench!"
"Go touch grass, Cole!" I slam the front door before he can respond.
❖❖❖❖❖
I'm twenty minutes into my playlist — somewhere between Olivia Rodrigo and a full mental recap of the last week — when I walk directly into what feels like a very warm, very solid wall.
Except walls don't have arms. Or dimples.
"Whoa — hey, I'm sorry—"
I look up.
Oh.
Okay. So. He is — objectively — really, really good-looking. Dark eyes with these flecks of grey in them, slightly
curly golden-brown hair, a jaw that belongs in a cologne ad. He's smiling apologetically and that dimple on his left cheek is doing something genuinely illegal.
"No, it's my fault," I manage, pulling out one earbud like a functional human. "I wasn't watching where I was going."
"Same." He grins. Easy and warm, nothing like — well. Nothing like the smirks I've been on the receiving end of
lately. "You go to school around here?"
"Northside Academy." I tilt my head. "You?"
"Riverside Prep."
My eyes go wide. "Our rival."
He laughs — full and genuine — and something in my chest goes oh. "Schools are rivals. We don't have to be." He
shrugs and holds out a hand. "I'm Seth."
"I'm—" My phone buzzes. I ignore it. "Interesting. Tell me more about yourself, Seth."
❖❖❖❖❖
Turns out Seth O'Connor is funny, easy to talk to, and doesn't say anything infuriating once in the entire hour and
forty minutes we spend walking the park path. Not once. No nicknames, no smirks, no unsolicited commentary on
my personality. Just conversation and that dimple and his actual laugh.
It's alarming how normal it feels.
My phone lights up for the fourth time and I finally look at the screen.
COLE: 5 MINUTES. I AM NOT JOKING. I WILL COME FIND YOU AND IT WILL BE EMBARRASSING FOR BOTH OF US BUT MOSTLY YOU.
"I have to go." I grimace. "My brother operates on a fifteen-minute curfew and I have apparently burned through all
of it."
Seth laughs. "He sounds intense."
"He's a lot." I start backing away. "It was really nice running into you. Literally."
"Wait — I don't even know your name."
I grin, already jogging backward. "Figure it out."
"That's not—how am I supposed to—"
But I'm already gone, feeling unreasonably smug and secretly, desperately hoping he tries.
❖❖❖❖❖
The next day, The Commons is its usual chaotic self.
"She's glaring at you again." Jess murmurs from beside me, not even looking up from her phone.
I don't need to ask who. I already feel it — that particular brand of targeted heat boring into the side of my face.
Adriana Chase.
Northside's reigning queen, center table, surrounded by her usual court — three girls who never disagree with her
and four football players who compete for her attention. Adriana is the kind of beautiful that makes you forget she just said something cruel. Sharp cheekbones, perfect posture, a smile that's always one second away from becoming a weapon.
And for three years — three years — I've never been able to figure out exactly what I did to land on her hit list.
"Maybe you breathed wrong," Liam offers helpfully, sipping his Coke.
"Really helpful, thanks."
"Your student's finally here." Brooke's voice shifts and I follow her line of sight.
Blake is across the Commons, locked in what is very clearly a heated argument with Mason. His jaw is tight, hands moving sharp and short — not wild, never wild, always controlled — but his eyes are cold enough to drop the temperature in the room. Dev hovers nearby looking like he's calculating the fastest exit.
"Does he ever just... smile?" Jess asks. "Like a real one?"
I think about the tutoring sessions. The half-smirks. The almost-laughs he catches himself on. "Not really."
"Bet he'd be dangerous if he did."
"Extremely." The word is out before I can stop it. Jess raises an eyebrow at me. I look back at my lunch.
"I need to go." Brooke's chair scrapes back so fast it startles all of us.
"Britt — Brooke—"
But she's already cutting through the crowd, shoulders up, eyes down, moving like someone who doesn't want to be
watched.
We all stare after her.
"Okay something is definitely going on there," Alex says.
Liam nods slowly. "You think she and Ace ever had a thing?"
I chew my lip. Brooke transferred in junior year. Never talks about before. And every time the Trouble Triggers come
up she either deflects or disappears. "I think," I say carefully, "that we wait until she tells us."
Across the room, Blake, Mason, and Dev explode out of the Commons at full speed with three faculty members
running after them like very underpaid referees.
"Drug run," someone at the next table announces confidently.
Sure. With a full witness list and a vice principal in pursuit. Very subtle operation.
❖❖❖❖❖
The bell rings. Lunch is over. I grab my bag and head to AP Calc because apparently my schedule was designed by
someone who hates me.
I know the second I walk in. Adriana is already seated, one leg crossed, phone in hand, looking bored and perfect
and fully prepared to ruin my afternoon.
She waits until I'm three steps past her.
"Must be so hard," she says sweetly, loud enough for the whole room, "sitting next to a guy who clearly can't stand
you. Bet Ace counts the minutes until your little tutoring sessions are over."
"Cool observation." I drop into my seat. "Write it in your diary."
"I just feel sorry for you." She presses a hand to her chest, performance-level concerned. "Trying so hard to matter
to someone who doesn't even see you."
I click my pen. Open my notebook. Breathe.
Then she says it. Quiet this time. Direct.
"I wish it was you instead of him."
The room goes still. Or maybe that's just my blood.
I know exactly what she means. We both do. I haven't heard her say it out loud in three years. Three years I've
taken her glares and her jabs and swallowed every comeback because I knew — I knew — if I pushed, it would
come back to this.
My pen stops moving.
"Shut up, Adriana."
Her smile goes slow and satisfied. "That's all you've got? After everything? It was your fault, Jade. You know it was."
Something snaps. Clean and final, like a wire pulled too tight for too long.
I turn to face her fully.
"Let me be really clear," I say, voice steady and ice cold. "I didn't cause it. You didn't prevent it. We were both there
and neither of us could've stopped what happened, so you can drop the grieving act you've been performing for three years like it's your whole personality." I lean in slightly. "You're not broken, Adriana. You're just mean. And if you're this pressed that I'm spending time with Ace, you're welcome to take over. Except we both know Mrs. Ford would laugh you out of the room because despite your whole thing — " I wave a hand at her general existence, "— you are nowhere near smart enough to tutor anyone. So zip it. And sit in it."
Dead silence.
Then — one clap from the back of the room. Then another. Then the whole class erupts and someone actually whoops and I hear "BURN" from at least two directions simultaneously.
I face forward. Smooth my notebook. Absolutely do not smile.
Adriana grabs her bag, stands up, and walks out on four-inch heels that click like gunshots.
"That," says the guy behind me, "was the best thing I've seen all semester."
I allow myself one small, private grin.
Three years. Three years of that. And it felt incredible.
But as the noise dies down and my pulse slowly stops hammering — I can't shake what she said. I wish it was you
instead of him.
What exactly happened between Adriana Chase and Blake Carter?
And why does some part of me feel like I just pulled a thread that's attached to something I'm not ready to see
unravel?
- Writer
