I lasted exactly three days.
Three days of dodging Jason in the halls at home, of pretending I didn’t notice the way his eyes lingered on me at school, of lying awake at night replaying every word from our porch conversation.
By the fourth day, the silence became unbearable.
So when I found him alone in the garage, tinkering with his car, I didn’t think—I just walked in.
“Jason, we need to talk.”
He looked up from under the hood, grease smeared across his forearm, his hair falling into his eyes. For a moment, his usual smirk threatened to surface, but it didn’t. Instead, he wiped his hands on a rag and leaned against the car, watching me carefully.
“Finally,” he said. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten how to use words.”
I crossed my arms, summoning courage. “Stop joking. This
