Chapter 9: Locker Room Lies
1154 Words
Lexi’s text burned a hole in my phone all weekend—“Check his locker Monday”—like a splinter I couldn’t pull out. I’d tossed and turned Saturday night, the wedding’s warmth—Jake’s hand on my waist, his quiet “Not you”—clashing with her warning. Sunday, I dodged Mom’s gushing about “that nice boy” and Ellie’s texts demanding details, staring at my screen instead. What was in his locker? Drugs? A love note? Something worse? By Monday morning, my stomach was a knot, and I biked to school with one goal: find out.
The halls buzzed with post-weekend chatter, lockers slamming, but I barely heard it, beelining for Jake’s spot near the gym. I’d seen him there once, tossing a football with Tyler, locker 217 painted in chipped red. It was 7:45—early enough that the corridor was half-empty, late enough I wouldn’t look totally suspicious. I lingered by the water fountain, pretending to sip, eyes on that dented metal door. No Jake yet.
Ellie caught me mid-stakeout, pink hair a blur as she grabbed my arm. “What are you doing?” she hissed, glancing around. “You look like a spy.”
“Lexi texted me,” I whispered, pulling her closer. “After the wedding. Said to check Jake’s locker.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “That blonde chick? What’s her deal?”
“No idea. She said he didn’t tell me everything.” I chewed my lip, watching a freshman fumble with his combo nearby. “I need to know, El.”
She groaned, loud enough to draw a glare from a passing teacher. “This is why I said dump him! You’re in too deep, Mia. What if it’s bad?”
“Then I deal,” I said, sharper than I meant. “He promised no secrets. If he’s lying…”
Ellie sighed, defeated. “Fine. But I’m not helping you break in. I’ve got chem.”
She bolted, leaving me alone as the bell rang. The hall cleared, and I edged toward 217, heart hammering. I didn’t have his combo—obviously—but I pressed my ear to the locker, like some TV detective. Nothing. Just cold metal and my own shaky breath. I was about to give up when boots scuffed behind me.
“Lost, princess?” Jake’s voice, low and amused, made me jump. I spun, and there he was—leather jacket, backpack slung over one shoulder, smirking like he hadn’t a care. But his eyes were tired, shadows under them deeper than Saturday.
“I—” I fumbled, face burning. “Just… waiting.”
“For me?” He stepped closer, tilting his head. “Or my locker?”
My stomach dropped. “What?”
He nodded at 217, smirk fading. “You’re not subtle. What’s this about?”
I swallowed, Lexi’s text flashing in my mind. No point lying—he’d see through me. “Lexi texted me. Said to check your locker. Said you’re hiding something.”
His face changed—shock, then anger, quick as a switch. “She what?” He dropped his bag, voice low and tight. “That’s bullshit, Mia. She’s playing you.”
“Then prove it,” I said, crossing my arms. “Open it.”
He stared at me, jaw ticking, then laughed—short, bitter. “You don’t trust me.”
“I want to,” I shot back, softer. “But you keep dodging. Last summer, now this—what’s she got on you?”
He rubbed his face, muttering a curse, then turned to the locker. “Fine. You wanna see? Look.” He spun the dial—click, click, click—and yanked it open. I leaned in, breath held, expecting… I don’t know. A stash, a photo, something damning.
It was a mess—textbooks, a crumpled gym shirt, a half-empty water bottle. A football playbook sat on the shelf, dog-eared, next to a pack of gum. No drugs, no secrets—just Jake’s chaos. I frowned, reaching for a folded paper tucked behind the playbook. He grabbed my wrist, fast but gentle.
“Don’t,” he said, voice rough. “It’s nothing you need.”
I pulled back, stung. “Then why hide it?”
He let go, slamming the locker shut. “It’s a letter. From my dad. Left last year, hasn’t called since. Happy now?”
I blinked, guilt crashing in. “Jake, I didn’t—”
“Forget it.” He grabbed his bag, slinging it on. “You got your proof. Lexi’s full of s**t—she doesn’t know about that. Just wants to screw with us.”
“Us?” I echoed, catching the word. He froze, like he hadn’t meant to say it, then shrugged.
“Yeah. Us. Whatever this is.” He stepped closer, voice dropping. “I’m not hiding big stuff, Mia. Kyle’s a mess, Lexi’s a ghost, Dad’s gone. That’s it. You still in?”
I nodded, slow, the fight draining out of me. “Yeah. I’m in.”
“Good.” He exhaled, a half-smile tugging his lips. “English after school? We’ve got a test to ace.”
“Deal,” I said, mirroring his smile. He brushed past me, shoulder grazing mine, and headed for class. I watched him go, relief mixing with unease. No secrets in the locker—just a dad who bailed. So why did Lexi care?
The day dragged—classes, Ellie’s “Told you it’d be drama” at lunch—but by last bell, I was ready for Jake’s place. I biked over, Gatsby in my bag, and knocked. He answered, cleaner this time—no bruises showing, just that T-shirt and a grin. “Ready to save my grade?”
“Always,” I teased, stepping in. We hit the table, diving into Chapter 6—Gatsby’s lies, Daisy’s charm—and it felt normal, easy, like the locker fight hadn’t happened. An hour in, he leaned back, stretching, and I caught myself staring—his arms, his jaw, the way he laughed at my sarcasm.
Then his phone buzzed, loud on the table. He glanced at it, and his face went still—pale, almost. “s**t,” he muttered, grabbing it.
“What?” I asked, leaning over. The screen glowed: “Meet me. Now. You owe me. -L”
“Lexi,” he said, voice flat, and stood fast, chair scraping. “I gotta go.”
“Go where?” I shot up, panic rising. “Jake, what’s she want now?”
He didn’t answer, just grabbed his jacket, eyes dark. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”
“Jake—” But he was out the door, motorcycle roaring to life, leaving me alone in his house with a book and a sinking gut.
- Writer
