Chapter 18: Benching Bravery
867 Words
By the time the last bell rang, my social battery was officially dead.
Not low. Not blinking. Dead.
I didn’t even wait for the hallway to clear. I slipped out a side door and headed straight for the benches near the quad—the ones no one ever sat on unless they were skipping class or rethinking their life choices.
Today, I qualified for both.
I dropped onto the cold metal bench and exhaled, long and shaky. My backpack slid off my shoulder and landed at my feet. My hat stayed firmly on my head, cheerful and traitorous.
I stared straight ahead.
“You win,” I told it quietly. “Whatever this is? You win.”
The hat, unsurprisingly, said nothing.
I leaned back and closed my eyes.
Over a week.
Over a week of whispers, laughter, collisions, kisses I didn’t ask for, attention I never wanted. I’d stopped counting how many times someone leaned in too close, smiled too knowingly, or acted like my personal space was optional.
I opened my eyes again.
“I just wanted to feel festive,” I muttered. “That’s it. One cute thing. One.”
“Talking to accessories now?”
I startled so hard I nearly slid off the bench.
Jasper stood a few feet away, hands in his jacket pockets, expression unreadable but gentle.
“I—” I cleared my throat. “It’s been that kind of week.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I gathered.”
He didn’t sit immediately. Just stood there, giving me space.
I patted the bench beside me. “If you’re here to laugh, at least sit first.”
He smiled faintly and sat.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The quad was quieter than usual. Snow clung to the edges of the paths. Somewhere, someone was practicing guitar badly.
“I don’t know how to make it stop,” I said finally.
Jasper tilted his head. “Stop what?”
“All of it,” I said. “The staring. The assumptions. People thinking they’re allowed to touch me just because…” I gestured vaguely upward. “Whatever this is.”
He watched me carefully. “Does it feel like it’s about you anymore?”
The question landed harder than I expected.
“No,” I admitted. “It feels like I’m… a thing. A joke. A tradition.”
“That’s not fair,” he said.
“Fair stopped showing up last Tuesday.”
That earned a quiet laugh.
“I don’t hate attention,” I added, surprising myself. “I just hate not choosing it.”
Jasper nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”
I hugged my arms around myself. “Everyone keeps acting like I should be flattered.”
“You don’t owe anyone gratitude for ignoring your boundaries,” he said calmly.
I looked at him then. Really looked.
“You always say the right thing,” I said.
He shrugged. “I edit in my head.”
That made me smile despite everything.
We sat in silence again.
Then I sighed. “Okay. Be honest.”
He glanced over. “Dangerous invitation.”
“Why are you still here?” I asked. “You could’ve bailed days ago.”
He considered that. “Because you keep getting back up.”
I groaned. “Please don’t say resilient.”
“I wasn’t going to,” he said quickly. “I was going to say… stubborn.”
I blinked. Then laughed—soft, surprised.
“Yeah,” I said. “That tracks.”
He leaned back on the bench. “Also, you talk to hats. That’s compelling journalism.”
I nudged his arm. “Rude.”
“But accurate.”
Another pause.
“Ivy,” he said, quieter now.
I turned toward him.
“You’re not doing anything wrong,” he said. “I hope you know that.”
Something tight loosened in my chest.
“I’m starting to forget,” I admitted.
“Well,” he said, “don’t. Because this? It’s temporary.”
I frowned. “You sound very sure.”
“I am.”
I searched his face. “Do you know something I don’t?”
His mouth curved—not a smirk. Something softer.
“Maybe,” he said.
My stomach flipped.
“Jasper.”
“Not today,” he said gently. “But soon.”
I leaned back, staring at the sky. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or terrified.”
“Both is valid.”
I glanced at him. “You’re weirdly good at this.”
“At benches?” he asked.
“At showing up.”
He shrugged again, but his ears turned pink.
The bell rang again in the distance, signaling the end of extracurriculars.
I stood slowly. “I should go. Before something else happens.”
“Probably wise.”
I hesitated. “Hey… thanks. For not treating me like a spectacle.”
He met my eyes. “Anytime.”
As I walked away, I touched the edge of my hat.
Just briefly.
“For the record,” I muttered, “we’re not friends right now.”
The hat remained silent.
Jasper laughed behind me.
- Writer
