Only Human

Chapter 3

Monday morning i arrive to school feeling confident and care free that is until i spot Dean and his little crew are blocking my locker. Sure, Bonnie’s is only two spots down—but I know Dean’s here just to mess with me.

His group is the usual lineup:

Bonnie Johnston—Dean’s on-again-off-again girlfriend, head cheerleader, and poster child for cliché.

Brock Evans—basketball team, brain of a Neanderthal.

Clayton Bishop—my ex. We dated in 10th grade for a few months before he ditched me for the “cool crowd.” He can’t even look me in the eye now, which tells me at least part of him feels guilty.

Audrey Myers—cheerleader too, but she’s different. Quieter. Sometimes she seems almost… decent. Still, standing by while your friends tear people down doesn’t make you innocent.

Bonnie spots me first, raises a perfect eyebrow, and gives Dean a smirk like she’s just stepped in something disgusting. Dean turns, slow and smug.

“Oh hey, Taylor. Didn’t see you there. Hard to believe, right? You’re hard to miss.”

Brock high-fives him like he’s the funniest guy alive. Bonnie giggles. Audrey and Clay? Silent, as always.

I push past Dean, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But his voice follows me.

“Damn, Taylor. Feeling bold today? Tight jeans and all. Brave choice.”

Laughter ripples through the group. My hands shake as I yank books from my locker. Deep breaths, Jess. These jeans fit fine. You look fine.

Then Brock chimes in: “Looks like two pigs fighting under a blanket!”

I whip around. “Isn’t that from Steel Magnolias? Didn’t know you were such a softie, Brock. And by the way, that only works if I’m wearing a dress, genius.”

The group bursts out laughing—but this time, at Brock. Dean nearly doubles over. “Dude, did you seriously watch that? You’re such a p***y!” He smacks Brock’s arm, still laughing.

Brock flushes crimson. “Shut up, man! I only saw a second of it at my grandma’s!”

While they argue, I slip away. Freedom is only a few steps—until I slam into one of the school cleaners, knocking books everywhere.

Laughter erupts behind me. Dean’s voice echoes: “Jesus, Taylor! Don’t squash the poor cleaner!”

Mortified, I look up. Oh no. Not Mr. Garcia, the sixty-year-old. No. It’s him. The young one.

Hazel eyes. Warm smile. And right now, staring directly into mine.

“I’m so sorry,” I stammer.

“No, no—it’s fine.” He bends down, gathering my books. “Cleaning up messes is kind of my job.”

We both laugh. I crouch to help, and when our eyes meet again, he doesn’t look away. Neither do I.

He’s tall—easily six foot—with thick dark brown hair that curls slightly at the ends, olive skin, and that smile. God, that smile. No wonder Audrey gawks at him.

He picks up The Scarlet Letter and studies the cover. “We read this senior year too. You’d think they’d change it up by now.”

“You went here?” I ask.

His smile falters. “Uh, yeah. A few years ago.”

I get the sense he doesn’t want to talk about it, so I pivot. “Well, Ms. Lincoln has great taste. She loves the classics—like me. My classmates would definitely disagree.”

That big smile returns. “My favorite was The Great Gatsby.”

I can’t help it—I grin. “A classic! ‘Let us learn to show our friendship for a man when he is alive and not after he is dead.’”

He blinks, confused.

I laugh awkwardly. “It’s a quote from the book.”

“Ah. Guess I didn’t pay as much attention when I read it.” His smile softens.

I’m about to dig myself into a nerd-hole when the bell saves me. “That’s my cue. Sorry again.”

“Don’t be sorry. No one was hurt.”

“Maybe just my pride.”

He laughs. Not only does he have the smile, he has the laugh.

“Well, it was a way to meet you,” he says, then fumbles. “I mean—nice to meet you.”

I extend my hand. “Jess.”

He takes it—both of his hands holding mine—and for a second, I forget how to breathe.

“Alec,” he says.

I snap back to reality. “Sorry, what?”

He chuckles. “Alec. My name’s Alec.”

I glance around and realize the hall is empty. Crap—I’m late. “Sorry, gotta go.”

“Hey, Jess.”

I turn. His hazel eyes lock on mine from down the hall.

“Don’t let people like Captain Douche get to you. High school will be the best years of his life. He’ll spend the rest of it wishing he could come back.”

His words settle somewhere deep. We share a smile before parting ways.

---

By lunch, I’m dying to talk to Ruby and Flash. We settle at our usual spot by the gardens. Ruby’s eyes are full of concern.

“Want to talk about what happened this morning?”

I freeze. Does she mean Dean—or Alec?

“It’s been a busy morning, Rubes. You’ll have to be specific.” I bite into my sandwich.

“I heard Dean and Bonnie talking about you in science.”

Flash scoffs. “Good to see they’re focused on learning.”

I shrug. “I’m fine. Dean’s just Dean. Not worth the energy.”

Ruby frowns. “Doesn’t make it okay. One day I swear I’m going to punch that smug look right off his face.”

I squeeze her hand. “If anyone gets to punch Dean Clarke, it’s me.”

She grins. “Fair.”

Flash throws an arm around me. “As long as we get to watch.”

Ruby cackles. “Watch? We’re filming that shit.”

---

English Lit is next. My favorite class—except Dean and Brock are in it. They must need the grade for college applications.

The second Dean sees me, he makes a beeline for the desk beside mine. Great. I keep my head down, but I can feel his stare. Against my better judgment, I glance over. Smug grin. I look away fast, like he’s Medusa and I’ll turn to stone if I stare too long.

Thankfully, Ms. Lincoln sweeps in before he can start.

“Good afternoon. I hope you’ve all read The Scarlet Letter. Tomorrow, there will be a quiz. But for today, let’s warm up—pick a quote that stood out to you.”

The class groans. Please don’t pick me. Please.

“How about you, Dean?”

Dean looks like she just asked him to eat dirt. He slouches, eyes glued to the book. “Uh… yeah. ‘We dream in our waking moments, and walk in our sleep.’” He drops back into his chair.

Brock claps. “Pure poetry, bro.”

Dean elbows him. I can’t help being a little intrigued. It’s short, sure, but not what I’d expect from him.

“And you, Jessica?”

“Me?!”

“Yes, Ms. Taylor.”

Dean snickers. “Forgot your name already, Taylor? Must’ve hit the cleaner harder than we thought.” He and Brock fist-bump, smug.

I stand, heart pounding. “In all her intercourse with society, however, there was nothing that made her feel as if she belonged to it… She stood apart, like a ghost that revisits the familiar fireside and can no longer make itself seen or felt. Do anything, save to lie down and die.”

Ms. Lincoln presses a hand to her chest. “Beautiful choice, Jessica.”

A loud snort cuts through the room. Pig noises. Brock.

Dean’s laughter follows.

“Mr. Evans,” Ms. Lincoln snaps. “Stop. Now.”

“Sorry, Ms. Lincoln. No more pigs.”

Silence. For two seconds. Then: “Mooooo.”

Laughter bubbles from the class. My throat tightens. Usually, I can ignore them. But today? I’m cracked wide open.

Before I even realize what I’m doing, my book sails through the air and smacks Brock square in the head.

Dead silence.

“Mr. Evans! Principal’s office. Now!”

“What? She hit me!”

“Out!”

Brock stomps off, slamming the door.

But my chest is tight, tears threatening. I can’t cry here. Not in front of them.

I bolt. Past Ms. Lincoln’s voice calling my name. Down the hall. Into the bathroom.

And finally, I break.

Ugly sobs wrack through me as I collapse against the cold wall, knees pulled to my chest. I hate this. I hate crying here, where anyone could walk in. But I can’t stop.

Everyone has a breaking point.

Apparently, mine is animal noises.

Through the haze of tears, I feel it—a warm hand on my shoulder.

I’m not alone.