I don't remember how I got home.
I'm sure Kaylie drove me. Totally and completely illegal, but it didn't matter—to either of us. Not after the night we had.
I must've blacked out emotionally and physically, because the next thing I remember is waking up at 3 a.m. in a full-body sweat, heart racing like I'm still running from something. Or someone.
The guy. The hands.Jordan.His face. That voice, all "Are you okay?" like he was some kind of savior.
I groaned into my pillow and flipped over, then again. And again.
It was stupid. One night. One fight. He was the one who brought up my parents like it was some casual, fun fact anyone would talk about at a party. So why did my brain keep replaying it over and over again?
By 5:17, I gave up trying to sleep.
I laced up my sneakers, yanked on a hoodie, slipped on some running shorts, and crept out of the house like a ghost. No note. No noise. Just me and the cold morning air.
Running felt like breathing. Like punishment. Like escape.
I looped around the neighborhood, my mind chewing on every ugly moment from the party. Every word Jordan said. Every word I said.
I should've yelled louder. Or maybe hit him.Or maybe—maybe—I should've stayed and listened. No. No.
I turned onto a side street, my lungs burning.
That's when I saw him.
Jordan Gallagher. Standing in the dewy grass of his front yard, barefoot, in sweatpants and a T-shirt that clung to his chest.
He had a little girl on his back—his half sister, Amelia—giggling as he spun her in slow, lazy circles. Finn, his little brother, sat in the driveway with a box of chalk, doodling crooked flowers and giant stick people with square heads.
Jordan crouched to help him, drawing something with his finger on the concrete before the boy squealed and tried to copy it.
I didn't move.
I didn't want to see him like this. Like he was... human.
Like the guy who said something so completely wrong last night was also the same guy making a five-year-old laugh at six o' two in the morning.
And then—because the universe has a sick sense of humor—he saw me.
Our eyes locked. His face froze, but only for a second.
He whispered something to Amelia, handed her off to Finn, and started walking toward me.
I thought about sprinting.
I didn't.
"Morning," he said, voice cautious. Like I might break in half. Or punch him.
I yanked out an airpod. "You're up early."
He glanced over his shoulder. "Sunday mornings are always early here. Kids."
"I didn't know you took care of them like that."
"Yeah, most people don't," he said with a shrug. "It doesn't exactly come up when I'm being a jackass at parties."
I didn't laugh.
He scratched the back of his neck, eyes down. "Look. About last night…"
I crossed my arms. "Don't."
He looked up. "I shouldn't have said what I said. About your parents. That wasn't—"
"You don't know me, Jordan," I said, softer this time. "So don't act like you do."
"I wasn't trying to—" he stopped, exhaled. "I just saw you. And I wanted to help."
"Well, you didn't."
Silence. The kind that buzzed in your ears and made everything feel too close.
Finally, he nodded. "Okay."
He didn't argue. Didn't defend himself. Just... accepted it.
I hated how that made my chest feel.
"I'm gonna go," I said, backing up.
"Elyse."
I paused.
His voice was low again. That same not-smirking voice he used last night.
"You didn't deserve what that guy did. Any of it."
I looked at him. At the barefoot boy who everyone else called a flirt, a jerk, a playboy.
And I didn't say thank you.
I just nodded once, put my airpod back in, and ran.
Faster this time.
Because I didn't want to think about how badly part of me wanted to stay.
~~~~
"I'm telling you, I've officially lost my mind," I said, flopping face-down onto Harper's bed like a crime scene chalk outline.
Harper didn't even blink. She just slid a Diet Dr. Pepper across her nightstand toward me. "Okay. Let's hear it."
I groaned into her comforter. "I saw him. This morning."
"Jordan?" she asked, like it wasn't obvious.
I rolled over and squinted at her ceiling. "Barefoot. In sweatpants. Playing chalk games with his siblings like he's starring in some kind of wholesome dad-core Disney movie."
Harper made a noise like she'd just been mildly electrocuted. "Gross. Was he wearing the sweatpants ironically or like… emotionally?"
"Emotionally."
She winced. "Oof. Continue."
"So I run into him—literally, on my run—and instead of pretending I don't exist, he walks over and asks if I'm okay. And I'm just standing there, sweat dripping down my neck, watching this golden retriever of a boy try to be gentle with me."
"Wait, so… he was nice?"
I sat up, pointing an accusing finger at her. "Don't you dare."
Harper held up her hands. "Hey, I'm just trying to get the story straight. You hate him."
"I do hate him," I snapped. "He brought up my parents last night like he had the right. Like he knows me. And now he's out here doing sidewalk art and apologizing like he's suddenly rebranded as Sensitive Guy™."
"Did he actually apologize?"
"Sort of. In that Jordan way. Mumbly. Like he couldn't decide if he was being sincere or sarcastic."
"Sounds confusing."
"Exactly!" I flopped back onto the bed. "I want to punch him and also maybe understand him, which is so much worse."
Harper smirked. "You want to understand him."
"Ugh," I groaned again. "And he said I didn't deserve what happened at the party."
"That's good, isn't it?"
"It would've been. If he hadn't also looked at me like I was this... sad little broken bird."
Harper blinked. "...You do realize you're spiraling, right?"
"Yes," I said dramatically. "And I'm taking you down with me."
She laughed and passed me a bag of pretzels. "Fine. But if you fall in love with Jordan Gallagher, I reserve the right to write your obituary."
"If I fall in love with Jordan Gallagher," I muttered, "just launch me into the sun."
Harper raised her soda in a solemn toast. "To orbital self-destruction."
I clinked mine against hers and sighed.
I was still mad.
But now I was confused, too.
And somehow that was even worse.
~~~~
By third period on Monday, I'd perfected the art of pretending Saturday night never happened.
It was easy enough: keep your head down, your answers short, and your expression unreadable. Smile at the teachers, ignore the whispers. Piece of cake.
Until I opened my locker and nearly walked straight into him.
Jordan. Backpack slung over one shoulder, his dark brown hair a little damp like he'd just sprinted through a shower and called it a morning.
"Seriously?" I muttered.
He raised both hands, palms out. "Not stalking you. Swear."
"Yeah, I know that idiot, our lockers are right next to each other. You're in my way."
He took a slow, deliberate step back. "Better?"
I ignored him, rifling through my locker like there was anything in there more interesting than this trainwreck of a moment.
"You didn't answer my texts," he said quietly.
I froze. I suddenly remember angrily blocking him on every social media platform known to man last night.
"You texted me?"
"Twice. Nothing creepy. Just…" He trailed off. "Forget it."
"I didn't have anything to say."
"Right." He rocked back on his heels. "I just—wanted to make sure you were okay. After everything."
"I was fine the second you left."
That earned a twitch in his jaw. Good.
Before he could say anything else, a familiar voice chimed in, way too loud for this close to my ear.
"Ooooooh, are we fighting again?"
Kaylie.
Of course.
She came to a stop beside me, grinning like she'd walked in on the season finale of a soap opera.
"I leave you two alone for two seconds and now I need popcorn?"
"Kaylie—" I warned.
But she was already looking at Jordan. "Did you tell her yet?"
My stomach dropped. "Tell me what?"
Jordan shot her a glare. "Can you not—?"
"Fine." She held up both hands. "I'll leave the lovebirds to it."
"We are not—!" He started, but she was already gone.
I closed my locker harder than necessary. That was going to have to be a headache for another day
Jordan stared at the ground, clearly debating whether to speak.
"You know what?" I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. "Let's just stick to ignoring each other. It's what we're best at."
He nodded once. "If that's what you want."
"It is." It wasn't. But I walked away anyway.
Because wanting someone to stay doesn't mean you let them.
Not when they can hurt you with a single sentence.
~~~~
The periodic table wasn't going to fix anything.But at least it wasn't him.
I sat cross-legged on my bed, textbook open, highlighters lined up in perfect order. I told myself I was being productive. I told myself this was control. Normalcy. Reclaiming my brain one covalent bond at a time.
I flipped open my chem notebook, and started scanning my notes. Ionic compounds. Lewis structures. The quiz next week would be brutal. Good. I needed brutal.
Then I saw it.
Halfway down a page from a lab day—a page I definitely didn't remember sketching anything on—was a faint pencil drawing tucked into the bottom corner. Tiny. Careful. Sharp.
It was me.
Not cartoonish. Not exaggerated. Just... me. Head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed in concentration, one eyebrow arched like I was mid-sarcastic comment. My mouth pulled in a little frown, the kind I get when I'm focusing. Or annoyed. Or both.
I stared at it.
Right beside the sketch, in ridiculously small print, were the words:
"Subject: Pretends to hate me. Possibly planning my murder. Still cute."
My throat closed. My heart—traitorous, infuriating—did that annoying fluttery thing like I'd swallowed a live bird.
Jordan had drawn this.Jordan Gallagher.In my notebook.
I hadn't even noticed. I'd written all around it.
I sat there for a full minute, unmoving, as my thoughts turned to static. Then I slammed the notebook shut like it had tried to bite me.
No. Nope. No thank you.
This didn't mean anything.
Except—it kind of did.Because it wasn't just a doodle. It was observant. Detailed. Like he'd been paying attention. Like he actually saw me.
Like maybe he wanted me to see this.
And Kaylie's stupid voice echoed in my head like a curse:
"Did you tell her yet?"
Tell me what, exactly?
That I lived rent-free in his chem class sketches?
That he wasn't the exact brand of heartache I'd spent my whole high school career avoiding?
That the boy who sketched me like a secret might be more dangerous than I thought?
I pushed the notebook to the far side of the bed and glared at the wall like it owed me answers. But something in me urged me to open it again, so I reached across the bed and flipped to the page.
Jordan Gallagher was going to ruin me.
And I hated that a part of me… kind of wanted him to try.
I was still staring at the notebook like it had personally betrayed me when Kaylie popped her head into my room without knocking. Because of course she didn't knock.
"You doing actual homework or just rage-staring at it?" she asked, already crossing the room with a bag of chips in one hand and zero boundaries in the other.
I yanked the notebook shut. "Nothing. Chemistry."
Kaylie squinted at me, then at the notebook. "Weird time to get blushy over molar mass."
"I'm not blushy."
"Mmkay..."
I groaned. "Kaylie. What do you want?"
She flopped onto my bed like a hurricane of denim and sarcasm. "So… you and Jordan."
"There is no me and Jordan."
"Okay. Then why were you staring at your notebook like it wrote you a love letter?"
"It didn't."
"Right," she said, dragging the notebook toward her before I could stop her. She flipped it open. "So if I turn to—"
"Kaylie."
She stopped on the exact page. Her mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.
"Ohhhhhh my God."
"Don't."
"This is the sketch, isn't it?"
"I said don't."
Kaylie's eyes lit up like a feral gremlin. "This is what I was talking about!"
"What you were talking about was vague and annoying and full of bad timing."
"But this—this is so romantic. He just, what, sketched you when you weren't looking? That's peak tortured-artist-boy behavior."
"It's peak freak behavior."
She snorted. "Please. You don't keep random drawings of people you hate in your notebook unless you're deeply in denial."
I snatched the notebook back. "He's Jordan Gallagher. He probably draws a different girl every week."
Kaylie raised an eyebrow. "Maybe. But he only puts you in a chem notebook. Which, I might remind you, is basically the Holy Bible of your soul."
I threw a pillow at her.
She caught it and grinned. "So are you gonna talk to him about it or just keep spiraling until you dramatically confront him in a thunderstorm?"
"I vote spiral," I muttered.
Kaylie beamed. "Spiral it is. But you're letting me read the next notebook entry. Deal?"
I groaned. Loudly. But I didn't say no.
~~~~
I sat at my desk, pretending to focus on my calc homework, but my eyes kept drifting. Across the street, Jordan's room was quiet—blinds drawn tight, no sign of life inside.
Then I heard it: a small, high-pitched cry coming from the driveway.
I squinted. There, on the concrete, was Amelia—Jordan's little sister—sniffling, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Jordan's mom stood nearby, her expression a mix confusion and annoyance, glancing between Amelia and the closed blinds.
My chest tightened. I didn't want to get involved, especially not with Jordan. But I couldn't just watch.
Without thinking, I grabbed my hoodie and headed outside.
"Hey," I say gently as I approach Amelia, kneeling down to meet her eyes. "What's wrong, sweetie?"
Amelia sniffled and tried to say something.
Jordan's mom sighed, stepping forward. "Jordan's been acting off lately, and didn't want to take her out today, and Amelia got upset and tried to run off. Honestly, I'm not around enough to really know how to handle tantrums like hers."
I glanced up toward the drawn blinds.
I reach Amelia up and take her into my arms, wiping the tears from her eyes before she snuggles into me. I squeeze her tightly and tell her, "It's okay Amelia, I'll-"
Suddenly, the front door burst open, and Jordan stormed out, eyes blazing.
"What the hell are you doing?" he snaps, glaring at me.
I stand up slowly, hands raised in peace. "I was just trying to help Amelia. She was upset."
Jordan's jaw clenched. "This isn't your business."
I met his glare, voice steady but firm. "She's a kid. She needs someone. And apparently, you're not around."
Jordan's expression flickered—anger, guilt, something raw—but he grabbed Amelia from my arms, muttering under his breath. She began to cry again.
I watched him go into his house and slam the door, heart pounding. The walls between us felt higher than ever.
I stood there for a moment, the cold air biting through my hoodie. Amelia's quiet sobs faded behind the closed door, but the weight of Jordan's glare lingered heavy in the driveway.
I wanted to say something—apologize, explain—but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I turned back toward my house, heart pounding with a mix of frustration and something I wasn't ready to name. No, you know, I should not be the one apologizing, he's being completely ridiculous. I was trying to help his little sister, and he's acting like a total asshole.
Or at least that's what I told myself as I opened my front door.
~~~~
I turn the code into my locker, airpods in, trying to drown out the noise of my own thoughts.
Had a heart attack
When I told you that
That I loved you back
You never said, but I always knew
You'll be the one at the afterparty
After the fun, you'll admit you want me
Then Jordan appeared around the corner, like he was waiting for me or just happened to be there. His usual smirk was gone. Instead, his eyes were quiet, watching me with something I couldn't place.
I stopped. Took out an airpod.
"What?" I said, trying to sound annoyed but failing.
He shrugged, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. "Look, about yesterday… I didn't mean to snap at you."
I crossed my arms, tilting my head. "Yeah, well, you did."
He chuckled softly, a sound that didn't match the sharp edge he usually carried. "I know. I'm a jerk."
I opened my mouth to fire back, but then his eyes flicked down for a second, just for a heartbeat, before locking with mine again.
There was something there—maybe regret, maybe hope—but it vanished as fast as it came.
I swallowed hard.
"Whatever," I said, pushing past him.
But as I walked away, that brief flash of something made my chest tighten. Regret? Regret? No way. Jordan Gallagher? That's impossible.
...Right?