Swipe Right

1| The bet

Nyla
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Today will be one of those days. The kind where something extraordinary happens: something that steals my breath, buckles my knees, and makes me question everything I believe in.

"You look like shit, Satori."

Or maybe not. I turn to find a tall, lean figure half-hidden in the archway. When he turns, the sliver of sunlight pooling in from the window grazes a fraction of his cheek.

Jax Henderson.

"You've got chocolate all over your chin," he says, taking the computer two away from mine. He glances at the chocolate wrapper sitting near my keyboard, his eyes quietly judging me.

I clean it off, then try to ignore him and get back to my article, but it's hard when we're forced to sit so close. Editorial Club is held in a small, one-window room on the second floor of the Science building. It used to be the janitor's closet, but when Miss Appleton volunteered to run the school paper, she turned it into her "digital haven".

Now several small cacti plants line the back window, and the once gray walls are an eggshell white, softened only by a canvas of inspirational quotes. Be better than you were yesterday, one reads. Always follow your dreams, reads another. Like it is just that easy.

Jax's phone pings, forcing me to glance at him. He looks different this year. He lost all his baby fat over the summer, revealing a sharp angular jaw and large, broad shoulders. Beneath his hoody, his once flawless arms are covered in ink-black tattoos. I'd seen them this summer when he was working on his truck, shirtless and glistening with sweat. Somehow, in the space of ten weeks, he has turned from the boy next door into a notorious womanizer.

When it is no longer possible to ignore him, I turn and say, "You finished your article?"

"Nearly." He's lying. I know when he's lying, because once upon a time, Jax and I were friends. Best friends. It was back when we both liked collecting bugs and combing the beach for treasure–back when I thought I was madly in love with him.

It started off innocently– two kids who happened to live next door to each other and spent a lot of time together. But just before high school started, when my dad left us for the half-his-age secretary, Jax became my savior. He became the boy who made me laugh despite the hole in my chest. I fell hard for him, convinced myself he was one of the good ones; it's why it hurt so much when it turned out he wasn't.

Jax's phone pings again. I glance at the home screen, surprised to see an alert from some obscure dating app. He must notice the surprise in my expression because he smirks and says, "You know, you could probably do with a dating app."

I don't look away from my screen. "No, thanks. Some of us don't need an app to meet people."

He smiles a little. "Right, because they're lining up at your door."

"They could be. You don't know."

"I live right next door."

I ignore the fact he's right and says, "Listen, even if I did need an app, I'd still probably get more matches than you."

This is fundamentally untrue, and Jax knows this, too. He goes to speak, but Mellissa Suzuki's untimely arrival ruins his cutting response. She takes a seat at one of the computers and cracks open her Star Wars thermos.

Melissa is a self-professed genius with brown hair, glasses, and a voice so nasal it's like she perpetually suffers from allergies. She's also the club's Faculty Advisor as well as a reporter, which means she gets the final say on what goes into the paper. As a result, she has the power to pull our articles whenever she feels like it–and she does.