Everneath (Everneath #1)

FIVE

FIVE

NOW

After school in Mrs. Stone’s classroom. Five months left.

A week passed and my mark doubled in size, to two fingers wide. One morning, Mrs. Stone offered to help me catch up since I’d started school almost a month later than everyone else.

She’d assigned the class thirty-page “practice thesis” papers, due in the spring. I decided the finished paper would go to my dad, to give him some sort of physical evidence that for six months I was here and making an effort.

When I showed up in her classroom after school, she was talking to a student at her desk. I didn’t get a good look because I kept my head down and went directly to my normal seat in the back, even though every chair was empty.

I pulled out my textbook, ignoring the conversation at the front. Until I heard Jack’s voice.

“The deadline’s not for a couple of months,” he said.

My heart sputtered. I glanced up. Jack’s back was to me, so I watched, grateful for the chance to stare at him.

“That’s fine,” Mrs. Stone answered. “I stay late most days, so you’re welcome to work here—then I can help you when you need it. But don’t you have football?”

“Practice doesn’t start until three thirty. So that’ll give me an hour.” Jack peeked toward the back of the room and I ducked my head. “I really appreciate your help.”

“I’m happy to see you taking more of an interest in English,” Mrs. Stone said. “Those competitive college programs are looking for well-rounded applicants. Too much math and science isn’t nourishing to the soul.”

I smiled at her enthusiasm, flipped through the pages of my book, and took my notebook out of my bag.

I didn’t hear his footsteps, so his voice startled me.

“Hi,” he said.

I dropped my notebook.

Jack sat down beside me in the same seat he used during class. I couldn’t move. He reached to get my fallen notebook and held it out for me.

“Thanks,” I said. This time there was a little sound behind the word.

I should have asked him about his project. Or his football. Or the weather. That’s what old friends would do. But the words weren’t there, so I turned back to my open lit book.

“You missed the big game Friday,” he said.

Was he expecting a conversation? I couldn’t do it. I knew he didn’t have feelings for me anymore. It was one of the reasons—the main one—I’d gone with Cole. At the time, his betrayal shattered me, but the Feed had since taken away the hurt. It didn’t matter anymore. But did I dare let him in again?

I could feel his eyes on me as he waited. The wait seemed very long, to the point where it would have been uncomfortable for anyone else.

And yet he sat, watching me.

Waiting.

Patient.

Still.

By this time, I’d almost forgotten what he said. Something about missing something.

“Yes,” I said.

“Now you’ve done it.” His tone was quietly playful.

I couldn’t help it. I looked up at him questioningly.