Chapter 6

The crowd around him gradually dispersed as Jake Lee ignored their lingering gazes, locking his motorcycle to one of the school chains with an effortless, practiced motion. The bell had rung, and most students had already hurried inside, casting one last glance over their shoulders at him as they went.

"H-hey." My mom's voice came softly from behind, almost reluctant. I turned, finding her eyes flickering between me and the front entrance. "I'm going to head to class."

I nodded, slower than I meant to. "O-kay."

Without another word, she brushed past me and strode down the path, passing right by Jake Lee without sparing him a glance. Meanwhile, I kept staring at him, a little annoyed. His cool indifference seemed to sharpen under my gaze, but finally, he noticed. Pausing as he straightened from the motorcycle, he looked at me with an amused lift of his brow.

"Want an autograph too?" he asked, his tone light but laced with irony.

The question caught me off guard, though I could tell he was joking. I rolled my eyes and crossed the distance between us, stopping just beside his motorcycle. "This thing is dangerous, you know."

He gave me a sidelong look, something flickering in his eyes before his hand drifted over the motorcycle's sleek body. "It's also fun."

I didn't know why seeing him with this bike made me so uneasy. Was it because it belonged to him? Or was it because...well, I knew he was going to die soon? Not on the motorcycle, but still...it felt like tempting fate.

My gaze dropped to the bike again, then shot back up to him, my heart thumping. "This thing could kill you!"

He froze, staring at me like I'd just spoken in some foreign language. His hand hovered over the seat as he studied me, barely blinking. Then, a tiny chuckle escaped his lips, soft and unexpected. "I'm not going to die."

I narrowed my eyes, crossing my arms. "But you could."

Unbothered, he reached for the guitar slung on the back of his bike, securing it over his shoulder with a smooth motion. Then, he leveled me with a hard, sharp look. "You don't know me well enough to care." His tone was cold, final. Without waiting for my response, he turned and walked away, fingers gripping the guitar strap as he disappeared into the school building.

I stood there, watching his retreating figure, frustration simmering under my skin. Why did he have to be so...infuriating? I was only trying to give him a friendly warning, and he just had to throw that line at me about not knowing him "enough to care."

I glared at the front doors, still feeling the sting of his words. "Well, I don't want to know you anyway!" I said, louder than I anticipated, clenching my fists.

A few students passing by glanced my way, their expressions somewhere between confused and amused. Realizing I must have looked like a total lunatic, I quickly forced a bright, too-big smile and gave a small bow. "Good morning!"

They nodded politely, moving on, and as soon as they looked away, my expression fell back into a scowl. That arrogant jerk.

Since class had already started, I figured I might as well head to the office and finally get my schedule. If I was going to be here, I should at least see what my so-called "2002 education" would look like. Scanning the paper they handed me, my eyes skimmed over the subjects until they landed on my last class. Art. "Huh. That might not be so bad..."

I decided I'd start with my last class today and just catch up with the others tomorrow. Finding a quiet spot in a bright, empty hallway, I perched on a wide window sill, far from curious eyes. I fished some snacks out of my bag that I bought from the vending machine earlier, snacking and sketching random shapes in my notebook as I waited for time to roll around and pass.

By the time lunch came around, I was already on my way to the detention room. Detention is irritating, sure, but I can't say I regret what I did yesterday to earn it. My mom deserves the world, and if standing up to a bunch of mean girls gets me in trouble, then so be it. Those girls probably don't even know what love from their mothers feels like, anyway.

I stepped into the detention room, glancing around. Only one other person was there—a guy sitting smack in the middle of the room, hunched back on a chair with a look of sheer boredom.

"Welcome to detention." The teacher at the front mumbled, barely glancing up from his paperwork. His voice was dry and disinterested, like he couldn't care less about actually being there. I gave him a nod and made my way to an empty desk near the guy in the center.

The teacher set down his pen, stood up, and stretched. "I'll be going to enjoy my lunch. Head back to class when the bell rings." Without another word, he grabbed his things and strolled out, shutting the door behind him.

I blinked, momentarily stunned by his complete lack of authority. "Can he even do that?" I muttered, half to myself.

The teacher didn't seem to care in the slightest. If we just walked out, would he even notice?

The guy beside me gave a low chuckle. "Yeah, he's always like that." He glanced my way, still slumped in his chair, one leg stretched out, tracing lazy circles on the desk with his finger. His expression was pure lack of enthusiasm. "At least he doesn't make us write those self-pity essays."

I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. "Oh? And are you in detention often?"

He released a mild laugh, leaning back even further in his seat with a grin. "Me, princess?" His gaze drifted up to the ceiling as though he was reminiscing about his extensive "detention career." "I practically live in detention."

His words caught me off guard, and before I could stop myself, a snort escaped. I clamped my hand over my mouth, cheeks heating in embarrassment. The guy's grin widened as he looked over at me, clearly amused.

"Oh, don't hold back on my account." He said, raising an eyebrow. "Laughter's good for the soul, right?"

I gave him a wary smile, dropping my hand. "Maybe. Though I think too much time in detention might cancel out any benefits to the soul."

"Eh, probably." He replied with a shrug. "But it's not so bad. The company's better than the cafeteria, anyway." He looked at me with a lazy grin that seemed to say he'd found something—or maybe someone—interesting enough to distract him.

I rolled my eyes, still half-smiling. "Well, I wouldn't count on me as regular company."

He let out a genuine laugh, the sound warm and easy, and sat up in his chair, leaning in closer. "I'm Chris. And you?"

I hesitated, feeling a flicker of sudden nerves under his gaze. "J-Juno..."

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes scanning my face with a curious intensity. "Juno?" he echoed, as if trying to make sense of it, then leaned back, his expression shifting slightly. "That's... an interesting name."

Instantly, I felt my cheeks heat up, and my expression turned sour. I could almost hear the disappointment in his voice. "Sorry." I muttered dryly. "I was asleep when my parents were naming me."

His face lit up in a grin at that, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "You're funny. I like you."

I sank back in my chair, rolling my eyes. "The feeling isn't mutual, by the way."

But even as I said it, I couldn't help feeling oddly comfortable here. For once, detention didn't feel so dull. I was sitting here, doing nothing except trading quips with this random guy, yet I found myself... enjoying it. Detention in the future is so much more chaotic—kids crammed in here for even the smallest offenses. Plus, they make you write some torturous thirty-page essay about "learning from your mistakes." No way the teacher actually reads those; it's just another layer of punishment.

Chris chuckled, shifting his seat even closer. "Hey! Personal space!" I protested, scooting back, but he just smirked, his gaze fixed on me, a mischievous spark in his eyes.

"You're not your average girl, are you?" he said, his voice soft but teasing.

I narrowed my eyes, feeling both intrigued and a little offended. "What's that supposed to mean?"

His gaze flicked over my figure, and he grinned. "Put a little muscle on you, and you're practically a guy."

I stared at him, my mouth dropping open, utterly speechless. Did he really just say that? Out of nowhere, too! I could barely form words as his audacity sank in.

"Excuse me?" I finally managed, my tone sharp with sarcasm and disbelief. "Do I resemble a man to you?"

He let out a snicker, clearly enjoying how he'd managed to push my buttons. His eyes sparkled as he glanced toward the teacher's empty desk. "Oh, relax. I read why you're in here. Heard you tackled some girls like a sumo wrestler."

I gasped, pressing a hand over my heart as if he'd physically wounded me. "Well, don't you sound like an expert on sumo wrestling."

He threw his head back, laughing, then looked back at me with a teasing grin. "What? Never sat down and watched a sumo match?"

I crossed my arms, pouting as his earlier words still pricked at my confidence. "Watch a bunch of mostly-naked men wrestle each other? No, thank you."

I had no idea where this conversation was even headed anymore. My gaze drifted downward, suddenly self-conscious. Sure, he'd said I'd look like a guy if I had muscle, but still, the thought lingered. Did I already look boyish? People had always told me I took after my dad...

Noticing my expression, Chris leaned in, a softer look in his eyes. "Hey," he said, an "apologetic" grin tugging at his lips. "You know I was joking about the whole 'man' thing, right?"

I huffed, pretending not to care. "Of course I know!" But my voice wavered a little. I looked away quickly, feeling my cheeks burn.

He suddenly patted me on the head, like I was some small, innocent dog. "You're very fragile." He said, leaning in so close I could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. "Like you could break in half with a single touch."

I groaned, narrowing my eyes at him once more and bringing my fist up in protest. How dare he say something like that? "You wanna say that again?!"

He just stared at my fist, completely unfazed, his amusement only growing. "So cute."

My cheeks flushed at his words, but I fought to maintain my composure. His proximity only irritated me further. "Have your parents ever taught you about personal space?"

The playful grin faded from his face as he regarded me with a serious expression. "My parents are dead."

My eyes widened in horror. I instantly felt like the world's biggest jerk for my thoughtless remark. Why did I always say things without thinking? A rush of regret washed over me, and I began to stammer. "I... uh... s-sorry... I—"

He laughed at my reaction to his words, the sound surprisingly light, as if he found my discomfort amusing. "I never met them." He said, leaning in even closer. "I like to tell people I'm an orphan. They always look at me like they've seen a ghost. Kind of like how you just did."

I turned in my chair to face him fully, my curiosity towards this random man piqued even further. "So your parents died right after you were born?"

He blinked, taken aback by my boldness, as if no one had ever pressed him on his past before. He paused for a moment, a look of confusion flickering across his face, before that same sly smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Who knows? I was asleep."

His answer caught me off guard, and a tiny giggle escaped before I could stifle it. I quickly covered my mouth just like I did earlier, fighting to regain my serious demeanor. "Oops! Sorry!" I said, feeling a mix of embarrassment and guilt.

He ruffled the top of my hair playfully. "Sorry for what? Laughing at my joke or just being silly?"

"Hey! You're messing up my hair!" I pouted, attempting to smooth it down.

He chuckled, and I couldn't help but notice how different this random boy's personality was compared to Jake Lee's. Chris was open and lighthearted, able to laugh easily without any mood swings. He seemed to find amusement in everything, while Jake carried an air of mystery and aloofness.

"I think I just made it look better, actually." He replied, grinning at my pout. I rolled my eyes, still trying to tame the hair he'd disheveled.

Chris continued to snicker as he watched me, his laughter infectious.

After detention, we stepped out of the classroom, and he waved to me with a casual confidence. "Later, princess."

The hallway was crowded, and I waved back, feeling a strange warmth at his playful nickname. "I'll see you next detention!" I joked, a feeling in my gut telling me I'd likely be seeing him again tomorrow—and the day after that.

He shot me one last grin before turning away, his hand still up in a half-hearted wave, as if he was trying to play it cool. "I'll hold you to it, princess." He called over his shoulder before disappearing into the throng of students.

I pulled out the crumpled schedule I had stuffed in my bag earlier, smoothing it out as best as I could. Two classes left before art. I shoved it back into my bag and made my way outside to sit on the steps. I opened the same notebook from earlier, a gift from my mother this morning. She had said she didn't use it anymore, and I gladly accepted it.

It felt strange, really. I wasn't supposed to meet her or talk to her, yet here I was, recalling the sleepover we had. I'd talked to my grandparents, eaten their food, worn my mother's clothes, and taken her drawing book. I couldn't shake the worry that this might somehow change the future.

As I sketched in the book, I glanced up and spotted a couple of familiar faces: Two girls lingering at a distance. They walked cautiously, eyes darting as if they were afraid I might pounce on them. "I know those bruises..." I muttered under my breath. They were the ones I tackled for bullying my mother.

A smirk crept onto my face as I closed my notebook, the memory of yesterday's confrontation fueling my confidence. Without a second thought, I stood up and marched forward, planting my foot down with a purposeful thud. They flinched, their eyes widening in fear as they turned and bolted back toward the school, avoiding eye contact at all costs. "And there's more where that came from!" I shouted after them, my voice ringing with triumph.

The final bell rang, signaling the end of the last class before the art class, and I sighed, grabbing my bag from the steps. "Here I go." I muttered to myself, my resolve wavering as I contemplated whether I really wanted to attend class. Ultimately, I decided to push forward, asking for directions along the way until I finally found myself standing in the same hall as the art classroom. It was tucked away in a corner, the last class of the day. The only class i'm joining.

As I scanned the hall, someone came into focus ahead of me, and my vision sharpened. There was no mistaking the guitar slung over his back.

"Hey, Jake!" I called out, trying to sound friendly, but he kept walking, ignoring me. Frustration bubbled inside me, and I quickened my pace to catch up, tapping him on the shoulder. He halted abruptly, turning to face me. I noticed the headphones nestled in his ears; so he hadn't heard me at all.

Slowly, he pulled one out, his gaze boring into mine for what felt like an eternity. I detected a hint of irritation flickering in his eyes, but I was becoming accustomed to it by now. I was undettered. He took a deep breath before finally speaking.

"You keep showing up around me. Should I get used to that?"

I gasped softly, thrown off balance by his words. He glanced at my hand still resting on his shoulder, and I quickly pulled it away, not gazing my eyes away. I realized we had reached the dead end of the hall right in front of the art classroom.

"Are you—" I began, but was abruptly cut off by a loud voice behind me.

"Hey, princess! Are you in this class too?"

I spun around to find Chris striding toward us. I hadn't expected to see him again so soon; I'd assumed our next meeting would be in detention tomorrow.

"Y-yeah..." I stammered, nervously tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Guess we're classmates..."

Chris chuckled as he closed the distance. "Guess we are, princess." He playfully patted my head, sending my hair into another disarray. I rolled my eyes, feigning annoyance, though I secretly enjoyed the nickname he gave me. I would never admit that, of course.

Chris glanced past me, his expression shifting to one of excitement. "Oh man, what's up?"

I watched in disbelief as Chris extended a hand toward Jake Lee, who surprised me by returning the gesture with a broad, playful grin.

"Been a while, man!" Jake replied, the warmth in his tone catching me completely off guard. "Can't remember the last time you actually showed up to class."

Chris chuckled, a smug expression dancing on his face. "You know me. Why would I waste my life sitting in a boring class?"

Jake let out a genuine laugh, one that echoed through the hallway, further surprising me. "And yet, you're somehow still passing."

What was happening here? Were these two friends? Like, really good friends? It felt surreal. I had always assumed Jake preferred solitude, given his usual demeanor, but here he was, laughing and relaxed in Chris's presence. This was a side of him I had never imagined witnessing, even after just a few encounters with him.

I glance back and forth at the both of them.

If anyone knew Jake well, it had to be Chris then.

As Chris turned to grasp the door handle of the art room, he shot a look back at Jake, that same smug grin plastered on his face. "I have my ways." He replied, echoing Jake's earlier remark.

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