Chapter 10

The Next Morning

The rest of last night was a blur. I don't remember much—what time I went to sleep, or how the conversation even ended. The only thing I do remember is hugging Jake. It was the last thing I expected to happen. He looked so broken, and for the first time, he let me into his thoughts, even if just a little.

But now, standing outside our rooms in the early morning light, things are...different.

Jake and I step out at nearly the same time, his door creaking softly as it swings open. For a split second, our eyes meet. It's like a charged jolt, neither of us knowing what to say or how to act. Without a word, we both glance away almost instinctively, like two magnets suddenly flipped to repel each other. The air is thick with awkwardness, a stark contrast to the strange closeness we'd shared just hours ago.

He lets out a quiet sigh, his jaw tightening as he adjusts the strap of the bag slung over one shoulder. His gaze flickers to me briefly before he walks past, his foot steps gentle against the hardwood floor. I catch the subtle roll of his eyes, a small but deliberate motion.

It's clear. He wants to forget about last night altogether.

I release a sigh of my own, pulling my bag higher on both my shoulders as I trail behind him. My steps are slower, almost hesitant, as if some invisible wall is keeping me from matching his pace.

When I reach the front door, I bend to slip on my shoes, hoping to leave quietly before things can get even more awkward. But just as my fingers graze the laces, a voice calls out from behind me.

"You're not having breakfast?"

Startled, I turn to see Mrs. Lee peeking around the corner of the kitchen. She's wearing a floral apron, a spatula in one hand, her hair pinned back neatly. There's something so warm and maternal about her presence, it almost catches me off guard.

I straighten quickly, fumbling for an excuse. "Ah, no...I don't normally eat breakfast.." I mumble, hoping that'll be enough to let me slip out unnoticed.

Mrs. Lee's brow furrows in concern as she steps closer, her expression almost comically disapproving. "But you're so thin already!"

Her words make me freeze. Thin? I don't know why, but the way she says it feels so genuine, not a jab or a critique, but an observation wrapped in care. She reaches out, gently rubbing my arm with a comforting touch. It's so subtle, but I feel a wave of calm wash over me, a warmth I hadn't realized I needed.

For a moment, I hesitate. Then I nod, my resolve melting under her kind gaze. "I...I can eat breakfast." I say softly.

Her face lights up with a smile so bright, you'd think I'd just told her the best news of her life. "Really? Oh, wonderful!" She exclaims, grabbing my arm gently but insistently and guiding me toward the kitchen. "Come, come! You're going to love my pancakes—they're my specialty!"

Her enthusiasm catches me off guard, but in a way, it's comforting. The kitchen smells like butter and vanilla, the kind of aroma that makes you feel like you're home, even if you don't belong there.

Mrs. Lee moves back to the stove, expertly flipping a pancake with the ease of someone who's done this a thousand times. Meanwhile, I glance over to where Jake is standing. He sets his guitar down by the wall and cracks open the back door, letting the fresh morning air waft in to combat the heavy scent of cooking.

"Jake, you better eat too." Mrs. Lee says firmly, her tone laced with the kind of authority only a mother can wield.

Jake lets out a short sigh, dragging out his chair as if the act itself is a chore. "Yeah, whatever." He mutters, plopping down at the table without much enthusiasm.

I quietly sit down a few seats away, keeping a noticeable gap between us. The tension between us is almost palpable, like a silent reminder of last night hanging in the air.

Jake doesn't respond, just stabs at a pancake with his fork before slumping further into his seat. He doesn't look at me, and I don't dare look at him.

The awkwardness sits heavy between us, but Mrs. Lee is oblivious—or perhaps she's intentionally ignoring it. She hums as she bustles around the kitchen, and for a fleeting moment, it almost feels normal.

That is, until she turns to me with another one of her radiant smiles. "Oh! And when you two come back from school, I—"

"Huh?" The word slips out of my mouth before I can stop it, cutting her off abruptly.

What does she mean, when we both come back from school?

I thought my stay here was only for one night. Just a quick pit stop before I disappeared back into my non existent routine. Why is she treating me with this much kindness? Her warmth feels foreign, almost unsettling. I can't wrap my head around it.

Why—

"Mom, these pancakes are soggy." Jake's voice cuts through my thoughts like a sharp knife, yanking me back to reality.

Mrs. Lee spins over to Jake, her expression shifting into one of mild horror. "Oh, dear! That must have been the batch I soaked in too much butter!" She swoops in, grabbing Jake's plate with the urgency of someone defusing a bomb, and rushes back to the stove.

The air feels heavy again. I glance up tentatively, only to find Jake's gaze locked onto me, sharp and unyielding. There's a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, but the slight narrowing of his brow makes his intent clear.

"You trying to take advantage of my mother's kindness?"

The accusation feels like a slap, even though his tone is more cutting than outright hostile. For a moment, I'm stunned, fumbling for a response. There's something else hidden in his voice, though—a faint undercurrent of amusement that almost escapes detection. It's subtle, but it's there, like he's testing me. Still, his irritation is front and center.

"W-what? No! I—" I stammer, my voice cracking slightly. "I wasn't..."

Jake tilts his head, his lips twitching as if to smirk, but it never quite makes it. He leans back slightly, satisfied that I'm flustered. It seems as though he wanted to put me in my place. A subtle way of telling me to not refuse his mom.

"How are your pancakes, dear?" Mrs. Lee's cheerful voice interrupts, drawing both our attention as she returns to the table with a fresh plate for Jake.

She's looking at me now, expectantly. I glance down at the pancakes in front of me, suddenly hyperaware of her kind eyes. Panicked, I quickly slice off a piece with my fork and knife, shoving it into my mouth.

"They're delicious!" I exclaim, forcing a smile through a mouthful of pancake. It's warm, sweet, and buttery—the perfect bite—but I chew faster than necessary, desperate to avoid Jake's eyes. Even from the corner of my vision, I can feel him still glaring at me, his presence as loud as if he'd spoken.

Mrs. Lee beams at me, clearly pleased with my reaction. "Oh, wonderful! I'm so glad to hear that. Don't worry, dear—I'm certain you'll absolutely love tonight's dinner!"

Her words are so earnest, so full of pride, it almost makes me feel guilty. I want to tell her how much I already love the pancakes, how grateful I am for this fleeting moment of kindness and warmth, but the words stick in my throat. Would it even make a difference if I said them out loud?

Instead, I just nod, swallowing the pancake as quietly as possible.

My thoughts drift back to her earlier comment. I'm certain you'll love tonight's dinner.

Am I... really coming back here after school? I hadn't planned on it, but her words hang heavy in the air, almost like a promise—or maybe an obligation.

I glance out the window, where the cold, gray morning waits. The idea of staying in this house, even for another night, feels... comforting. Warmth. Safety. Delicious home-cooked meals. It's everything my life usually lacks, wrapped up in this strange, unexpected invitation.

My mother never cooked for me unless we had guests over. And even then, the food was more for show than nourishment. I've never had a morning like this, where someone cared enough to flip pancakes for me, let alone worry if I ate.

It's a change I didn't know I wanted.

For now, I guess I'll stay. Just for today. Perhaps...

.

.

.

"Bye! Have fun at school!" Mrs. Lee calls out cheerfully, waving from the front door with a beaming smile. "Make lots of precious memories! Make lots of friends!"

Jake groans loudly, adjusting the strap of his guitar case on his shoulder as we step onto the driveway. "Mom, this is high school, not kindergarten." He mutters under his breath, his voice laced with the exasperation only a teenager can muster.

I glance back at Mrs. Lee, her care and enthusiasm infectious despite Jake's grumbling. I wave at her, a genuine smile tugging at my lips. "Thank you for the pancakes! They were so delicious!"

Her smile grows even wider, lighting up her entire face. "Of course, honey! Just wait until dinner!"

Her words catch me off guard, my hand freezing mid-air for a moment. Dinner. That's right. She's so certain I'll be back, as though it's a given. The thought leaves a strange warmth in my chest, one I can't quite put into words.

Without realizing it, a small, almost bashful smile pulls at the corners of my lips. "Yeah... Can't wait!" I call back, my voice carrying a little more sincerity than I intended.

As I turn and begin following Jake out of the driveway, the cheeriness of the moment starts to fade. I walk a few paces behind him, unsure of how close I should be. The silence between us feels heavy, like there's an invisible barrier preventing me from bridging the gap.

A part of me wants to bring up last night, to acknowledge what happened—to let him know I'm here if he wants to talk. But deep down, I know better. Jake isn't the type to revisit moments of vulnerability, especially not in the clear light of day.

"Pick up the pace." He grumbles, not bothering to glance back at me as his steps grow more deliberate.

I frown at his tone, quickening my stride just slightly but still holding back. "I'll walk how fast I want to walk." I retort, a quiet pout slipping into my voice.

There's a pause, and then I hear it—a soft, low chuckle. It's almost imperceptible, but it's there, like the hint of a crack in his carefully constructed walls. I'm certain he's smirking, and for some reason, that thought makes me roll my eyes even as my chest tightens.

Jake takes a slow, measured breath, then picks up his own pace, his long strides widening the gap between us. "If you're late, that's detention." He says casually, his voice teasing as he finally stops and glances halfway back at me. The smirk is there, subtle but unmistakable, tugging at the corner of his lips. "Suit yourself."

He shines so brightly in the morning sun.

My heart skips at his expression—it's infuriatingly smug, like he's enjoying this far more than he should.

"Detention?" I gasp lightly, my stomach sinking at the mere thought. Not another one. Please, no. The last time I ended up in detention, I nearly died of boredom. Even though I still have more detention. I can not add to it.

Without another word, I break into a run, rushing past him in a blur. "No way I'm doing that again!" I mutter under my breath as I bolt down the street, my bag bouncing against my back.

I risk a quick glance behind me, and of course, there he is—still smirking, his expression even more amused now. He doesn't even bother to hurry, one hand casually slipping into the pocket of his uniform pants. His other hand reaches up to tuck an earphone into place, his hair falling messily over one eye.

He looks completely unbothered, effortlessly exuding the same mysterious aura he always does, like he's in his own little world. It's maddening how cool he seems without even trying.

As I turn my focus back ahead, I can still feel his gaze on me, that lingering grin like a weight I can't shake off and those numb sleepy eyes of his. But somehow, I can't help but smile to myself, even as I pick up the pace.

.

.

.

Detention.

Another lunch wasted in this miserable room. It better not became a routine I'd rather avoid. I swear, next time I'll think twice before breaking any rules—this can't keep happening. My stomach growls faintly, but the boredom gnawing at me is far worse than hunger.

"Hey, princess, hold this for a sec." Chris says, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence. He turns from his seat, extending his hand toward me. I glance down at what he's holding: a rubber band.

I blink, confused. Why would he want me to hold that? But I don't really give it much thought.

"Okay..." I mutter, hesitant but curious. I grab the other side of the rubber band, expecting something normal. Big mistake.

Without warning, Chris snaps it back, releasing it with a quick jerk. The rubber band whips through the air, slapping harshly against my fingers.

"Ouch! What the hell?!" I pull my hand back instantly, the sting shooting up my fingers. The pain is sharp, and I can't help but shake my hand, trying to relieve the sensation.

Chris leans back in his chair, his grin wide and unapologetic. "You looked bored."

I scowl, rubbing my sore fingers. "So you decided to take advantage of my boredom?" I shoot him a look that's equal parts annoyed and incredulous.

His grin widens, and a low, almost sinister chuckle escapes him. "Sure, let's go with that."

He turns his face forward, clearly satisfied with his little prank.

I narrow my eyes towards his side profile. "You were bored, weren't you?"

He doesn't answer, but his silence speaks volumes. It's clear that the whole point wasn't to prank me—it was just to watch me squirm. To enjoy the small reaction from me that would break up his otherwise monotonous day in this dull, empty room.

He mentioned he's a regular here, a fixture in the lifeless atmosphere, and I get the feeling he knows it all too well. His boredom isn't something to escape; it's something he embraces, finding ways to amuse himself at the expense of anyone unlucky enough to share the room with him. He probably gets a kick out of the rare moments of disruption, and I'm just the latest victim.

Great. Just what I need: Chris, the self-appointed king of mischief, keeping me company.

Suddenly, the teacher walks in, and there's only 10 minutes of detention left. Chris leans in close, still staring ahead as he whispers, "I bet you can't shoot that rubber band onto that board right beside the loser."

I glance over. He's referring to the teacher, who's standing near a board just behind him with a clear spot to aim at. I look back at Chris. "Is that a challenge?"

That same sly smirk curls across his face. He doesn't even look at me, his voice dripping with mockery. "I don't know, princess. Is it?"

It's clearly a challenge. I exhale sharply, grabbing the rubber band with a confidence I don't entirely feel. "I can do it." I reply, the irritation in my voice barely hidden.

Chris chuckles under his breath, probably surprised that I'm even considering it. I squint my left eye, narrowing my focus as I position the rubber band, aiming it squarely at the clear spot behind the teacher.

"You..." Chris starts, his voice hesitant now, but he leans in again, his tone almost pleading. "You don't really have to do it, princess..."

I ignore him, tuning out his voice. There's no way I'm backing down now. If I fail, it'll be worse than just doing it in the first place. "I got this."

He sighs, his frustration palpable. "Seriously—"

"One..." I begin counting, ignoring the tightening knot in my stomach.

"Come on, stop it—" Chris tries again, desperation creeping into his voice.

"Two..." I position the rubber band at the perfect spot, taking a slow, steady breath. My hands are stable now, my focus sharper than before.

Chris places a hand on my shoulder, the pressure firm and his voice even softer, like he's trying to stop me without making it obvious. "Just stop, I was kidding—"

"Three." I release the rubber band, watching it fly toward its target.

For a moment, everything seems to slow down as I watch the rubber band soar through the air. Then—smack.

"Oh God..." My voice is barely a whisper, a wave of panic washing over me.

Chris is just as shocked as I am, his eyes wide and unblinking. "Oh, princess..."

The sharp sound had cut through the stillness of the room, and I froze. My heart dropped even further as I take in the scene. He's standing there, wide-eyed, clearly stunned—I just hit the teacher in the eye.

I'm in disbelief, unable to comprehend the situation. I just... smacked the teacher in the face. My mind races, trying to figure out how it all went wrong.

"I tried to warn you..." Chris mutters, his voice quiet, both of us still staring forward like we're immobilized in place, unable to move.

"It's not my fault he decided to move right into my target as soon as I shot it!" I snap back, the words coming out in a sharp whisper. The tension in the room thickens as I realize there's no way I can get out of this.

The teacher's eyes lock onto mine, and I can practically see the veins throbbing in his forehead, his face turning a deep shade of red. His rage is palpable, and I feel a chill run down my spine.

"Juno Maye." He growls, his voice low and menacing. The anger in it sends a shiver straight to my core.

Oh God. Not the full name.

"Go, princess." Chris's tone is no longer teasing—it's a quiet, frightened command as he takes in the teacher's furious expression. His eyes meet mine, and for the first time, there's something almost urgent in them. "Get as far away from here as possible."

I stand up abruptly, the sound of my chair scraping against the floor so loud it almost makes my heart stop. I gulp, my throat dry. I glance back at Chris, who's still seated, his face a mixture of concern and fear. "I won't forget you." I say to him, my voice taking on a dramatic, almost playful tone—as if I were a soldier leaving for battle, saying goodbye to his wife.

No more words are exchanged. Without hesitation, I bolt out of the room, my feet pounding against the floor as I make my escape. Behind me, I hear the teacher's furious shout.

"Juno, get back here!"

I don't stop as I feel the stares of the students burning into me. It's lunch time, which makes it worse— the halls are packed with students, their voices and footsteps echoing, but at least I can blend into the crowd. I keep my head low and push forward.

"Juno! Don't make this harder than it needs to be!" The teacher's voice booms from behind me, and I can hear the frustration in his tone.

The whispers and questions from the students start pouring in. "What's going on?"

"I wonder what she did to piss off the detention teacher?"

"Are they playing tag?"

"Why is there a bump on Mr. Johnson's forehead?"

I feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck but ignore it. The teacher is gaining on me, his footsteps heavy and determined, so I quicken my pace. The crowd starts thinning as I push further down the hall, and that's when I spot Jake, standing at the end of the hallway. He's walking, but then he slowly looks up, confusion flickering in his eyes when he sees me running toward him. He pulls out an earbud, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"What...?" He mutters lowly, his voice laced with disbelief. He glances behind me, probably seeing the lunatic teacher hot on my heels.

In a split second, I realize there's no time to explain and I don't want to crash into him. So, without thinking, I grab Jake's wrist, pulling him along with me as I continue my mad dash down the hall. He stumbles slightly, clearly not expecting to be yanked into my chaotic run.

"No time to talk!" I shout over my shoulder.

We round the corner, my grip tight on his wrist, dragging him along. His confusion is evident, and I can practically hear the thoughts racing through his head. I must look so crazy from his point of view right now. "What the hell are you doing?" He manages to say, his breath starting to quicken as he tries to keep up with my frantic running.

I barely have enough air in my lungs to respond. "Isn't it obvious? I'm going for a jog!" I shout as I look back, trying to make light of the situation, though I'm sure I look completely insane.

His hair bounces with each step, matching the rhythm of my hectic movements. Somehow, even in this madness, he still looks effortlessly cool. This is so unfair. Meanwhile, I look like a psych ward patient on the run, a mess of disheveled hair and panicked breaths.

Finally, I spot an empty classroom ahead and make a sharp turn toward it. I push the door open, still holding onto Jake's wrist, and quickly step inside, slamming the door behind us. I release his wrist and immediately lean against the door, gasping for air. My hands press into my thighs, trying to steady myself. The room is silent except for the harsh sound of my breathing.

Jake stands there, still perplexed, his shoes right in front of me in my line of sight. I finally manage to lift my head, leaning against the door with one hand on my hip, still trying to recover. I can't help but feel a bit embarrassed—how out of shape am I that it's this hard to catch my breath?

Jake stares at me, his eyes still full of confusion. "You gonna tell me what the hell happened, or what?"

I take a deep breath, trying to regain my composure. "Maybe..." I pant, somehow still struggling to catch my breath. "Chris can give you the details."

"Chris?" Jake tilts his head, the confusion deepening. He leans against a desk now, his posture relaxed but his eyes still locked on me, waiting for an explanation. "What's Chris have to do with this?"

My breathing finally steadies, and I push off from the door, feeling the last of the breath return to my lungs. "He left me to fend for myself." I mutter, frustration creeping into my voice.

Jake raises an eyebrow at my words. He watches me for a moment, his gaze scrutinizing, and then he lets out a soft exhale. "You're so..." He pauses, as if trying to figure out the right word. His expression shifts, and I can't quite read it, but then it clicks as he says the word. "Weird..."

He speaks the word like he's offended I'm so weird.

I freeze at the word, a pang of offense surges through me. "Unique would have been a better word to describe me!" I shoot back, my tone a little sharper than I intend.

He just shakes his head, unimpressed. "You're weird before you're anything else."

I scoff, wanting to argue further, but before I can, the bell rings, signaling the start of the next class.

Jake sighs, pulling the earbud from his pocket and sliding it back into his ear, clearly over the entire interaction. "I'm going to class." He mutters, turning toward the door.

I glare at him, irritation bubbling up inside me. As he walks out, I force a smile—one that's completely fake—and watch him disappear out of my sight.

This day just keeps getting worse. I let out a heavy sigh, grabbing my bag off the floor where I had dropped it earlier when I rushed in. With one last glance at the door, I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and walk out of the classroom, ready to face whatever consequences await me. At least I can do it with some level of confidence—whether it's warranted or not.

.

.

.

Art class.

I plop into the chair between Jake and Chris, feeling like a walking disaster. My hair's a tangled mess, my clothes are crumpled, and I'm pretty sure I burned through any calories I had left with all that running earlier.

"What's the matter, princess?" Chris leans in with a smirk, his voice dripping with amusement.

I shoot him a glare, my bloodshot eyes probably making the message loud and clear. Yes, I've been crying. No, I don't care who knows.

Chris's smirk falters. For a second, his playful façade slips, replaced with something that almost looks like concern. "Have you been crying?"

He says it just loud enough for Jake to notice. Jake's pen pauses mid-sentence in his notebook, and he glances over, subtle but attentive.

"So what?" I  scowl, my words coming out with more bite than I intended. "Never seen a girl have emotions before?"

Chris leans back, studying my face as if piecing together a puzzle. The shift in his expression catches me off guard—his usual teasing replaced by something softer. "Did you really get into that much trouble?" He asks, his voice quieter now.

I drop my gaze to the desk, unwilling to elaborate. "It's whatever." I mutter.

Chris sighs but doesn't back off. Instead, he props an elbow on the desk and rests his chin in his palm, tilting his head to watch me. "Come on, tell me. What happened?"

I ignore him, flipping open my notebook like I have something important to jot down. My eyes drift toward Jake's notebook instead. It's filled with neat, detailed notes, his handwriting annoyingly precise. He's so focused, so disciplined. He's extremely smart & talented. Meanwhile, I'm barely hanging on.

But Chris isn't about to let me off the hook.

"What is it? Did the principal put you on cleaning duty? More detention?"

I grit my teeth, trying to drown him out. My fingers tighten around the pen as I focus on Jake's notes again, like I could somehow absorb his calmness through osmosis.

"Or wait-" Chris continues, his tone light but probing. "Did you get suspended? Or expelled? Is that it?" He leans a little too close. "Is that why you were crying?"

His persistence chips away at my composure, his voice a constant buzz in my head.

"Maybe you're just emotional for no reason..." He adds, his smirk creeping back. "I mean, I did warn you about shooting that band..."

That's it. I've had enough. The pen snaps against the desk as I slam my notebook shut and whip around to face him.

"He wants to meet with my parents, okay?"

The edge in my voice harder than I'd meant it to be, raw and trembling. The words hang in the air like a confession I didn't mean to make. The room feels too quiet now, the weight of what I've said pressing down. Dead silence between us.

Chris blinks, stunned into silence for once. Jake's pen stops moving entirely.

I take a shaky breath, my chest rising and falling as I glare at Chris. His usual smirk is nowhere to be found, replaced with a look of startlement—or maybe confusiom. It doesn't matter. My hands are trembling as I clutch my notebook.

The principle wants to meet my parents...

I really didn't want to say it out loud.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***