Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Locker Notes

By Monday, the whispering in the halls had changed.

“Elara Grey is talking to Jaxon Reid?”

“They passed each other a note.”

“Did she smile at him?”

The rumor mill at Ridgeway High worked faster than wildfire. But Elara didn’t care—not really. Not when her morning started with a folded piece of notebook paper tucked between her history book and the side of her locker.

She glanced around—no one looking—then opened it carefully.

Saw you drawing in the art room again. You tilt your head when you’re focused. It’s annoying. Also kind of cute.

– J

Elara smirked and tucked the note into her sketchbook. Two could play this game.

She grabbed a fresh page and scribbled back.

You glare at people like they owe you money. It’s terrifying. Also kind of hot.

– E

She folded it neatly and slipped it into his locker when no one was watching.

And just like that, a secret exchange began.

For the next few days, they communicated entirely through notes.

Little jabs. Observations. The occasional compliment buried in sarcasm. Always folded, always unsigned—but both of them knew exactly who the other was.

Elara looked forward to school now in a way she hadn’t before. Not because of classes or friends or even art—but because of the thrill of wondering: Will he leave me a note today? Will he be waiting near my locker?

Sometimes he was.

Sometimes he wasn’t.

But the notes always came.

On Thursday, she opened one that made her heart pause.

You asked me once why I act like this. Why I push people away.

The truth? It's easier than being pushed first.

And most people do, eventually.

I don’t think you will. That scares me more than anything.

– J

She stared at it for a long time, unsure what to say.

Because part of her wanted to reassure him, to say she would never walk away. That she saw him now, bruises and all, and she wasn’t afraid.

But that felt too big to write on paper.

So she kept it simple.

I’m not going anywhere.

– E

That afternoon, Jaxon was waiting by the steps after the last bell. Hoodie up, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she replied.

They walked in silence for a moment, the crowd thinning around them.

“I read your note,” he said.

She smiled. “I read yours.”

A pause.

“I meant it,” he said, voice lower now. “All of it.”

“I know.”

Another pause.

“Why do you keep trying with me, Grey?”

Elara shrugged. “Because I think you’re worth the trouble.”

His eyes met hers. “You shouldn’t.”

“But I do.”

He shook his head, almost like he couldn’t believe her. Then he reached into his pocket and handed her something small.

A crumpled candy wrapper.

She blinked. “You got me chocolate?”

“It was the last one in the vending machine,” he said. “I took it. Then felt guilty.”

Elara laughed. “You’re giving me stolen chocolate as a peace offering?”

“It’s a very rare Jaxon Reid apology gift.”

She unwrapped it slowly, popped it into her mouth, and grinned.

“Tastes like criminal regret,” she said.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t get you, Elara Grey.”

“That’s okay. I don’t get me either, sometimes.”

They didn’t kiss.

They didn’t hold hands.

But that afternoon, something shifted.

A wall cracked.

A thread formed.

And it felt more real than anything Elara had ever known.

Friday came, and with it, the first sign of trouble.

Jaxon wasn’t in homeroom.

Wasn’t in the cafeteria.

Didn’t answer his note.

Elara tried to shake off the unease, but it gnawed at her through every class.

By final period, she couldn't sit still.

After the bell rang, she rushed to his locker. Empty.

Then to the gym. The bleachers. The back of the school. Nothing.

Finally, on instinct, she checked the library.

There he was.

Sitting alone in their usual spot, staring blankly at his phone.

She approached slowly.

“You missed math,” she said.

He didn’t look up. “Wasn’t in the mood.”

“You okay?”

He shrugged. “No.”

Elara slid into the seat across from him, silent for a moment.

Then: “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Want me to sit here and say nothing until you do?”

He finally looked at her.

“You don’t give up, do you?”

“Nope.”

A long pause stretched between them. Then he spoke, voice low.

“My mom’s gone again.”

Elara blinked. “Gone?”

“She disappears sometimes. Days. Weeks. Leaves me with nothing but cereal and silence.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head. “Not your fault. It’s just... every time I think I’m getting better, something yanks me back.”

His eyes were glassy now, but he refused to blink.

Elara reached out—slowly—and placed her hand over his.

Warmth. Real. Gentle.

“You are getting better,” she whispered. “One step at a time.”

He didn’t speak, but he didn’t pull away either.

They sat there until the library lights dimmed and the world outside darkened.

Neither of them moved.

That night, Elara added a new page to her sketchbook.

A boy sitting at a table, head down, surrounded by books—but one hand reaching across the page, meeting another.

Two people holding on in the middle of a storm.

She titled it: Anchor.

End of Chapter 4.

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