Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Unexpected Detention

Monday started with a warning bell, a spilled coffee, and a test Elara hadn’t studied for.

She blamed Jaxon.

Okay—not blamed, exactly. But ever since their late-night library moment, her thoughts had been a tangled mess of half-finished drawings, re-read notes, and what-ifs that kept her awake until 2 a.m.

Still, nothing could have prepared her for what happened after third period.

“Miss Grey, Mr. Reid—stay after class,” said Mr. Harrison, the grumpy, always-suspicious science teacher.

Elara froze mid-step. Jaxon, leaning back in his chair, just rolled his eyes.

Once the class cleared out, Mr. Harrison crossed his arms and held up a crumpled paper airplane.

“I found this flying across the room during the quiz,” he said. “It had answers written inside. Care to explain?”

Elara blinked. “We didn’t—”

“I know you didn’t, Grey,” Harrison interrupted. “But it came from your side of the room. And Reid hasn’t exactly earned my trust.”

Jaxon stood up straight. “You think I cheated?”

“I think you were involved. And until someone confesses, you’re both getting detention.”

Elara gaped. “That’s not fair—”

“Life’s not fair. Detention. Today. 3:30.”

Mr. Harrison walked out before either of them could argue.

Elara turned slowly to Jaxon, who looked... amused?

“You’re smiling?” she hissed. “We just got detention!”

He shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

“I haven’t!”

“Well, congrats. You’re officially a bad girl now.”

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “This is your fault.”

“I didn’t throw the paper airplane!”

“But you’re the reason he suspects us!”

“True,” he said, grinning now. “Reputation’s a curse.”

At 3:30, Elara sat stiffly in the cold, nearly-empty classroom. One clock ticked too loudly. One fluorescent light buzzed like a dying bee.

Jaxon sauntered in five minutes late.

“Nice of you to join me,” she muttered.

He dropped into the seat beside her and leaned back like he was at a spa. “So... what are we supposed to do in here?”

“Reflect on our mistakes, I guess.”

“Well, I’ve made plenty. Should keep me busy.”

Elara shot him a look, but it softened when she saw the faint smile tugging at his lips.

“I’ve never had detention before,” she admitted.

“First time for everything.”

“I hate it.”

He glanced sideways. “You don’t hate this.”

She hesitated.

“No,” she said quietly. “I don’t.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Jaxon reached into his hoodie and pulled out a pen.

“Give me your hand.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Trust me.”

Curious, she offered her hand.

He uncapped the pen and began doodling on her skin—small stars and swirls, delicate lines forming a pattern along the side of her wrist.

“You’re drawing on me now?”

“Call it poetic justice.”

“Poetic?”

“You sketch me,” he said, still focused. “Now I sketch you. Sort of.”

She watched, fascinated, as his rough hands moved with surprising gentleness.

“Where’d you learn to draw like that?”

“My mom,” he said without hesitation. “Before everything went... sideways.”

Elara stayed quiet, sensing the weight behind those words.

“She used to draw on my arms when I couldn’t sleep. Said ink held memories longer than dreams.”

“That’s beautiful.”

“She was.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was full. Heavy, but shared.

After a moment, she pulled her hand away gently and admired the artwork.

“I’m keeping this,” she said softly.

He smirked. “Ink’s permanent... like detention records.”

She laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I try.”

At 4:30, Mr. Harrison returned.

“You’re free to go,” he said, barely glancing up from his clipboard.

Jaxon stood and stretched. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Don’t even joke,” Elara said, swatting his arm.

As they walked down the hallway together, the school eerily quiet, Elara found herself slowing near her locker.

“I still don’t get you,” she said, turning to him.

“I’m not a puzzle, remember?”

“No,” she said. “But you’re definitely a challenge.”

He stepped closer, his tone soft. “And you like challenges, don’t you?”

Elara’s heart fluttered.

“I might,” she whispered.

He smiled—really smiled—and for the first time, it reached his eyes.

“See you tomorrow, Grey.”

That night, Elara added a new page to her sketchbook: a hand covered in stars and swirls, ink blooming like a galaxy across the skin. Beside it, another hand reaching toward it, smudged with charcoal and hope.

She titled it: Detention.

And for the first time in a long while, she fell asleep smiling.

End of Chapter 5.

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