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** Part 1 — Close Enough to Touch**
**1**
There was something new in the air.
It wasn't love—not the capital-R Romantic kind that people wrote songs about. It wasn't infatuation either. That came and went like weather, fleeting and loud. No, what settled between Lena and Jace after that day at her locker was something quieter. Something that hummed in the space between glances, something that made silence feel less empty.
But that didn't mean everything was perfect.
For starters, Lena still got weirdly self-conscious every time she saw Jace talking to someone else—especially other girls. She didn't like that part of herself, but it showed up anyway, curled inside her like a jealous little snake. And Jace? He had this way of clamming up whenever things got *too* real—like if they talked about the future or feelings or, God forbid, *college*.
They were trying. But neither of them really knew the rules yet.
And high school was still high school.
"So let me get this straight," Sadie said, stabbing her fork into a sad excuse for salad. "You guys aren't dating, but you're... 'something.'"
Lena didn't look up. "Yup."
"And you hold hands?"
"Sometimes."
"And he walked you home?"
"Uh-huh."
Sadie narrowed her eyes. "Girl, that *is* dating."
"It's not official," Lena muttered. "We haven't labeled anything."
"Why not?"
Lena picked at her pasta. "Because labels complicate things."
Marcos, sipping his chocolate milk like a philosopher, leaned in. "Or maybe labels make things *clear*. I mean, if a guy's holding your hand and walking you home and giving you love notes disguised as apology letters—"
"They were *lists,*" Lena corrected.
"Whatever," Marcos said. "Point is, if it looks like a relationship, sounds like a relationship, and flirts like a relationship…"
Sadie finished, "Then you're either dating or deeply confused."
Lena dropped her head on the table.
"You guys are the worst."
But even as they teased her, something light fluttered in her chest. Because underneath it all—beneath the fear and the second-guessing—was this quiet, undeniable truth:
She liked him.
And maybe, just maybe… he liked her too.
**2**
That afternoon, Jace found her outside the art building.
"I'm stealing you," he said.
Lena glanced up from her sketchpad. "What?"
"Come on," he said. "Fifteen-minute field trip."
She hesitated, eyes darting toward the building. "I have class."
"It's a study period. Miss Wexler said you could go."
"You asked?"
He shrugged. "I'm persuasive."
She blinked. "You *talked* to Miss Wexler?"
He smirked. "Don't make a big deal out of it."
"Oh, it's a huge deal."
Jace rolled his eyes. "Come on. Before I change my mind."
She followed.
They cut across the back lot and down a narrow hill, past the old greenhouse the school barely used anymore. The sun filtered through the trees, painting gold patches on the ground.
Finally, Jace stopped at a small clearing.
Lena froze. "Whoa."
Because there, nestled between two trees, was a rusted metal bench almost hidden by ivy. Sunlight pooled across it like a spotlight. The space felt forgotten—untouched.
"I used to come here," Jace said quietly. "Freshman year. When things sucked."
Lena looked at him. "What kind of things?"
He kicked a rock with his shoe. "Family stuff. My brother dropped out, my parents were... not great. I needed somewhere to breathe."
Lena didn't speak.
Jace sat on the bench, patting the spot next to him.
She joined him, heart thudding.
For a moment, they just sat there.
"I never brought anyone here," he said.
She turned her head. "Why me?"
He didn't answer right away. Then:
"Because you don't ask for more than I can give."
Lena blinked. "That's either the nicest or saddest thing anyone's ever said to me."
He looked at her then. Really looked.
"I mean it as a compliment."
And she believed him.
**3**
The next few days blurred together.
They didn't make any big declarations. They didn't have *the talk.* But something shifted. Jace met her at her locker in the mornings. He texted her at night—sometimes dumb memes, sometimes half-finished thoughts that trailed off at 1 a.m. They shared earbuds in the back of the library during study hall. They fought over which songs to skip. Lena hated his playlist; he mocked her obsession with sad indie bands.
They were messy.
But it felt like theirs.
Still, the tension lingered.
Because no one else knew.
And hiding something real started to wear thin.
**4**
On Friday, the school hosted its annual "Spring Spirit Day," which basically meant teachers gave up on real lessons and everyone wandered the gym eating pizza and pretending they cared about tug-of-war.
Lena didn't want to go. But Sadie begged.
"You *have* to come," she said. "Jace is gonna be there."
"We're not attached at the hip," Lena said.
"Could've fooled me."
So Lena went.
She wore a blue hoodie and black jeans and tried not to feel weirdly visible. Her eyes kept scanning for him. Not because she needed him—she told herself that over and over—but because… well. She *wanted* to see him.
Eventually, she found him by the bleachers.
He was laughing.
Not just smiling or smirking—but *laughing*, deep and real, with a group of guys from the soccer team.
And standing right next to him was Mia Delgado.
Pretty, charming Mia Delgado. Who had been in Lena's bio class last year and once dated Jace. Briefly. But still.
Lena didn't mean to freeze. Or stare. But she did.
Jace saw her. His face changed. He started to say something, but she turned.
She walked away.
Didn't run.
Didn't cry.
But her chest hurt in a way she couldn't explain.
**5**
That night, she didn't answer his texts.
Or the next morning.
By Sunday, her phone buzzed with one last message:
> *Can we talk? Please.*
She stared at it for five minutes before typing:
> *Okay. Bench. 5 p.m.*
The rusted clearing again. Their place.
The one he had shown her.
When she got there, he was already waiting.
"Hey," he said.
She didn't sit. "Was that Mia?"
"Yeah," he said. "She came to say hi."
"That's it?"
"Lena…"
"I don't care if it was more," she said quickly. "You're allowed to talk to people."
He stood. "But you do care. I saw your face."
She bit her lip.
Jace looked pained. "I should've walked away. I just—I didn't think it mattered."
"It *doesn't* matter," she said too fast.
He stepped closer. "Then why won't you talk to me?"
Lena crossed her arms. "Because this *thing* between us—it's not clear. And I guess I thought it was. And then I saw her standing next to you and it felt like maybe I'm the only one who sees it as real."
"You're not."
"Then *what are we,* Jace?"
He swallowed.
And for once, he didn't run from the hard question.
"We're something," he said. "And I want it to be more. But I'm scared. I've never had this. Not in a real way. I don't want to screw it up."
Lena's voice cracked. "Then stop pretending it's not real when other people are watching."
He nodded.
"You're right," he said. "You shouldn't have to wonder."
She blinked back the heat in her eyes.
"Then let's stop hiding."
He smiled. "Are you asking me out?"
"Are you saying yes?"
He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"I'm saying *finally.*"
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**Part 2 — Something Real**
**1**
By Monday morning, the shift between them was unmistakable.
It wasn't loud or dramatic—there were no grand hand-holding moments in front of the cafeteria, no sudden declarations in the hallway. But something had clicked into place.
Lena arrived at school ten minutes early and waited at her locker. She wasn't nervous, not exactly. Just aware. Like every sense was sharpened. The fluorescent lights above seemed brighter. The scrape of sneakers on tile sounded louder. Even the air felt a little cooler against her neck.
Then, there he was.
Jace.
He came down the hall with his usual lazy stride, backpack slung over one shoulder, hoodie half-zipped. But when he saw her—just standing there, waiting—his lips curved into the smallest smile.
And that was it.
No fireworks. No music swelling. Just a glance. A smile.
And somehow, it was enough.
"Morning," he said.
Lena nodded, smiling. "Hey."
They didn't hug. Didn't touch. But they stood close. Close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm when she turned to grab a book from her locker.
"You ready for the quiz in trig?" he asked.
"Are *you*?" she shot back.
He made a face. "I'm hoping for a miracle."
She rolled her eyes and shut her locker. "Let's go then, Miracle Boy."
They walked down the hall together. And just like that, the world felt less sharp, less cold.
They weren't pretending anymore.
**2**
Still, things weren't *perfect*.
There were whispers. Side glances. The kind of high school curiosity that crackles around anything new or slightly dramatic. Because Lena and Jace had history—the bad kind. Everyone remembered the locker prank. The snide remarks in English class. The constant friction.
So when those same two people started... showing up together, it didn't go unnoticed.
"Are you guys, like, a thing now?" someone asked during lunch.
Lena blinked. "Why do you care?"
"No offense. Just didn't see that coming," the girl said. "Jace usually goes for different types."
Lena raised a brow. "Different types?"
"You know\... not so serious."
Ah.
There it was.
The backhanded insult. The implication that Lena—quiet, bookish, constantly sarcastic Lena—wasn't the kind of girl boys like Jace Rivera usually dated.
She smiled tightly. "Well, maybe he needed a change."
Jace, who'd walked up just in time to hear that, dropped his tray beside hers and grinned.
"She's the upgrade."
The table went quiet.
Lena fought the urge to smirk.
After lunch, as they walked toward the courtyard, she nudged him.
"Upgrade, huh?"
He shrugged, not looking at her. "Just telling the truth."
Her heart did a weird little twist.
**3**
That afternoon, they sat together behind the gym. The school was buzzing with track practice, choir rehearsals, and the general end-of-day chaos. But the space they'd found—wedged between the gym wall and a row of bushes—felt quiet.
Lena had her sketchbook. Jace had his headphones.
"Can I see what you're working on?" he asked.
She hesitated. "It's not done."
"So?"
She bit her lip, then flipped it around. The drawing was soft pencil—two hands reaching, fingers almost touching.
Jace tilted his head. "That's... intense."
Lena bristled. "In a good way or bad?"
"Good," he said quickly. "Just... kind of feels like us."
She looked up.
He gestured between them. "Close. But still figuring out how to close the gap."
Lena looked down at the hands.
Yeah. That's exactly what it was.
"You ever think about what happens after?" she asked suddenly.
"After what?"
"High school."
Jace leaned back against the wall. "Sometimes. You?"
She nodded slowly. "Too much."
"I figured you'd have it all mapped out."
"I used to," she said. "Now\... it's blurry."
He studied her. "Because of me?"
"No," she said. Then softer: "Because of me."
They sat in silence a moment longer. Then he asked:
"What if we're not just a high school thing?"
Lena's breath caught.
She didn't know how to answer. Not yet.
But she liked that he asked.
**4**
Things were easier at home that week, too. Her mom noticed her smile more. Her little brother stopped teasing her—mostly. And Lena, for once, didn't feel like she had to pretend everything was fine.
Because things were fine.
Maybe not perfect. But better.
On Wednesday night, they FaceTimed while half-studying for a vocab quiz. Jace was sprawled on his bed, hair a mess, hoodie pulled over his head like a monk. Lena sat cross-legged on the floor, flashcards in hand.
"What's 'ephemeral' mean?" she asked.
He blinked. "Short-lived?"
She raised a card. "Correct. You win... nothing."
"Tragic," he deadpanned.
She grinned.
An hour passed like five minutes.
They talked about nothing and everything—childhood cartoons, irrational fears (he's terrified of frogs), favorite smells (she loves bookstore air), and weird dreams.
Lena hadn't laughed that much in weeks.
At one point, she looked at the screen and just *watched* him for a second. Not in a swoony, dramatic way. Just... looked. At the guy who used to be the most irritating part of her day. The guy who once shoved her books off a desk.
Now he was her favorite notification.
"Hey," he said quietly. "You still there?"
She smiled.
"Yeah."
**5**
By Friday, they were walking the halls like it was natural. Lena didn't flinch when people stared. Jace didn't pull back when someone raised an eyebrow. Whatever label they had—or didn't have—they wore it unapologetically.
And then came the invitation.
"Party. Saturday night," Jace said, sliding into the seat beside her in English. "You in?"
Lena blinked. "A party?"
He nodded. "Chloe's throwing it. Backyard bonfire. Chill, not crazy."
Lena hesitated.
"I don't really... party."
Jace shrugged. "Neither do I. But I figured... maybe together?"
She looked at him.
At his earnest face. His hopeful expression.
And she realized something important:
He was trying.
Not just existing in her orbit, not just flirting for fun. He was trying to pull her into his world. Slowly. Gently. Like he didn't want to break her.
And maybe it was time she stopped being afraid of what that meant.
"Okay," she said.
He blinked. "Yeah?"
She nodded. "Just... don't leave me standing in a corner alone."
He smirked. "Never."
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