Chapter 3 :M Walking to class with Violet felt like stepping into a different reality. Her arm was looped through mine, the warmth of her jacket pressing against my hoodie. It was electrifying—and terrifying. Until five minutes ago, we hadn't exchanged a single "hello." Now, she was walking me to my wing, even though hers was in the complete opposite direction. The silence between us hummed. I couldn't help it; the question slipped out before I could censor it. "Violet? Why... Why me?" I asked, my voice cracking slightly. "I mean, why are you being so nice to me? You’re usually so... well, you're not like this with everyone else." She stopped mid-stride. For a heartbeat, she looked genuinely confused, as if she hadn't expected to be caught in her own kindness. Then, her face shifted. The sharp, guarded look she usually wore melted into a sudden, eerie calmness. “Well, actually, I don’t know,” she murmured, her gaze drifting toward the lockers. “Um, do I? I mean... well, I... umm...” The silence that followed was heavy and awkward, pressing against my eardrums. I panicked. In my rush to say something—anything—to fix the mood, my own feet betrayed me. I tripped over thin air, my arms flailing like a bird with broken wings before I face planted onto the linoleum. The hallway echoed with the thud. Violet stood over me, her hand over her mouth. She tried to hold it back, but a snort escaped, followed by a full, genuine burst of laughter. It wasn't the mean laughter I heard in my nightmares; it sounded bright, like bells. “Oh, crap!” I groaned, pushing myself up as my face turned the color of a cherry. “Whoa there, clumsy,” she said, finally catching her breath. She reached down, her fingers locking around my forearm to help me up. “Are you okay? God, I should have had my phone out for that. I would’ve gone viral.” I looked at her, trying to look annoyed but failing miserably. “Haha. Very funny. You know, you’re actually kind of mean.” I say teasing her but this time she didn't pull away. Instead, she smiled—a soft, secret kind of smile—and slid her arm back through mine. But this time, her hand didn't stay on my elbow. Her fingers began to slide slowly down my arm, trailing heat through the fabric of my sleeve toward my wrist. My heart did a violent somersault. Is she about to hold my hand? No. No way. Don't be a fool, James. This isn't a movie. My heart did a violent somersault. Is she about to hold my hand? No. No way. Don't be a fool, James. This isn't a movie. Her fingertips finally reached the edge of my cuff, hooking lightly into the hem. She didn't grab my hand, but she didn't let go either. She just tethered herself to me. "I’m not being mean," she said, her voice dropping an octave as we passed a row of upperclassmen. I saw her chin lift, that sharp, untouchable mask clicking back into place for the public, even as her hand stayed hidden against my wrist. "I’m just... observant. You're the only person in this hallway who doesn't look like they’re performing for an audience, James." "I'm mostly just trying not to die of embarrassment," I muttered. "See? Honest," she whispered. The bell for first period let out a mournful drone, but neither of us sped up. Just as we reached the double doors of the Science wing, a loud whistle cut through the air. "Yo, Vi! You lost?" It was Mike—the kind of guy whose varsity jacket actually fit him perfectly. He was leaning against the water fountain with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. He looked at me, then at where her arm was looped through mine. The air in the hallway suddenly felt thin, like the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. I felt Violet’s grip tighten on my sleeve. It wasn't a casual hold anymore; it was a clench. "Just taking the scenic route, Mike," she called back, her voice like ice. "Go to class. You're already failing Trig." Mike’s smirk faltered, and he shot me a look that promised a very long lunch period before disappearing into a classroom. Violet didn't let go. If anything, she stepped closer, the scent of her vanilla-and-salt perfume clouding my senses. She leaned in, her lips inches from my ear, sending a fresh wave of heat down my spine. "Don't mind him," she breathed. "He’s part of the 'before.' I’m more interested in the 'now.'" She finally let my arm slide free, but as she did, her thumb grazed the bare skin of my palm—a deliberate, lingering touch that felt like a branding iron. "Meet me behind the gym at lunch?" she asked. It wasn't really a question. It was a challenge. She didn't wait for an answer.
She turned on her heel and started the long trek back toward the Art wing. I stood there, rooted to the linoleum, my hand still tingling where she’d touched it. I looked down and noticed a small, folded piece of notebook paper tucked into the pocket of my hoodie—something she must have slipped in during my "face plant" earlier. I opened it with trembling fingers. You trip pretty gracefully for a guy who thinks he’s invisible. See you at 12:30. - Violet <3 At the bottom, there was a tiny, hand-drawn heart—but it was lopsided and messy, like she’d drawn it in a rush, or like she was just as nervous as I was. Man, is she great, I certainly think so. |
