Chapter 6: Scars and Second Chances

I forced myself to go.

My legs felt heavy as I walked toward the gate, my heart thumping in my chest. I told myself I could handle whatever came next.

Chris Delaney stood out in any crowd—handsome, a little wild.

He leaned against the bike rack, arms crossed, hair shining in the late afternoon sun. A couple of girls giggled as they walked by, but he didn’t notice.

He walked up to me and asked, “Eaten yet?”

His tone was casual, but his eyes searched my face, looking for something.

“I have.”

I lied without thinking. My stomach rumbled in protest, but I ignored it.

In reality, I hadn’t.

I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but I wasn’t about to admit that to him.

“Then come eat with me.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just started walking toward the burger place across the street. I hesitated, then followed.

I had no idea what he wanted. If he wanted to rough me up for using his name to scare people, that’d make sense. But this?

I tried to read his expression, but he gave nothing away. I wondered if this was some kind of test.

Chris muttered, “Where’s the best food with the biggest crowd? Never tried eating at the Maple Heights gate.”

He scanned the street, eyes lingering on the taco truck and the pizza joint. He looked almost excited, like he was trying to experience something new.

I glanced at his blond hair, searching for an excuse. “I have a quiz soon, gotta get back.”

I tugged at my backpack strap, hoping he’d let me go. He just raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

Chris looked at me, not buying it.

He waited, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently.

“You got a problem with my hair or something?”

He sounded almost hurt, but I couldn’t tell if he was joking.

I shook my head fast. “No, your hair’s... really cool.”

I tried to sound sincere, but my voice wobbled. He snorted, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

Chris curled his lip, then stuffed a wad of cash in my hand.

He pressed the bills into my palm, closing my fingers around them.

“What Kyle and the others took from you, the cops got it back.”

He said it matter-of-factly, like it was no big deal. My eyes widened, surprised.

Before leaving, he teased, “So dumb. Can’t even make up a decent lie.”

He ruffled my hair, then turned and walked away, whistling. I watched him go, too stunned to move.

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Chris was so good-looking that he was always a hot topic on the confession walls of both Lincoln Vocational and Maple Heights High.

His name showed up in Sharpie on bathroom stalls, in anonymous notes slipped into lockers, even in the group chats and on Instagram and Snapchat stories that everyone pretended not to read. Some girls swore he was secretly sweet, others called him trouble on two legs.

That day, the girls in my class whispered, “My Chris dyed his hair back to black!”

Their voices were breathless, like they were talking about a celebrity. I pretended not to listen, but I couldn’t help but smile.

“He’s so cute, looks like a straight-A kid now.”

They giggled, passing around photos someone had snapped on their phone. In the pictures, Chris looked almost innocent, his wild edge softened.

“Why’d he dye it back?”

One girl shrugged, twirling her pen between her fingers. Theories flew around the room.

“Maybe for some girl. That’s so sweet.”

They sighed dreamily, speculating about who the lucky girl might be.

One of the girls kept glancing at me. Someone nudged her, and she shuffled over, head down.

She looked nervous, her cheeks pink. I braced myself for whatever was coming.

“Jenny, are you Chris Delaney’s girlfriend?”

Her voice was barely a whisper, but the whole class seemed to freeze, waiting for my answer.

I shook my head.

I kept my face blank, hoping she’d drop it. She didn’t.

She brightened and handed me a letter. “I knew it! How could he like someone like you—”