Chapter 7: Racing Toward Tomorrow

She caught herself, backpedaling fast. Her hands shook as she shoved the envelope into my hands.

She stopped, then added, “That’s not what I meant. I mean, his ex isn’t your type. Could you give this to him for me?”

Her eyes were wide, hopeful. I sighed, wishing I could say no.

Wanting to avoid drama, I tried to refuse.

I held up my hands, but she pressed the letter into my palm, not taking no for an answer.

“Sure, but it’ll cost you—fifty bucks.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them. If she wanted my help, she’d have to pay for it.

“Deal.”

She dug into her wallet, slapping a crumpled fifty on my desk. I pocketed it, resigned to my fate.

I handed the love letter to Tyler, telling him to make sure Chris got it.

Tyler was waiting by the lockers, whistling. I handed him the envelope, making him promise to deliver it.

Tyler whistled, looking all knowing. “So Chris finally caught feelings, huh? Looks like both sides are interested. He always trashes love letters, but maybe not this one.”

He winked, nudging me with his elbow. I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help but smile.

He could say whatever he wanted, as long as the letter was gone.

I watched Tyler disappear down the hall, feeling a little lighter.

Tyler was quick. Chris showed up outside my classroom window during study hall. He crooked his finger at me.

He tapped on the glass, grinning. A couple of kids glanced over, but no one said anything.

While everyone else was buried in their books, I slipped out and pulled Chris to a quiet hallway.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the hallway smelled faintly of bleach. I leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“How’d you get in?”

I raised an eyebrow, half impressed, half annoyed. He just shrugged.

He shrugged. “Borrowed Tyler’s uniform.”

He held up the too-small jacket, looking pleased with himself.

He pulled out the love letter. “Give it back to her. I’m not into her.”

He waved the envelope in my face, daring me to argue.

If I gave it back, wouldn’t that girl ask for her fifty bucks?

I hesitated, thinking of the money burning a hole in my pocket. I needed a plan.

I pretended to take it, trying to figure out how to ditch this problem.

I slipped the letter into my bag, making a mental note to deal with it later. Chris watched me, amusement flickering in his eyes.

Chris’s hair was jet-black now, his eyes shining. “Made new friends already?”

He leaned in, his voice low. I felt my cheeks heat up.

Suddenly, I got it. Ever since Kyle got hurt, rumors about me and Chris had been everywhere. I went from scared every day to people treating me decently. And Chris had gone out of his way to get my money back.

It hit me all at once—the sideways glances, the sudden respect. I wondered if Chris knew how much he’d changed my life.

I couldn’t help but ask, “Why do you help me?”

The words slipped out before I could stop myself. I held my breath, waiting for his answer.

Chris was quiet for a long time, then sneered, “What, you think I like you? All the girls at Maple Heights are interesting.”

He rolled his eyes, but I caught the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks.

“Anyway, thanks for helping me. Let me buy you lunch tomorrow.”

I tried to sound casual, but my heart raced. Chris raised an eyebrow, surprised.

Chris suddenly leaned in, and I stepped back—nowhere to go.

He pinned me against the wall, his eyes searching mine. I swallowed, nerves jangling.

His breath brushed my face, his eyes like glass. “What if I like you? Would you go out with me, good girl from Maple Heights?”

His words sent a jolt through me. I stared at him, speechless.

I shoved him away. “No way.”

I pushed at his chest, but he barely moved. He just grinned, unbothered.

Chris grabbed my wrist, his voice suddenly cold. “You will.”

His grip was gentle but firm. I glared at him, refusing to back down.

He pressed a hot, damp kiss to my forehead.

His lips lingered for a second, sending a rush of heat through me. I shoved him again, harder this time, and he laughed, letting me go.

---

The girl who wrote Chris the love letter came to find me. Without a word, she grabbed my hair.

She cornered me by the lockers, her face twisted with jealousy. Before I could react, her fingers tangled in my hair, yanking hard.

“I saw everything! You lied to me! You and Chris are obviously together! Why you?”

Her voice was shrill, echoing down the hallway. A few kids stopped to watch, eyes wide. I was terrified a teacher would round the corner and see us, but Chloe didn’t care.

She yanked me to the ground, and I clawed at her hands, trying to free my hair.

My knees hit the tile, pain shooting up my legs. I fought back, desperate to break free.

“You’ve got it wrong, I really—”

I tried to explain, but she wasn’t listening. Tears stung my eyes as I struggled.

In the struggle, the desk tipped and crashed down on me.

The crash echoed, and everything went blurry for a second. I tasted blood in my mouth, and the world spun.

……

The nurse dabbed ointment on my wound, and I cried out.

The bright lights in the nurse’s office made everything seem harsher. My head throbbed, and I bit my lip to keep from sobbing.

She asked, annoyed, “Where are your parents? Why aren’t they here?”

Her tone was sharp, but I couldn’t blame her. Most kids had someone to call. I just shook my head, silent.

I pressed my lips together, too scared to call my dad.

I didn’t want him to see me like this, not after everything he’d been through.

“Her guardian’s here.” Chris knocked and walked in.

He strode in like he owned the place, hands in his pockets, eyes cool. The nurse eyed him warily, but didn’t argue.

The nurse gave him a look. “No spicy food for a week, don’t get the stitches wet. If it itches, don’t scratch. That’s normal.”

She rattled off the instructions, barely glancing at me. Chris nodded, taking mental notes.

A jagged scar ran from my eyebrow almost to my eye.

I caught my reflection in the glass of the medicine cabinet. The scar was ugly, angry red, a reminder of everything that had happened.

Chris’s face darkened immediately.

He clenched his fists, jaw tight. I could see the storm brewing behind his eyes.

On the way home, Chris gave me a ride on his bike. He suddenly braked, and I crashed into his back.

The wind whipped through my hair as we sped down the street. When he stopped short, I almost tumbled off, grabbing his jacket just in time.

“Isn’t Maple Heights supposed to have bad kids too? Why are you so straight-laced?”

He tossed the words over his shoulder, his tone half teasing, half annoyed.

He didn’t look at me, just kept his gaze on the road, his jaw tight. I could tell he was frustrated.

I said quietly, “I don’t get it either. But when I run into people scarier than me, I get scared.”

My voice was small, honest. I stared at the back of his head, waiting for his reaction.

Chris turned and glared at me. “When I had blond hair, smoked, and had tattoos, why weren’t you scared? Boss—more like scaredy-cat.”

He rolled his eyes, but I could tell he wasn’t really mad. I grinned, relief flooding through me.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

The sound surprised both of us. Chris cracked a smile, shaking his head.

“What’s that girl’s name? Isn’t it Chloe?”

He said it casually, but I knew he’d been paying attention all along.

I was startled. “You read the letter?”

I blurted it out before I could stop myself. He just shrugged, a sly smile on his lips.

“Didn’t read it.”

He winked, and I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help but smile.

Yeah, right.

We both knew he was lying, but I let it go.

Chloe transferred schools. Her dad was exposed for embezzling city funds and went to jail.

The news spread like wildfire. Kids whispered about it in the halls, but no one dared mention it to me.

After what happened to Kyle and Chloe, nobody in class messed with me anymore.

I walked the halls with my head high, finally free from the fear that used to dog my every step.

My body sat in the classroom, but my mind drifted somewhere else. I kept touching my forehead, my ears burning. It’d been days, but I still couldn’t forget that night.

Every time my fingers brushed the scar, I remembered Chris’s kiss, the heat of his breath, the look in his eyes. My heart raced, even when I tried to focus on class.

Just then, Mr. Porter showed up, shouting, “Jenny Carter, come out quick!”

His voice was urgent, panicked. I jumped to my feet, heart in my throat.

For the rest of my life, whenever I remember that sentence, it feels like it split my life in two.

I didn’t know it then, but everything was about to change. The hallway seemed to stretch out before me, endless and uncertain.

I ran out of the school gate. Couldn’t get a cab, missed the next bus. I was getting desperate. My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone—should I call 911? But I knew it’d be too slow. I was running out of options.

Suddenly, a bike screeched to a stop in front of me. Chris waved, “Hop on.”

He grinned, breathless, as if he’d been waiting for me all along. I didn’t hesitate—I swung my leg over the back, clutching his jacket.

Without a word, I jumped on.

The world blurred as we sped off, wind whipping past my face. I pressed my cheek to his back, holding on tight.

“Maple Heights Hospital, hurry, thanks!”

I shouted the address over the roar of traffic, my voice shaking. Chris nodded, and we flew down the street, racing toward whatever came next.