Chapter 8: When the World Starts Watching
We returned to school on Monday like nothing had changed.
Except everything in Crestmore had.
Jace's driver pulled up to the car park of Crestmore just before first bell, and the moment the black car turned into the lot, it was like someone dropped a match into dry grass.
The whispers started before the door even opened.
Phones came out.
Students slowed their walk just to stare.
And when Jace stepped out and offered me his hand, like it was the most natural thing in the world, I felt the entire campus inhale.
But I took it anyway.
Because I wasn't going to pretend this wasn't real. Not anymore.
The whispers chased us down every hallway.
"She spent the weekend at his house."
"I heard they painted his garage wall."
"Did you see the necklace? He bought her jewelry."
"She must've done something. He's never looked at anyone like that."
I kept my head high, but my pulse thundered under my skin. Every glance felt heavier now, like I'd been branded with a spotlight.
Jace, on the other hand, moved through the day like usual. Calm. Cool. Slightly amused, like the world's noise couldn't touch him.
And maybe it couldn't.
But I was still getting used to being seen.
When we walked into homeroom, the noise dipped.
Mia Langford was already seated near the window, tapping a manicured nail on her desk. She watched us enter with narrowed eyes and a tight smile that didn't reach her cheeks.
I expected something.
A dig. A note. A scene.
But she just looked at me—like I was a puzzle she hadn't figured out yet—and turned away.
I wasn't sure if that was better or worse.
Nina slid into her seat beside me, looking like she was trying not to burst. "You're a full-blown school event."
"Kill me."
"Too late. The social media posts are already eternal."
I groaned and buried my face in my arms.
Jace reached into his bag, pulled out a folded paper, and set it in front of me. "In case you missed the reading homework."
I looked up. "You're saving my grade now?"
"I'm invested."
Nina coughed to cover her laughter.
Third period was chemistry. We were lab partners now—by the teacher's assignment, but I was starting to think Jace had somehow made it happen.
We spent the class mixing compounds and whispering jokes under our breath. I caught him watching me during the experiment—more than once—and every time our eyes met, something soft and electric passed between us.
At one point, I spilled blue dye across my notes.
"Oops."
Jace didn't flinch. "Now they're worth more. Abstract expressionism."
I laughed, and the sound surprised even me.
It had been a long time since I laughed without flinching first.
Gym was where things turned.
Basketball day.
Coach split us into teams, and fate decided to place me against Jace.
Of course.
"Try not to cry when I dunk on you," he said, spinning a ball on his finger.
I raised an eyebrow. "You're awfully confident for someone who couldn't beat me in paint warfare."
That earned a grin.
The game began, and I swear the entire gym stopped pretending not to watch us.
We moved like magnets. Every time I darted forward, he shadowed me. Every shot, every block, every fake—it felt like a dance we didn't know the steps to, but still somehow got right.
At one point, I slipped past him, feinted left, and shot from just inside the arc.
Swish.
The gym cheered.
Jace blinked. Then turned to the crowd, arms raised. "She's lying about being unathletic!"
I doubled over laughing.
Coach just shook his head and muttered something about dramatic teenagers.
At lunch, he didn't lead me to our usual spot by the library.
Instead, we walked straight into the main cafeteria, to the middle table, the one usually ruled by Crestmore's elite.
He pulled out a chair. Sat down.
And waited.
I hesitated only a second before sitting beside him.
It felt like a revolution.
The room went so quiet I could hear someone crack open a soda two tables over.
People whispered, pointed. But they didn't approach.
They didn't dare.
Jace unwrapped his sandwich like it was any other Monday.
"Normal enough for you?" he asked, smiling slightly.
"This is not normal," I whispered. "This is like walking into fire."
"Good thing we're fireproof then."
After sixth period, we found ourselves with a free half-hour.
Jace tugged on my backpack strap. "Come on."
"Where?"
"You'll see."
He led me up the back stairwell, past the language hallway, to the rooftop door. It wasn't locked—not to him, apparently. He popped it open and stepped into the afternoon sun.
The rooftop was quiet, empty, and wide.
The wind tugged at my hair. The city stretched in the distance, glittering like glass.
We sat side by side on the ledge, legs dangling.
He didn't talk right away. Neither did I.
But after a moment, he said, "This weekend was the first time my house didn't feel empty."
I turned to him.
He wasn't looking at me, but his voice was real. Honest.
"I think I liked the mess," he added. "The paint. The laughter. You."
The wind carried that last word straight to my chest.
"I liked it too," I said.
Still, neither of us used the word. Not yet.
But it was there, hovering between us like the moon that now hung around my neck.
Seventh period was art class.
I almost forgot about it, until I walked in and found Jace already there.
He wasn't in this class.
"Long story," he said when I stared at him. "Coach made me drop a second elective. Needed a chill period."
"Art is chill?"
"I'm trying something new."
He sat next to me.
We were told to sketch something meaningful.
I drew the wolf from his garage wall.
When I looked over, he was sketching a girl on a rooftop.
Hair in the wind.
Back turned to the world.
But the curve of her necklace was unmistakable.
My breath caught.
He didn't look up, but he said, "You don't hide up there. You belong up there."
After the final bell, I found him waiting by my locker.
We didn't talk much.
He took my bag without asking, slinging it over his shoulder.
We walked out of Crestmore hand in hand, past the whispers, past the glances, past all the noise.
And when we reached the gate, he paused.
"Tomorrow," he said, "we come in through the front again."
"Okay."
"Together."
I nodded.
"Because I'm not hiding either."
He leaned down, pressed his forehead to mine for one quiet second, then stepped back.
My heart was still fluttering when he turned to leave.
That night, in my room, I touched the moon around my neck.
The world was watching now.
But I didn't care.
Because somehow, without ever saying the word—
He'd already told me everything I needed to know.
And I believed him.