Of course we got paired together. I wanted to get to know her, but Jesus—she was abrupt and impossible. I loved a challenge, loved when someone played hard to get, but this wasn’t that. This was a deep-rooted refusal to let anyone close, a fierce desire to shut the world out. And the accusation that I only talked to her because I wanted to “save” her—because she wanted to die—stung more than I expected. There was something else about her. Something desirable. She was a challenge I had never encountered.
Everything in life had always come easily to me—sports, girls, you name it. But her? No. She was a puzzle. An enigma. Something entirely different. She wasn’t impressed by the usual materialistic shit in life, unlike everyone else I had known. She needed me to prove myself to be worthy of her time. And for some reason, I really wanted to be worth her time.
Pushing her into partnering with me would only push her further away—the exact opposite of what I wanted. The moment she heard that we were paired up together, the tension in her body surged. It radiated off of her in waves. Her fists tightened, her jaw locked, and she looked ready to snap.
I’d never seen her speak up in group before, not like that—until she voiced her distaste for my presence. With all theanxiety she clearly bottled up,thatwas the hill she chose to die on. I couldn’t believe it.
I make her feel uncomfortable.
Fuck. That was the last thing I wanted.
I walked over to the table to grab us a notebook and pencil, glancing back just in time to see her speaking with Dana. I could practically guess the conversation: requesting to switch partners or work alone. It fit her MO perfectly. I wondered how I could turn this around for us. In the event that she couldn’t change partners or work alone, she would be hostile as hell about it. I’d need to pivot my approach if I wanted her to give me even a sliver of a chance.
With the notebook and pencil in hand, I chose a spot far from the other participants—somewhere quieter, somewhere she could breathe. When she turned and spotted me across the room, her shoulders slumped. She looked notably annoyed. Discouraged, even. Her eyes were bloodshot.
Was she that upset to be paired up with me?
As she got closer, the disdain was palpable across her face. She sat next to me, leaving a seat between us like a barrier.
“Would you like to go first?” I offered, holding out the notebook and pencil—an olive branch.
She shook her head fervently. “No, you go.”
Understanding she needed some space, I decided to write down the first thing that came to mind without really thinking too hard about it. Trying to keep things simple—nonthreatening—I started with something easy.
“Get a pet.”
Turning the notebook toward her, I slid it across the empty chair between us, the pencil wedged in the crease. I whispered, “Here ya go.”
With the saddest eyes I think I’d ever seen on anyone, she reached for the pencil. Without a word, she wrote,Learn todrive. Then she slid the notebook back, crossed her arms and turned away from me.
I didn’t react—not outwardly. Instead, I jotted down the next thing that came to my mind.Go camping. Then beneath it:I’m sorry.
Lennon’s eyes drifted to the words I had written, almost bypassing my entry—until she reached the last line. Those deep green eyes lifted straight to mine, sharp and unblinking. In a small, desperate whisper, she asked, “Why?”
My body eased at the tiny crack in her armour.She spoke to me.“I shouldn’t have approached you like I did on the first day.”
She continued to bore those beautiful eyes into mine, without a hint of the emotion she was feeling.
“And I should have dropped it today,” I added. We sat there, both leaning into one another in our own world filled with whispers and sorrow.
Why were you so sad, Lennon?
Who fucking hurt you?
I almost missed it, but a ghost of a smile appeared before quickly vanishing.
“It’s okay,” she said quietly, as if she refused to allow me in more than an inch. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just…complicated.” She bit the inside of her lip, seemingly waging wars inside of her on how much to reveal, if anything.
“I get it,” I offered gently; understanding that she might not want to speak, but desperately wanting her to know I wouldn’t push her.
She took the pencil again, tapping her chin twice, thinking. Then she wrote down,Float in the Dead Sea. She turned the notebook 180 degrees and fluttered her eyes up at mine.
“Ironic.”
The word slipped out before I could stop it. I squeezed my eyes shut. “I’m sorry. Terrible joke.”
She huffed out the faintest laugh, a tiny smile tugging at her mouth as she nodded. “Definitely ironic. Definitely a terrible, but fantastic joke.”
