“Stop.”
NO.
“Tell me why.”
NO.
“…what happens if I don’t?”
WE’LL FIND SOMEONE WHO WANTS HER MORE,AND WE’LL GIVE THEM EVERYTHING YOU WISHED FOR.
Twenty-Five
THEN | JAX
Do I want to kill him?Not exactly. Still, I want to break something of his. Maybe his confidence. Maybe his nose. Haven’t decided yet. Do I know the exact reason? Not really. It’s more of a gut thing.
It could be because he asked her first. Because he has this whole routine, the careful, self-effacing “please” that makes people soften before they even know what they’re agreeing to. It’s a good move. I’ll give him that.
Mostly, it’s because he gets her to do whatever he wants with that helpless face of his. I don’t buy it for a second. Ivan’s a smart kid. A nerd? Sure. But smart. He knows Sisk is too kind to say no, and he knows exactly how to work that angle. That alone is reason enough to want to knock him off his game.
Still—it’s not just him.It’s her.The fact that she’s leaving.
I want to say I’m happy for her. I want to be the kind of guy who smiles and says “you deserve it” and actually means it. But the truth is, I want to personally derail anything and everything that’s putting distance between us. And this feeling—this helpless, off-balance, gut-twisting feeling—is new to me.
And the worse part? It's all my fucking fault. All this time she's just been... there. Just right there. I'd see her in the halls,in class, whatever, but I never really looked. Then detention happens, and it's like someone flipped a switch, and now I'm replaying everything in my head like a moron, seeing all these moments I just walked past. All this time I wasted. Makes me feel like a complete idiot. How do you not notice someone who's right in front of your face for years? That's a special kind of stupid, right there.
Do I have to let her go? Of course. Can I? That’s the part I can’t stop thinking about. Because if I had it my way—and yeah, I’m used to getting my way—she wouldn’t be going anywhere. She’d be here. With me. The more I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that I’m just bored, that she’ll leave and I’ll move on, the more I realize I’m already past the point of pretending this is just a passing thing.
If Ivan is hiding something—if there’s even a chance he’s not who she thinks he is—I need to know before senior night. Before I have to watch her dance with someone else and pretend like it doesn’t bother me.
I push through the door and remind myself to stick to the plan.
Mr. Halpern is hunched over his desk, shoulders rounded like the weight of the room is pressing him downward. Papers are spread everywhere—graded essays, photocopied handouts, a coffee cup ringed with dried brown stains.
His tie is loosened, the knot dragged down like he’s been tugging at it all morning.
I cough to get his attention.
“Ah—” He straightens quickly, shuffling the papers into a pile. “St. Clair. Right on time.” He gestures to the chair across from his desk. “Take a seat. You asked for a… review of your paper, wasn’t it?”
I sit and stretch my legs out a little too far and make myself comfortable. “Yes, sir.”
He adjusts his glasses, glancing down. “I have to say, a B-minus may have been a bit harsh. Your argument was—well—surprisingly nuanced.”
And there it is: the lie. People don’t try to impress me, they try to impress the St. Clair name. It’s the kind of ass-kissing that makes me want to flip this damn desk.I couldn’t stand it more if I tried.
“I appreciate that,” I say easily. “I was hoping you’d see it that way.”
He smiles, relieved, and launches into another boring monologue. He rambles on about structure and sources and my so-called potential. I nod along like I give a shit, letting him think this little meeting is a victory for him.I don’t care about the grade, I came here for a memory.
“So,” I cut in, when he finally comes up for air. “You’ve been teaching here a long time, right?”
His smile tightens. “Yes. Longer than I sometimes care to admit.”
“You ever feel like this town is just a broken record?” I ask. “Same stories. Same mistakes. Over and over.”
He lets out a weak, nervous laugh. “Tar City has its… traditions.”
