Chapter 5 Three Years Before

3 years before Penny

The clock on the wall ticks so loud I swear it’s mocking me. Every second feels like an hour. I lean back in my chair, rocking it just enough to test gravity but not enough to get called out, and let my pencil roll back and forth between my fingers.

Ryan’s two seats over, chin propped on his hand, eyes glazed like he’s been brain-dead since the bell rang. He catches me looking and mouths, kill me now, dragging his finger across his throat dramatically.

I snort before I can stop myself. Caleb, behind me, kicks the back of my chair. “Bet you twenty Carter keeps going for another twenty minutes about the French Revolution.”

I tilt my head, fighting a grin. “Make it thirty.”

Ryan muffles a laugh, and our teacher’s eyes snap up. We all duck our heads like perfect little angels.

That’s when I hear it — the soft clatter of plastic on tile. A pen rolls against my sneaker. I lean down, scoop it up, and glance sideways.

The girl next to me is already reaching, curls sliding across her cheek as she tries to grab it. Her skin is sun-kissed, warm brown, her hair long and thick, a perfect mix of curls spilling down her back.

I slide the pen onto her desk, leaning a little closer. “Here,” I say softly. Then, before I can stop myself, “Don’t worry, I’ll only charge you a smile for the rescue.”

Her head snaps up. Her cheeks flush pink, but she smiles — shy, quick, but real.

“Thanks,” she whispers.

The name drifts through my head. Jemma. I’ve seen her around, heard it in passing, but never sat this close.

Before I can think of something else, our teacher clears her throat. “Alright, everyone. Quiet down.” She straightens the papers in her hand, all business. “Today, we’re doing something different. Career day.”

The whole room groans at once, a chorus of teenage suffering.

“None of that,” she says sharply, holding her ground. “This is important. You’ll head down to the gym after announcements. Listen. Maybe something interests you, maybe it doesn’t. But your future is coming whether you’re ready or not.”

Ryan mutters under his breath, “My future involves a nap.”

I smirk, hiding it behind my hand.

The teacher gestures to the front. “For now, let’s welcome one of our alumni. He’s here to talk about life after graduation.”

A man in a suit steps up, clutching a microphone like he’s about to sing karaoke. He launches into a speech about internships and degrees and networking, and half the class is gone before he even hits the word success.

I tune him out. My attention slides back to Jemma.

Her curls catch the light as she scribbles in her notebook, pen tapping against the margin. I glance down at my page, rip a corner off, and scribble quickly. When she’s not looking, I nudge it onto her desk.

Pretty sure career day just got better with you here.

Her eyes flick to it, and she bites her lip, fighting a smile. She shakes her head, writes something small, and slides it back.

You’re supposed to be listening.

I grin, pen already moving. But then I’d miss this conversation.

Her shoulders shake with a quiet laugh. She bends her head, scribbles again. You always this distracting?

I glance at her, let my grin widen. Only with the pretty ones.

Her blush deepens, but she doesn’t look away. She writes quickly this time, then pushes the paper over with a tiny smirk. You’re smooth, huh?

Trying, I write back. Would it be completely out of place if I asked you out sometime?

Her eyes linger on the words. Her pen hovers. She starts writing something — but the bell rings, loud and sharp, cutting through the air. Everyone groans again, chairs screeching back, backpacks zipping open.

Jemma stands, gathering her things in a neat pile. She presses the folded scrap into my hand before I can even ask.

“My number’s on there,” she says softly, eyes meeting mine for just a second. Then she’s gone, curls bouncing, swallowed up by the tide of students spilling into the hallway.

I stare down at the note, heart thumping, a smile tugging at my mouth.

Eighteen and stupid, maybe.

The hallway is chaos the second I get out — lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking against the floor, voices bouncing off the walls. I push through the crowd, Jemma’s number folded tight in my palm like it’s made of glass.

Ryan spots me first. “Logan!” he hollers, grinning ear to ear. “I saw that. I saw that.”

Caleb jogs up beside him, shaking his head. “No way, man. That was Jenna—” he pauses, trying to remember, “—Jenna Morales, right? She’s gorgeous. Half the guys in school would kill for her number.”

“Jemma,” I correct automatically, tucking the note into my pocket.

“Whatever, dude, she’s beautiful,” Ryan says, eyes wide. He elbows me. “So you gonna take her out or what?”

Nate, trailing behind, smirks. “Only if she’s into skater boys with messy hair and zero plan for the future.”

Ryan laughs so hard he nearly trips.

Then Caleb, trying to be funny, adds, “Bet she’s only into you because she wants someone to keep her bed warm.”

I stop walking. My stomach knots. “Don’t talk about girls like that, man.”

The grin falls off his face. He holds up his hands. “Alright, you’re right. Sorry.”

Ryan clears his throat, changing the subject quick. “So… are you gonna text her?”

“Yeah,” Nate says, leaning over my shoulder. “Text her. Right now.”

I pull out my phone, thumb hovering over the keypad. My friends crowd in, all of them way too invested. My heart’s pounding, but I can’t let them see me sweat.

I type it fast, smirking as I hit send:

So, is this a real number or did I just text Pizza Hut?

Ryan howls. Caleb claps me on the back. Nate just shakes his head, laughing.

“Bold move,” Ryan says.

I grin, sliding my phone back into my pocket, trying to play it cool. Inside, though, I’m buzzing.