Chapter 7 The Problem With Feelings I Don't Want
By Sunday morning, I had decided to avoid Jace Rivera forever.
Forever might seem dramatic, but so was the emotional meltdown I had last night.
I woke up still annoyed—annoyed at him, annoyed at myself, annoyed at Sydney’s stupid winky-face emoji that had wormed its way into my brain like a parasite of insecurity.
I rolled over in bed and groaned into my pillow.
Harper didn’t even look up from her laptop.
“Rough night?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Ah.” She sipped her iced coffee. “Guy problems.”
“No,” I muttered.
Then, louder, because apparently lying is my new hobby: “No.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Ava, every time you say ‘no’ like that, it’s actually yes.”
“I’m fine.”
Harper closed her laptop with the slow, deliberate movement of someone preparing for battle.
“Okay,” she said sweetly. “Let’s try this again. What did he do?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
“Harper—”
“Who is she?”
My mouth snapped shut.
“Ah-ha!” Harper crowed. “So there IS a girl.”
“No,” I said. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“So something happened.”
I groaned. “I just… saw a message on his phone.”
Her eyes widened. “A message message?”
“Yes.”
“From a girl?”
“Yes.”
“Was it flirty?”
I dragged a hand down my face. “There was a winky face.”
Harper gasped like she’d witnessed a crime. “THE SCANDAL.”
“It’s not a scandal,” I snapped. “We’re not dating. We’re barely even friends.”
“But you’re jealous.”
“I’m NOT jealous,” I insisted.
Harper just stared at me.
I stared back.
She blinked.
I caved. “Okay maybe I’m SORT OF JEALOUS BUT NOT ENOUGH TO COUNT.”
She squealed and threw a pillow at me.
“You LIKE him.”
“I DO NOT.”
“You SO do.”
“I DO NOT.”
“You yelled that kind of loud,” she said, eyes sparkling. “Which means you absolutely do.”
I buried my face in the pillow again. “I hate this.”
“You like him,” Harper sing-songed. “You liiike him.”
I muffled, “Please stop.”
She didn’t. “What if he likes you too?”
“He doesn’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do,” I said, sitting up. “He gets winky-face texts from girls named Sydney.”
Harper paused. “Oh. Oh that’s her name?”
“Yes,” I groaned. “It’s even a cute name. Cute people have cute names. My name is Ava—basic and neutral. Sydney sounds like someone who wears sparkly eyeliner and never trips on flat surfaces.”
“This is spiraling,” Harper observed.
“It is spiraling,” I agreed.
“So go talk to him.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“I can’t!”
I threw my hands up. “Because if I talk to him, I’ll probably do something embarrassing. Like cry. Or confess. Or spontaneously combust.”
Harper shrugged. “Okay. Then you’re going to keep avoiding him forever?”
“Yes,” I decided.
She snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
Good luck lasted four hours.
Four.
At exactly 2:17 p.m., while I was trying to lose myself in my psychology textbook, there was a knock on my door.
Harper looked at me like the universe had delivered the punchline to her joke.
“Don’t,” I warned.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re thinking it.”
She smirked. “It’s him.”
“It might not be.”
It absolutely was.
No one else knocked like they owned the hallway.
I opened the door a crack.
Sure enough—there he was.
Jace Rivera.
In a hoodie, messy hair, holding two iced teas and a paper bag.
My stomach flipped like a gymnast with no insurance.
“Hey,” he said, cautious. “Can we talk?”
“Busy,” I blurted.
“With what?” he asked.
“Um.” I looked at my room like it might save me. It did not. “Breathing?”
He sighed. “Ava.”
His voice was soft.
Too soft.
I hated how soft.
“I brought you a croissant,” he added, lifting the bag.
I glared. “You can’t bribe me.”
“It’s chocolate.”
I opened the door wider against my better judgment.
“Five minutes.”
He stepped in. Harper vanished immediately behind her headphones, pretending not to watch us very obviously.
Jace handed me the iced tea. “You ran out yesterday.”
“Thanks,” I said stiffly.
We stood in silence.
The awkward kind.
The kind thick enough to choke on.
Finally he said, “Did I… do something wrong?”
“No.”
He waited.
I caved. “Yes.”
He blinked. “What did I do?”
“You got a message,” I mumbled.
“A message?”
“From someone named Sydney.”
He stared at me, confused—then his eyes widened.
“Oh,” he said.
“Yeah,” I muttered.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Ava, that wasn’t— it’s not what you think.”
“I’m not thinking anything.”
“You’re thinking a lot of things.”
“I am not—”
“Ava.”
I shut my mouth.
He sat on the edge of my bed. “Sydney texted me because she wanted to join our survey project. She sent the winky emoji because she does that in every message. It’s just how she texts.”
I blinked.
“Wait. That’s it?”
“That’s it,” he said.
“She wasn’t inviting you somewhere?”
“No.”
“She wasn’t flirting?”
“I mean—maybe? I didn’t really pay attention.” He shrugged. “I told her I wasn’t interested.”
My heart did a weird, confused stutter-step.
“You… did?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
He looked at me like I’d asked why the sky was blue.
“Because I’m working on something else,” he said.
Something in my chest tripped.
Stumbled.
Fell.
“S-something else?”
He nodded slowly. “Someone else.”
My breath caught.
He watched me for a long moment, eyes soft, unreadable, searching my face like he was trying to find something I wasn’t ready to show.
Then he said quietly—
“She’s kind of impossible. Total overthinker. Judges me way too much. Probably smarter than everyone on campus combined. And she smells like cinnamon cereal.”
My heartbeat skyrocketed.
“I do not smell like cereal,” I whispered.
He smiled. “You do. It’s cute.”
I forgot how to breathe.
“Ava?”
I forced my voice out. “Y-yes?”
“You left yesterday like something scared you.”
His eyes flicked over my face, gentle. “Was it me?”
Yes.
No.
Maybe.
I swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“You can tell me.”
“I really can’t,” I whispered.
“Why not?”
Because I’m falling for you.
Because it’s too soon.
Because I shouldn’t.
Because I’m terrified.
But I said none of that.
Instead—I shook my head. “I’m just… tired.”
He nodded slowly.
Even though we both knew I wasn’t tired.
“Okay,” he said softly. “If you need space, I can give you space.”
Panic flared in my chest—hot, sharp, immediate.
“No!” I said quickly. “I mean—no. I don’t want you to… go.”
His expression shifted.
Like he’d been waiting for those words.
Like they meant something.
He took one small step closer. Not touching me—but close enough that I felt the warmth radiating off him.
“Good,” he murmured.
I swallowed hard. “We still have work to finish.”
“We do,” he said. “And I want to do it with you.”
My cheeks heated. “Right. Research.”
“That too.”
I frowned. “What does ‘that too’ mean?”
He smirked.
Dangerously.
Softly.
Like he knew exactly what it meant.
But before he could say anything else—
Harper ripped off her headphones and said, loudly:
“OH MY GOD, KISS ALREADY!”
I nearly died.
Jace snorted. “Not helping, Harper.”
“You’re welcome,” she said cheerfully.
I shoved my face into my hands. “I hate everything.”
Jace laughed under his breath. “We can… not kiss, if that helps.”
“It does help,” I said.
It did not help.
At all.
He grabbed the bag with the croissant and handed it to me.
“Breakfast?” he offered softly.
My fingers brushed his.
I felt it everywhere.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Breakfast.”
And as he smiled at me—gentle, warm, like he wasn’t going anywhere—
I felt the floor shift beneath me, just a little.
Like falling.
Always falling.
And maybe, for the first time…
I didn’t want to stop.
