Chapter 3 Chapter 3

Beckett

She wasn’t supposed to talk back.

That was the problem.

That was the thought that had been stuck in my head all damn day, circling around and around no matter how many times I told myself to drop it.

Not practice.

Not class.

Not Coach ripping into me twice because I missed a route I could’ve run in my sleep.

Ella James.

Standing in the hallway with her chin lifted, looking at me like I wasn’t Beckett Carter. Like I wasn’t the guy everyone moved out of the way for. Like she didn’t know how this whole thing worked.

People like Ella didn’t talk back.

They kept their heads down. They disappeared into the background. They let the world pass over them without making waves.

That was what she had always done.

Until this morning.

I jogged off the field and grabbed my water bottle from the bench, taking a long drink even though I wasn’t thirsty. Sweat slid down the back of my neck, my shoulder pads felt too tight, and everything about me was irritated in a way I couldn’t explain without sounding insane.

Because what was I supposed to say?

Sorry, Coach. I’m off today because the girl I’ve been an asshole to for years finally snapped at me, and now I can’t stop thinking about it.

Yeah.

Not happening.

“You’re distracted.”

I glanced over.

Sean leaned against the bench, helmet tucked under one arm, watching me with that stupid smirk he got whenever he thought he knew something.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“No, you’re not.” He nodded toward the field. “You missed two passes, almost let Rivers burn you, and Coach looked about three seconds away from making you run until graduation.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Sean lifted both hands. “Alright. Don’t kill me because you forgot how to play football.”

I shot him a look.

He grinned wider because Sean had no survival instincts.

I looked away, jaw tight, trying to focus on anything except the image that kept flashing through my head. Ella in that oversized sweater. Ella with her cheeks red and eyes bright, but not crying. Not backing down. Ella looking straight at me and saying something sharp enough that half the hallway forgot how to breathe.

At least my personality doesn’t need a team of idiots to survive.

I should’ve been pissed.

I was pissed.

Mostly.

But there had been this one second—one stupid second—where I’d almost smiled.

That bothered me more than the insult.

Because I didn’t smile at Ella James.

I didn’t think about Ella James.

I definitely didn’t spend my entire day replaying the way she sounded when she stopped being quiet.

“You going over later?” Sean asked.

I frowned. “Where?”

He gave me a look like I was an idiot. “Next door.”

My hand tightened around the water bottle.

Of course he noticed.

Sean noticed everything he wasn’t supposed to and missed everything that actually mattered.

“Maybe,” I said.

His smirk turned into something sharper. “Her mom home?”

“Probably not.”

“Is she ever?”

I didn’t answer.

Because it wasn’t my business.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Because I hated that I knew the answer.

Ella’s mom worked long hours. Sometimes double shifts. Sometimes she disappeared before sunrise and came home after dark. Their house was quiet most of the time. Too quiet. I knew that because my bedroom window faced part of their driveway, and because I’d lived beside them long enough to notice things I pretended not to notice.

I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder.

“I’m heading out.”

Sean laughed under his breath. “Yeah. Try not to get distracted on the way.”

I flipped him off without looking back.

The drive home was too quiet.

Usually I liked quiet. It meant control. No one asking questions. No one expecting answers. No one looking too closely.

Today, quiet just gave my thoughts room to get louder.

By the time I pulled into my driveway and cut the engine, I was in an even worse mood than when I left practice.

For a second, I just sat there with both hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead like that might make my brain shut up.

Then movement caught my eye.

Next door.

Ella.

She was walking up her driveway with her head down, backpack hanging off one shoulder, her sweater swallowing half of her like she was trying to fold herself into the fabric and disappear.

Back to normal.

Or trying to be.

Something about that annoyed me.

Which was ridiculous.

Everything about this was ridiculous.

This morning, she had looked at me like she’d finally remembered she had a spine. Now she was back to staring at the ground like the sidewalk had all the answers.

I didn’t like it.

I also didn’t like that I cared.

Girls like Ella didn’t fit in my world. That wasn’t cruel. It was just fact.

My life was built a certain way. Football. Grades good enough to stay eligible. Friends who knew their place. Girls who understood what things were and what they weren’t. Everything clean. Controlled. Easy to explain.

Ella was none of that.

Ella was messy in a way I didn’t understand.

She was oversized clothes and quiet eyes and a house that was too empty. She was old memories I didn’t like thinking about. Bike tires on hot pavement. Sidewalk chalk. Her laughing when we were kids, before everything got complicated.

Before I got complicated.

I got out of the car and slammed the door harder than necessary.

Inside, the house was quiet.

Dad wasn’t home yet.

No surprise there.

I dropped my bag by the stairs and went straight to the kitchen, yanking open the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water even though I’d already had one. I stood there with the door open longer than I needed to, letting the cold air hit my face.

Get it together.

That was all I needed to do.

Get it together and move on.

Except ten minutes later, I was still thinking about her.

About the way she flinched when I’d reached toward her hair this morning.

That part came back the most.

Not the insult.

Not the hallway going quiet.

That.

Her jerking away like she expected my hand to hurt.

I stared down at the water bottle in my hand.

My grip tightened.

I didn’t like the feeling that came with that memory.

I didn’t have a name for it.

Guilt, maybe.

I hated that even more.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I shoved off the counter and headed back outside.

It was just next door.

No big deal.

I’d crossed that stretch of grass a thousand times over the years. More times when we were kids. Less now. Almost never, really, unless our parents needed something or I had a reason.

Apparently now I had a reason.

A stupid one.

But still.

The side gate to Ella’s yard was already cracked open. It usually was. Their back door was unlocked too. That annoyed me, even though I had no right to be annoyed by it.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

“Hello?” I called.

No answer.

For a second, I considered turning around.

Then I heard movement in the kitchen.

I followed the sound and found her standing at the counter with her back to me, a glass of water in one hand. Her shoulders went tense before she even turned around, like her body recognized trouble before her brain did.

“Hey,” I said.

She spun so fast the water sloshed over the rim of the glass.

“God—Beckett!”

I almost smiled.

Almost.

“Door was unlocked.”

She stared at me like she was deciding whether throwing the glass at my head would be worth the mess.

“You could knock.”

“I didn’t think it mattered.”

Her jaw tightened.

There it was again.

That little flash of irritation she usually buried before anyone could notice.

Except now I noticed.

I noticed the way her fingers tightened around the glass. The way her eyes moved briefly toward the door like she was calculating how fast she could escape. The way she stood straighter even though she clearly wanted to shrink away.

“What do you want?” she asked.

No stammer.

No hesitation.

Just the question.

That was new too.

I leaned one shoulder against the doorway, trying to look more relaxed than I felt.

“I need a favor.”

“No.”

The answer came so fast I blinked.

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“I don’t need to.”

I looked at her for a second longer than I should have.

She meant it.

She wasn’t trying to be cute. She wasn’t flirting. She wasn’t doing that thing girls sometimes did where no really meant convince me.

Ella James wanted me gone.

And honestly, I’d earned that.

“I’m serious,” I said. “This isn’t about school this morning.”

Her expression didn’t change. “Everything with you is about school.”

“That’s not true.”

She gave me a look.

Fine.

Maybe it was true.

I dragged a hand through my hair and exhaled. I hated asking. Hated needing anything from anyone. Hated needing something from her most of all.

But Coach had made it clear.

If my English grade dropped any lower, I was benched.

Benched meant scouts asking questions.

Questions meant problems.

Problems meant everything I’d worked for starting to crack.

“I need help with English,” I said.

Ella blinked.

For one second, all the anger drained from her face and left behind pure confusion.

Then suspicion replaced it.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“You need help with English.”

“Yeah.”

“And you came to me?”

“Yeah.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Secretly.”

I didn’t answer fast enough.

That was answer enough.

She let out a short laugh, but there was nothing amused about it.

“Of course.”

“It’s not like that.”

“It is exactly like that.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“You want my help,” she said, setting the glass down carefully, “but you don’t want anyone to know you need it from me.”

The words landed harder than I expected.

Mostly because they were true.

I looked away.

Just for a second.

But she saw it.

Of course she did.

Something shifted in her expression. Not surprise. Not even hurt. More like confirmation.

Like I had proven something she already knew.

“That’s what I thought.”

My jaw tightened. “I’ll make it worth your time.”

Her eyes sharpened.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“The deal.” She crossed her arms, and the movement made the sleeves of her sweater fall over her hands. “You’ll stop making my life miserable if I help you.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But that’s what you mean.”

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

Because maybe that was what I’d meant. Not in those exact words. Not intentionally.

But close enough.

And the look on her face told me she knew it.

“I’m not interested in being your secret charity project,” she said.

The words hit something uncomfortable in me.

“That’s not what you are.”

“No?” she asked quietly. “Then what am I?”

The kitchen went silent.

I didn’t have an answer.

Or I had too many.

The girl next door.

The girl I used to know.

The girl everyone laughed at.

The girl I let them laugh at.

The girl who looked at me this morning like she was finally tired of carrying all of it.

None of those were answers I could say out loud.

So I said the only thing I could.

“You’re good at English.”

She laughed softly.

A bitter sound.

“Right.”

“I’m serious.”

“Why?” Her voice sharpened. “Because I’m quiet? Because I read? Because people like me are supposed to be good at school since we’re not good at anything else?”

I frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But it’s what people think.”

“I’m not people.”

Her eyes flashed.

“No. You’re worse.”

That shut me up.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t know what to say.

Because the worst part was, she wasn’t wrong.

I had been worse.

People like Sean were cruel because it entertained them.

Me?

I knew better.

I had known Ella before any of this.

Before the oversized sweaters.

Before the lowered eyes.

Before the hallway laughter.

I had still gone along with it.

Maybe that made me worse than all of them.

I looked at her then. Really looked.

Not the way everyone else did. Not searching for something to pick apart. Not waiting for a reaction.

Just looked.

Her hair was still a little messy from the day, dark strands loose around her face. Her cheeks were flushed, but this time I didn’t think it was embarrassment.

It was anger.

And weirdly, it suited her.

“You’re not average,” I said.

She stared at me.

Then laughed like I’d said something ridiculous.

That bothered me.

A lot.

Because she believed it.

She actually believed she was nothing special.

And maybe part of that was my fault.

“I don’t have time for this,” she said, turning away.

Panic moved through me before I could stop it.

Not obvious panic.

Nothing dramatic.

Just enough that I pushed off the doorway.

“Ella.”

She froze at the sound of her name.

Not James.

Ella.

I didn’t know why I said it like that.

Neither did she, judging by the way she slowly turned back around.

“I need the help,” I said, quieter this time. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

For a second, she only watched me.

I hated that look.

Like she was trying to decide if there was any part of me worth trusting.

I also hated that I wanted her to find one.

Finally she said, “I’ll think about it.”

It wasn’t a yes.

It wasn’t even close.

But it wasn’t a no.

And for some reason, that felt like a win.

I nodded once and stepped back, giving her space because suddenly the kitchen felt too small.

“Okay.”

She didn’t say anything else.

I turned and headed for the door, but I could feel her watching me this time.

Not scared.

Not exactly.

Wary.

Curious.

Maybe even confused.

Good.

At least I wasn’t the only one.

By the time I crossed the yard back to my house, one thought was louder than all the rest.

Ella James didn’t fit in my world.

She didn’t belong in the life I’d built.

She didn’t match anything I was supposed to want.

So why the hell couldn’t I stop noticing her?