Archive of Our Own

Jackie sat stiffly in the passenger seat of her father’s Mercedes, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she stared out of the window. The car was eerily quiet, save for the rhythmic clicking of the turn signal and the steady hum of the engine. The air between them felt thick, stifling, like a wool blanket pressed against her face. Even the scent of the leather seats—usually comforting in its expensive familiarity—felt suffocating today.

She could feel her father’s disapproval radiating off him in waves, sharp and unrelenting. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left the house, but Jackie knew it was only a matter of time before he cracked.

And then, finally, he did.

“I still can’t believe you, Jackie.” His voice, sharp as a blade, cut through the silence. “Detention. Of all things, detention. Do you have any idea what this does to your record? How this reflects on our family?”

Jackie’s fingers twitched against her lap, a nervous habit she quickly forced herself to stop. She kept her eyes on the blurred scenery outside, not daring to meet his gaze. She knew this script by heart—her father’s disappointment was practically a rehearsed monologue at this point.

“This is just the beginning,” he continued, voice dripping with exasperation. “First, it’s detention. Next, it’s skipping classes. Then, failing grades. Then what, Jackie? Dropping out? Running off to God knows where? Do you want to ruin everything you’ve worked for? Everything we’ve worked for?”

Jackie bit the inside of her cheek, biting back the urge to roll her eyes. Dramatic, much? But she knew better than to argue. Her father didn’t want a conversation. He wanted a confession. A bowing of the head, an apology, a promise to do better. He wanted the perfect daughter.

So, she stayed silent.

After a moment, her father exhaled sharply, shaking his head as though he was already exhausted with her. “This better be the first and last time,” he said as they pulled up to the school. “I will be here at four o’clock sharp. Do not make me wait.”

Jackie nodded obediently, murmuring, “Yes, sir.”

Without another word, she stepped out of the car, the heavy door shutting with an almost ominous finality. She didn’t watch him drive away—she already knew the moment she was out of sight, he’d be calling her mother to vent about how their perfect little girl was starting to crack.

With a deep breath, Jackie squared her shoulders and turned toward the school, trying to shake off the clinging weight of disappointment.

…..

The hallways were completely empty, an eerie contrast to their usual chaos. It was unsettling, like walking through a ghost town, the silence amplifying every sound—the echo of her footsteps, the soft swish of her corduroy skirt, the dull hum of the overhead lights.

Jackie’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. She had never gotten detention before. Not once. Not even for something small like chewing gum in class or talking when she wasn’t supposed to. What if I have to write an essay about my mistakes? What if they just make us sit in silence? What if—

She swallowed hard, pushing the thoughts down. It’s fine. It’s one day. Just get through it.

But the question that lingered in her mind, the one that made her the most uneasy, was: Who else is going to be in there?

Jackie had a pretty good idea. Detention wasn’t exactly a place for people like her. It was for kids who skipped school, who talked back to teachers, who didn’t care . Burnouts.

Her stomach knotted tighter.

She reached the door to the detention room and hesitated just a second too long before pushing it open.

The room was empty.

Well, almost empty.

There was a teacher at the front, middle-aged, dressed in a plain, uninspired cardigan, looking as though she wanted to be anywhere but here. Jackie had opened her mouth to greet her politely when the teacher flicked her gaze up with disinterest.

“Take a seat,” she said flatly.

Jackie blinked, caught off guard by the total lack of respect. No one ever spoke to her like that. She had expected at least a tight smile, maybe even a hint of sympathy.

For a moment, she was frozen, unsure how to react. Then, the teacher looked at her again, this time with mild impatience.

“Now.”

Heat rushed to Jackie’s face. Her ears burned with embarrassment, and without another word, she quickly walked to the back of the room and sat down. She crossed her legs primly, clasped her hands together, and kept her back straight—posture perfect, like she was in a job interview instead of detention .

The minutes dragged. Jackie stared at the clock, unsure of what she was supposed to be doing. The silence stretched, making her more aware of every small movement she made—the way her knee bobbed slightly in anxious energy, the way she kept smoothing down the hem of her skirt.

She was so grateful no one else was here to witness her humiliation.

And then the door swung open.

Jackie turned her head as the door banged against the frame. And of course— of course —it was her .

Natalie Scatorccio sauntered into the room like she owned it, her bleach-blonde hair an untamed mess, her oversized black Nirvana T-shirt hanging loosely over ripped jeans. She held herself with that lazy confidence that Jackie always found both infuriating and enviable, like she couldn’t care less about anything—not about rules, not about detention, not about anything at all.

The teacher barely glanced up. “You’re late, Scatorccio,” she said, tone clipped.

Natalie smirked. “Aw, c’mon, you love having me around,” she quipped, flopping into a seat in the back, her legs sprawled out like she was lounging on a couch instead of a school desk.

Jackie bit the inside of her cheek, resisting the urge to sigh. Great. Just my luck.

The teacher scowled but didn’t argue. Instead, she rose from her chair, sighing like she regretted every life decision that had led her to this moment. “Now that everyone is present,” she said, giving Natalie a pointed look, “we can get on with today’s schedule.”

Jackie stiffened at those words. Schedule? That didn’t sound good.

The teacher continued, “You will spend the next hour picking up trash outside, and when you return, you will wait here until further instructions.”

Jackie’s mind supplied an immediate, sarcastic thought: Oh, great. She sounds like a discount Terminator.

Beside her, Natalie suddenly turned, shooting her an amused look. She pressed a hand to her mouth, muffling a laugh.

And that’s when Jackie realized—she had said that out loud .

Shit .

Heat flared across her cheeks, and she quickly looked away. Natalie was still grinning, looking at her like she had just unlocked a secret.

Jackie swallowed hard.

This was going to be a long day.

…..

Jackie trailed behind as Natalie grabbed the trash bags and metal hooks with a practiced ease, like she had done this a million times before. Which, honestly, she probably had. Jackie couldn’t help the judgmental thought, narrowing her eyes slightly as she watched Natalie sling the supplies over her shoulder with the nonchalant confidence of someone entirely too comfortable with detention duties.

Jackie hesitated for a split second, expecting Natalie to at least glance in her direction—some smirk, some quip, some acknowledgment that Jackie Taylor was here, serving detention alongside her. But Natalie didn’t even look her way. Without a word, she turned on her heel and headed toward the doors, disappearing around a corner.

Jackie exhaled sharply, pressing her lips together. Fine. Whatever.

She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Picking up trash alone would be boring as hell, but picking up trash with Natalie Scatorccio ? That was worse.

With a sigh, Jackie grabbed her own supplies and followed suit, stepping outside into the late-morning sun.

…..

The outside of Wiskayok High was as uninspiring as ever—brick walls, fading paint on the doorframes, and a patchy, dried-out lawn that the school clearly didn’t bother maintaining. Jackie huffed as she walked, prodding at discarded soda cans and empty chip bags with the metal hook, dropping them into the trash bag with a satisfying clunk .

Five minutes in, she was already over it.

Fifteen minutes in, she had moved from irritation to full-fledged hatred.

By the half-hour mark, Jackie was mentally cursing everything —whoever threw their crumpled math homework into the bushes, whoever thought it was okay to leave half-eaten sandwiches on the bleachers, whoever invented detention in the first place .

Her grip tightened on the trash stick as she poked at an old, soggy newspaper, grimacing as it fell apart on impact. "Oh, come on ," she muttered under her breath, shaking the hook to rid it of the damp scraps.

This was miserable.

She turned a corner, ready to suffer through the next thirty minutes in solitude, when she saw her .

Natalie was leaning against the school’s brick wall, one boot propped lazily against it, the sun catching on the sharp angles of her face. A cigarette dangled between her fingers, and her trash bag—completely full—sat on the ground beside her.

Jackie stopped short.

Her gaze flicked from Natalie to the bulging trash bag, then back to Natalie. A frown tugged at her lips.

“How the hell did you fill yours already?” she demanded, disbelief dripping from every word. “I’ve been out here for half an hour and I’ve barely got a quarter of a bag.”

Natalie looked up, exhaling a slow stream of smoke, her lips curving into an infuriating smirk. “Talent,” she said simply, as if that explained everything.

Jackie narrowed her eyes. Talent, her ass . There was no way Natalie—who barely looked like she was putting in any effort—had actually scoured the school grounds and filled an entire bag before Jackie. That just wasn’t possible.

Suspicious, Jackie’s gaze drifted past Natalie—and that’s when she saw it.

The trash can. Sitting right beside her. Completely empty.

Jackie scoffed, crossing her arms. “Oh, come on .”

Natalie just grinned wider, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

Jackie pointed at the can. “You just dumped it in there.”

Natalie shrugged, flicking her cigarette. “Yeah. And?”

Jackie groaned, running a hand down her face. “You’re actually the worst.”

Natalie’s smirk widened. “And yet, here you are, still talking to me.”

Jackie scowled. “You do realize if the teacher checks the trash cans, you’re so getting caught?”

Natalie waved a dismissive hand. “She never checks.” Then, after a pause, she tilted her head, expression daring. “There’s another one just over there, y’know. If you wanna make your life easier.”

Jackie let out a sharp breath through her nose, debating.

She could keep doing this the hard way—actually picking up trash—or…

With an exasperated sigh, Jackie turned toward the other trash can.

Natalie’s laughter was quiet, but Jackie heard it anyway.

….

Jackie dumped the trash into her bag, shaking it slightly to make sure it looked properly full, then turned back to Natalie, who was watching her with a look of amused approval.

“Welcome to the dark side,” Natalie quipped.

Jackie rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

But instead of walking away, she hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaning against the brick wall beside Natalie, mirroring her posture.

Natalie shot her a look, one eyebrow raised, as if surprised she was staying.

Jackie tilted her head slightly, nodding toward the cigarette in Natalie’s hand. “Can I bum one?”

Natalie’s amusement deepened. “ You smoke?”

Jackie shrugged. “Not technically .”

Natalie gave her a once-over, like she was deciding whether to call her bluff. Then, wordlessly, she pulled a crumpled pack from her pocket, shook one loose, and handed it over.

Jackie took it with ease, pressing the cigarette between her lips and waiting as Natalie flicked her lighter. She inhaled effortlessly, holding it for a moment before exhaling a thin stream of smoke, the movement practiced.

When she looked back at Natalie, she was met with something unexpected—shock.

Natalie was staring at her.

Jackie smirked. Gotcha.

Natalie recovered quickly, but the brief flicker of surprise was so satisfying. “Huh,” Natalie mused, leaning back. “Didn’t peg you as a closet smoker, Taylor.”

“I’m not ,” Jackie replied, her voice smooth. “Just… occasionally.”

Natalie let out a low laugh. “Occasionally?”

Jackie took another drag, exhaling slowly, playing up her confidence just to see how Natalie would react. “Parties. When I’m stressed.” She glanced at Natalie from the corner of her eye. “You’re not the only one who needs a vice, Scatorccio.”

Natalie grinned, shaking her head as she flicked ash onto the pavement. “Oh, please. What do you even have to be stressed about? Your biggest struggle is probably deciding what color nail polish to wear.”

Jackie shot her a dry look. “Right. Because my life is so easy.”

Natalie arched an eyebrow but didn’t push. Instead, she simply watched Jackie, amusement still playing at the edges of her mouth, but there was something else there too—something unreadable, lingering just beneath the surface. The way her lips curled, the way her sharp eyes flickered over Jackie’s face, assessing, teasing, lingering just a little too long—it sent a prickle down Jackie’s spine.

Jackie held her gaze, refusing to look away, even as the space between them seemed to shrink, even as the air thickened with something unspoken.

The silence stretched. Neither of them moved. Jackie could hear the distant hum of cars from the main road, the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze, the slow, almost lazy way Natalie brought the cigarette to her lips and exhaled, smoke curling between them like something tangible, something neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

Jackie wasn’t sure what this was—this pull, this weight, this stupid game they were playing where neither of them was willing to blink first. But she knew one thing: she hated the way Natalie was looking at her. Hated the way it made her feel like she was the one being studied.

Like she was the one losing.

Then, after a moment, Natalie smirked again, tilting her head toward the school. “We should probably, y’know, pretend to be working soon.”

Jackie huffed, flicking her cigarette toward the ground and crushing it under her heel.

For the first time all day, she wasn’t thinking about how much detention sucked.

And that realization unsettled her more than anything.

….

Jackie and Natalie walked side by side down the empty hall, but with a careful amount of space between them—just enough to make it clear they weren’t together . Not really. Not friends .

Jackie wasn’t even sure why she was thinking about it in those terms.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly relaxed either. It felt charged, like the air before a thunderstorm, but neither of them acknowledged it. Jackie kept her eyes straight ahead, but her focus drifted sideways, toward Natalie, who looked oddly deep in thought.

That was surprising. Jackie was used to seeing Natalie as sharp, as quick, as constantly amused by the world and unimpressed by everyone in it. But right now, she was quiet, her brows slightly furrowed, her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her worn leather jacket.

Jackie wanted to ask what she was thinking about.

The thought startled her, and she shoved it down immediately. Why would I care?

She forced herself to look ahead again, focusing on the approaching detention room instead of the way Natalie’s jaw tightened like she was chewing on some thought too bitter to swallow.

It wasn’t her problem.

…..

Jackie barely had time to step into the doorway before the teacher’s voice rang out, clipped and tired.

“Welcome back,” she said, her tone making it clear she was not particularly welcoming them back. She gestured toward the board. “Your next task is an essay. I expect it to be completed before the end of detention.”

Jackie followed her gesture, eyes landing on the board where the essay prompt was scrawled in heavy black marker:

“Write about a time when you felt misunderstood.”

Jackie’s stomach twisted slightly.

Behind her, she heard Natalie let out a barely-audible snort.

“Oh, yeah,” Natalie muttered under her breath, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Real original.”

Jackie surprised herself by laughing—just a quiet breath of amusement, a knee-jerk reaction she hadn’t been expecting.

The moment the sound left her mouth, she regretted it.

The teacher’s gaze snapped to them immediately, sharp and suspicious. She looked between Jackie and Natalie, her frown deepening, and sighed heavily like she was already done with the both of them.

“Scatorccio, Taylor—you’re done sitting together,” she announced, waving a hand. “Jackie, front row. Now.”

Jackie tensed.

She could feel Natalie smirking behind her, undoubtedly amused by the teacher’s assumption that Jackie needed to be protected from her corrupting influence .

Still, Jackie didn’t argue. She gathered her things, moved stiffly toward the front, and slid into the assigned desk, feeling far too exposed with no one in front of her.

She stared at the blank page in front of her, her pen hovering over it.

“Write about a time when you felt misunderstood.”

Jackie exhaled slowly.

She brainstormed, mentally cycling through options.

She could write about soccer—about how people never took girls’ sports as seriously as they should. Or maybe about her parents—about how they never really listened to her, only expected things from her. Or about Shauna—about how sometimes, lately, things had started to feel off between them, even though Jackie couldn’t pinpoint why.

But with each idea, something inside her recoiled.

Nothing felt right.

Nothing felt good enough.

Her fingers curled slightly around the pen, her grip tightening.

She hated this. Hated the way her brain locked up when she wanted it to work, the way she felt like she needed to come up with the perfect answer. The way she could already hear her father’s voice in her head— Jackie, you can do better than this.

Jackie exhaled sharply through her nose and tried to push the thoughts aside, but she could feel her own frustration building, creeping up her spine like an itch she couldn’t reach.

Behind her, Natalie was doing nothing she was supposed to be doing. Jackie could see her out of the corner of her eye, slouched in her chair like she had absolutely no intention of writing the essay, lazily flicking through a magazine she had found under the desk, her legs stretched out in front of her.

Every now and then, she twirled a strand of bleach-blonde hair around her finger, expression unreadable, gaze moving so slowly across the pages like she had all the time in the world.

And then—

Tap.

A barely-there nudge against the back of her chair.

Jackie stiffened, blinking out of her spiral, her pen hovering uselessly above the blank page in front of her. For a split second, she thought she imagined it, just some phantom sensation conjured by her already fraying nerves.

But then—

Tap.

Again. A little more deliberate this time, like a whisper of a touch meant only for her to notice. Not enough to be disruptive. Just enough to get under her skin.

Jackie pressed her lips together, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting.

She didn’t turn around, but she didn’t need to.

She knew who it was.

Jackie forced her grip on the pen to remain steady, even as the seconds stretched unbearably long between them.

Nothing.

No reaction.

She wasn’t going to give Natalie the satisfaction.

And yet—

Tap.

Jackie almost twitched.

The corner of her eye caught the movement—Natalie’s boot, just barely nudging against the leg of Jackie’s chair before retracting again.

This time, Jackie knew it was intentional.

A slow, measured attempt to poke at her, to pull her focus, to make her engage .

She swallowed, fighting the overwhelming urge to whip around and hiss What? at Natalie, just to see that infuriatingly smug look she knew would be waiting for her.

But that would mean losing .

So she exhaled slowly, forcing her shoulders to stay squared, her back straight.

Ignoring her.

She was ignoring her.

Except for the fact that her pulse had picked up, and her fingers had curled slightly against the desk.

And except for the fact that every ounce of her focus was now only on Natalie.

Jackie swallowed.

She should be ignoring her.

But she wasn’t.

Instead, she was hyper-aware of everything —the absent way Natalie chewed on her lip, the occasional scratch of her nail against the edge of the desk, the lazy flick of her wrist as she turned a page.

It was ridiculous.

The teacher might have thought that separating them would be a solution, but it only made Jackie more aware of Natalie’s presence.

More aware of the way she got under her skin.

More aware of the fact that she was losing focus.

More aware of the fact that maybe, just maybe…

She didn’t mind it as much as she should.

….

Jackie had been staring at her blank page for what felt like an eternity, the words on the board taunting her. Write about a time when you felt misunderstood.

She could think of a dozen moments, but none of them seemed right. None of them felt like something she could put into words, much less turn into an essay worthy of an A. And even if she could ? The teacher would probably just skim it, already assuming she had some privileged, easy little life.

A sharp knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

The teacher sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose before muttering, “I’ll be right back.” She glanced between Jackie and Natalie with obvious mistrust before warning, “I better come back to two finished essays. If not, I can and will add another detention to your records.”

Jackie swallowed down an automatic, polite “Yes, ma’am” and simply nodded instead.

Natalie, however, just grinned. “Duly noted.”

The teacher frowned at her response but didn’t press. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked out, shutting the door behind her.

The second the latch clicked, Natalie sat up straighter, leaning forward like a coiled spring finally let loose.

"Hey, Taylor , " Natalie called, her voice teasing. “Wanna make this less miserable?”

Jackie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “What, do you have some genius plan to escape?”

Natalie smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Nah, but I bet I can pick the lock to the supply closet. Bet there’s something fun in there."

Jackie blinked, taken aback. "Seriously?"

Natalie tilted her head in challenge. “What, scared?"

Jackie was skeptical. She should be rolling her eyes, turning back to her essay, doing anything other than entertaining whatever ridiculous plan Natalie had brewing.

But after the morning she’d had—her father’s disappointed voice still echoing in her head, the suffocating expectations, the stupid essay—she just… didn’t care.

She huffed, crossing her arms. “Fine. But if we get caught, you take the blame.”

Natalie grinned, flashing teeth. “Obviously.”

Natalie slid off her chair with ease, moving toward the door like she’d done this a hundred times before. Jackie hesitated for half a second before following, her heart pounding as she stepped into the hallway.

Natalie carefully cracked the door open and peeked outside, scanning the empty corridor.

Jackie, suddenly aware of how ridiculous this was, bit down a laugh, but a quiet giggle still escaped her lips.

Natalie turned back with a raised eyebrow. “What’s so funny?”

Jackie smirked, crossing her arms. “This just feels like some bad spy movie.”

Natalie’s expression flickered—then, to Jackie’s surprise, she actually laughed .

It wasn’t just an amused chuckle, either. It was a real laugh, sudden and unguarded, lighting up her face in a way Jackie hadn’t expected.

Jackie barely had time to process it before she noticed something else—dimples. Natalie had dimples.

The realization stunned her for half a second, like her brain short-circuited.

Dimples didn’t fit Natalie Scatorccio. Not the Natalie Jackie thought she knew—the reckless, sharp-edged, eye-rolling burnout who always acted like she was two seconds away from committing arson just to see what would happen.

Dimples were soft.

Dimples were dangerous .

Jackie barely recovered in time, forcing herself to roll her eyes instead. “You would be a bad spy.”

Natalie grinned. “And yet, here we are.”

Jackie sighed. “Just hurry up before we actually get caught.”

Natalie, still smirking, turned back to check the hall one more time before making a break for the supply closet.

Jackie followed, her pulse still uneven for entirely different reasons now.

…..

When they reached the supply closet, Natalie crouched down, pulling a hairpin from her pocket. Jackie watched, horrified as Natalie twisted it effortlessly into the lock, her movements smooth, practiced.

Jackie’s stomach dropped.

“Okay, why do you know how to do this?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Natalie didn’t even pause. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Jackie crossed her arms. “I would, actually.”

Natalie just shot her a smirk, giving the pin one last twist. With a soft click , the door creaked open.

Jackie inhaled sharply. “Oh my god.”

Natalie stood, flashing a satisfied grin. “You’re welcome.”

Jackie should be judging her. She should be concerned.

Instead, she found herself reluctantly impressed.

They stepped inside, scanning the shelves. The closet wasn’t just filled with old janitorial supplies—it was way more interesting than that.

Confiscated items littered the space—old Walkmans, tangled cassette tapes, a bag of candy someone had clearly been caught sneaking in class.

Natalie let out a low whistle. “Jackpot.”

Jackie grabbed a pack of Red Vines, shaking her head. “Who even gets their candy confiscated? What kind of amateur move is that?”

Natalie chuckled, tossing a cassette into her pocket. “Probably some poor freshman who thought they could sneak sugar past Mrs. Callahan.”

Jackie smirked, popping a Red Vine into her mouth. “Rookie mistake.”

Natalie turned, eyes amused. “See? You get it.”

Jackie rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips.

The two of them grabbed what they could and slipped back into the hallway.

…..

By the time they returned to their seats, Jackie no longer cared about the essay. She no longer cared about the fact that she was supposed to be a perfect Taylor.

Instead, she found herself relaxed for the first time all day.

Natalie slouched in her chair, chewing on stolen licorice, while Jackie fiddled with the Walkman they’d swiped.

“Think this still works?” Jackie asked, holding it up.

Natalie smirked. “Only one way to find out.”

Jackie popped in a cassette and pressed play. The sound crackled for a second before music filled the quiet room—a grungy, old song Jackie didn’t recognize.

Natalie grinned. “Now this is detention.”

Jackie popped another piece of Red Vine into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully as the music crackled through the old Walkman. The sound was scratchy, a little warped from age, but it had a kind of charm to it—something unpolished, raw, and strangely fitting for the moment.

She held one of the earbuds between her fingers, the other still nestled in Natalie’s ear as they passed the Walkman back and forth on the desk between them.

Jackie didn’t recognize the song.

It wasn’t the kind of music she usually listened to.

But for some reason, she didn’t hate it.

She let her head tip slightly to the side, taking in the low hum of electric guitar and the gravelly voice singing something about self-destruction and getting the hell out of some nowhere town.

Natalie caught her looking and smirked. “Never heard this before, have you?”

Jackie shrugged, keeping her expression neutral. “What gave it away?”

Natalie chuckled, tearing off another piece of licorice with her teeth. “Dunno. Just seems like you’re more of a pop girl.”

Jackie scoffed, pretending to be offended. “Wow. Judgmental much?”

Natalie raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Am I wrong?”

Jackie hesitated, then sighed dramatically. “No.”

Natalie grinned, triumphant.

Jackie rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight back the small, amused smile tugging at her lips.

A comfortable silence settled between them as the song played on, Natalie absentmindedly twirling the licorice between her fingers while Jackie kept her gaze on the desk, focusing too much on the way their arms almost touched when they leaned in to switch the Walkman.

She could feel Natalie next to her, just enough that it made her stomach twist in a way she wasn’t used to.

She blamed it on the fact that she wasn’t supposed to be here.

That she wasn’t supposed to be talking to Natalie Scatorccio like this.

That this whole situation—sharing candy, listening to music, laughing—was the kind of thing she’d never imagined herself doing.

And maybe that was why she liked it.

Because it felt... different .

Like, for once, she wasn’t being Jackie Taylor, captain of the soccer team, picture-perfect daughter of the Taylor household.

She was just... Jackie .

No expectations. No reputation to uphold. No one to impress.

Just her, Natalie, and the quiet hum of stolen music in a room they weren’t even supposed to be in.

…..

The low hum of the Walkman wrapped around them, filling the quiet classroom with a fuzzy, distant melody. 

Jackie let her head rest lightly against the back of her chair, watching the way the sunlight bled through the blinds, striping the desks with lines of pale gold and muted shadow.

Every so often, she and Natalie spoke, breaking the silence in small, unhurried bursts.

“Alright, real question.” She shifted in her seat, angling herself toward Jackie, mischief glinting in her eyes. “What’s your worst impulse decision?”

Jackie blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Natalie smirked. “You know. Something you did without thinking. No planning. No reason. Just… did it .”

Jackie hesitated, tapping her nails lightly against the desk. “I dunno…”

“Bullshit. Everyone’s got one.” Natalie leaned back, looking at her expectantly. “C’mon, Taylor. Surprise me.”

Jackie huffed, pretending to be annoyed, but her mind was already sifting through memories. And then, before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “I gave myself bangs when I was twelve.”

Natalie’s eyebrows shot up before she burst into laughter, the sound so sudden and unfiltered that Jackie almost forgot to be embarrassed.

“Oh my god,” Natalie wheezed, gripping the desk as she tried to catch her breath. “You would .”

Jackie groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Okay, it wasn’t that bad.”

Natalie tilted her head, smirking. “How bad was it?”

Jackie exhaled sharply, feeling the heat creeping up her neck. “Picture… an uneven mess with way too much forehead showing. Like a medieval squire.”

Natalie lost it again.

Jackie rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. She let herself watch Natalie laugh, noticing the way her head tipped back slightly, the way her shoulders shook.

Jackie quickly looked away, shifting in her chair. “Alright, your turn. Best impulse decision.”

Natalie took a deep breath, wiping at her eyes dramatically. “Jesus. Gonna take me a sec to recover from that mental image.”

Jackie huffed. “Hurry up, criminal mastermind.”

Natalie grinned, but then, as she thought, something in her expression softened slightly.

“Alright,” she said, after a beat. “I once skipped school to take the bus to the city. Just… because.”

Jackie frowned. “Alone?”

Natalie nodded, tapping her fingers idly against the desk. “Yeah. Didn’t even have a plan. Just wanted to see what it’d be like.”

Jackie tilted her head, surprised by the answer. She had been expecting something reckless, something stupid —but this was… different.

“You ever been?” Natalie asked suddenly.

Jackie hesitated before shaking her head. “No. I mean, not really . Just for college tours with my parents.”

Natalie made a face. “Yeah, that doesn’t count.”

Jackie scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry, do you get to decide what counts as a real city experience?”

Natalie smirked. “Yes.”

Jackie rolled her eyes, but before she could retort, Natalie’s voice dipped slightly, turning thoughtful.

“You’d like it,” she murmured.

Jackie blinked.

Natalie wasn’t looking at her now, her gaze fixed somewhere in the distance, fingers still fidgeting absentmindedly with the corner of the cassette case.

Jackie wasn’t sure why, but something about the way she said it—quiet, almost certain—made something twist in her chest.

She forced a light scoff. “Oh, yeah? And what makes you the expert on what I’d like?”

Natalie finally looked at her again, her smirk creeping back. “Just a feeling.”

Jackie swallowed.

She hated that answer.

Because the way Natalie was looking at her—the way she had been looking at her all afternoon—made Jackie feel like she was figuring something out before Jackie even had the chance to realize it herself.

Jackie exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “You’re so annoying.”

Natalie grinned. “You’re still here.”

Jackie wanted to roll her eyes. Wanted to snark back. Wanted to say something .

But instead, she just pressed play on the Walkman, letting the music fill the space between them again.

Because, for some reason, she didn’t want to leave.

Jackie shook her head but smiled despite herself.

They lapsed into another comfortable silence, the song shifting into something even more distorted, more raw. Jackie didn’t know the artist, but she liked the way the music settled into her bones, the way it made the room feel smaller—less like a detention classroom and more like some secret hideaway carved out of time.

And that was when she realized it.

She liked talking to Natalie.

Not just in the usual way—the snark, the back-and-forth, the teasing jabs that had started to come so naturally—but in this way. The quieter way. The way that felt dangerous because it was easy.

Jackie wasn’t sure when the shift had happened, but she felt it now, settling uncomfortably in her chest.

Natalie must have noticed something in her expression because, for once, her usual air of detached amusement softened.

She shifted, resting her elbow on the desk and tilting her head slightly, her gaze steady but less sharp, less teasing.

“Why are you really here, Taylor?” Natalie asked, her voice quieter than before—still casual, but without the usual bite of sarcasm. There was something else underneath it. Genuine curiosity. “Doesn’t seem like your kind of scene.”

Jackie swallowed.

She could lie.

She should lie.

But instead, she blurted, “I cheated on a test.”

Natalie raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Didn’t peg you for a cheater.”

Jackie exhaled sharply, shaking her head, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t usually. But my dad—”

She stopped short, realizing too late what she was about to admit.

Her throat went tight with embarrassment, heat creeping up the back of her neck.

Natalie didn’t say anything right away. She just watched Jackie, her expression unreadable, her fingers idly fidgeting with the corner of the cassette case.

Jackie braced herself for some kind of comment. A joke. A smirk. Maybe even some lazy Daddy Issues, huh? remark.

But it never came.

Instead, Natalie just nodded slightly, like she was filing the information away, like she understood something without needing Jackie to say it outright.

Jackie was grateful for that.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was understanding.

A moment stretched between them—small but heavy, the weight of it settling in Jackie's ribs.

She risked a glance at Natalie, at the way she sat now, just a little more relaxed, the usual smirk nowhere to be found.

For the first time all day, Jackie wasn’t thinking about how much time she had left in detention.

She wasn’t thinking about her father’s disappointment, or the way her life had felt increasingly not hers lately, or the fact that Natalie Scatorccio was the last person she ever expected to be sitting here with, feeling like—

Like what?

Jackie didn’t let herself finish the thought.

Instead, she exhaled slowly and reached for another piece of licorice, tearing off the end with her teeth.

Natalie smirked at her again, but it was softer this time, like she knew something Jackie didn’t.

Jackie rolled her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Natalie’s lips twitched. “Like what?”

Jackie narrowed her eyes. “Like you just figured something out.”

Natalie grinned, finally letting a bit of mischief slip back into her tone. “Maybe I did.”

Jackie huffed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” Natalie murmured, tossing a piece of licorice into her mouth. “But you like it.”

Jackie froze for half a second—so brief she doubted Natalie even noticed—but she felt the warmth flare in her stomach again, that stupid, unexplainable warmth .

She shoved it down, turned her gaze back to the Walkman, and pressed play.

They let the music fill the space again.

…..

Something shifts after that conversation.

Jackie doesn’t know exactly when it happens, but she feels it—like a thread being pulled, like a weight loosening in her chest. Maybe it’s the way Natalie stops treating this like a joke, or maybe it’s the way Jackie starts forgetting that she’s supposed to be miserable here.

Whatever it is, the energy between them changes.

They keep talking.

About music. About school. About things that shouldn’t matter, but somehow do.

Jackie doesn’t even remember how they got on the topic—something about expectations, maybe, or maybe it was just easy to let things slip in this weird little bubble they had built.

“I’m so tired of being perfect,” Jackie admits, without really meaning to. The words just fall out, like they’ve been sitting on her tongue for too long, waiting for someone to notice.

Natalie raises an eyebrow, chewing on the end of her licorice. “Wow. That must be so hard for you, Taylor.” Her voice is light, teasing.

Jackie exhales sharply. “You don’t get it.”

Natalie tilts her head, watching her. “So explain it to me.”

Jackie hesitates. She’s not sure how to put it into words—how to explain what it feels like to be trapped inside an image of yourself that everyone else built.

She runs a hand through her hair, shaking her head. “I just… I don’t get to mess up.”

Natalie scoffs. “Sure you do.”

Jackie meets her gaze, something sharp and frustrated in her voice. “Not like you do.”

Natalie goes still. It’s subtle, just a flicker of something across her face, but Jackie sees it—the way her shoulders tense, the way her fingers tug a little harder at the loose threads on her jeans.

For a second, Jackie thinks she won’t respond. That she’ll just brush it off like she does everything else.

But then Natalie sighs, rolling a piece of licorice between her fingers.

“You know what I’m tired of?” she mutters, voice quieter now. “People assuming I’m hopeless.”

Jackie doesn’t say anything.

She just watches—the way Natalie keeps her gaze fixed on the desk, like she doesn’t want to see Jackie’s reaction. The way she shifts, just slightly, like she’s waiting for the punchline, like she’s bracing herself for Jackie to laugh at her, or call bullshit, or give her that look that everyone gives her.

Jackie doesn’t.

Instead, she leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on the desk. “Who thinks that?”

Natalie lets out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “Who doesn’t?”

Jackie frowns, but Natalie keeps going, voice light but something else underneath it, something bitter.

“Teachers? My mom? Half the people at this school? They all just assume I’m gonna crash and burn eventually, so why bother pretending otherwise?”

Jackie swallows. “That’s—”

“Fucked up?” Natalie cuts in, smirking, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah. No shit.”

Jackie exhales, gripping the Walkman cord a little tighter. She doesn’t know what to say.

Because, yeah. Maybe she had thought that about Natalie before today—before detention, before this. Maybe she’d just accepted the same assumptions everyone else had.

But sitting here, now, watching the way Natalie’s fingers fidget restlessly, the way she refuses to look at her—Jackie feels something twist in her chest as she realizes just how wrong she’s been about Natalie Scatorccio.

Because Natalie isn’t careless.

She cares too much .

She isn’t lazy.

She’s exhausted .

She isn’t reckless just for the sake of it.

She just doesn’t see the point in playing a game she knows she can’t win.

Jackie wonders what that must be like—to live in a world where everyone assumes the worst of you before you even open your mouth.

Jackie watches the way Natalie exhales, tilting her head back against the chair, looking suddenly exhausted .

“Guess we’re both kinda screwed, huh?” Natalie murmurs after a moment, her voice quiet.

Jackie lets out a breath, looking down at the desk, at the Red Vines they’ve been slowly tearing apart, at the Walkman they’ve been passing back and forth like it means something.

“Yeah,” she says, just as softly.

Neither of them say anything else after that.

They don’t need to.

…..

For the first time since detention started, Jackie doesn’t feel stuck . Her pen moves fluidly across the paper, no longer weighed down by the impossible standard she had placed on herself. It doesn’t have to be perfect, she realizes. Just real.

And so, she writes.

She writes about the pressure. The weight of expectation. The feeling of constantly performing, of trying so hard to be what everyone needs her to be, until she isn’t even sure who she is anymore.

The words come easily, spilling out in a way that surprises her. It’s like something has been cracked open inside her—something she never would have admitted if she weren’t sitting in this detention room, talking to someone she never should have been talking to.

And before she even realizes it, she’s finished.

Jackie sets her pen down, staring at the page, at the messy, unfiltered thoughts she has never allowed herself to say out loud.

She glances up at the clock.

There’s only an hour left of detention.

A strange pang settles in her chest at that realization.

She hates that she wishes her time here didn’t have to end.

She hates that she doesn’t want to leave this—this strange little bubble where nothing else seems to matter.

And most of all, she hates the feeling creeping up her spine. The one that tells her that maybe—just maybe —she doesn’t want to leave Natalie .

Her eyes instinctively search for her, finding her by the window at the back of the classroom.

Natalie is quiet, staring out at the faint drizzle of rain.

Something about her posture—the way she leans against the desk, her arms crossed loosely, her face unreadable as she watches the water droplets chase each other down the glass—makes Jackie pause.

She approaches slowly, her footsteps nearly silent on the tiled floor, until she is standing by Natalie’s side, watching the rain with her.

The silence between them is heavy and delicate all at once, like something that could shatter if either of them breathed too hard.

Jackie doesn’t understand it.

She doesn’t understand why her heart feels like it’s hammering against her ribs, why the air feels thick with something unspoken, why standing next to Natalie feels different than standing next to anyone else.

But she doesn’t step away.

She doesn’t want to.

After a long moment, Jackie clears her throat, breaking the quiet.

“You’re not gonna write the essay?”

Natalie lets out a small, dry scoff, barely looking away from the window. “Doesn’t matter if I write it or not,” she says, voice light, but there’s an edge to it. “I’m gonna be here next week regardless.”

She says it like a joke. But Jackie hears the bitterness underneath it.

Jackie frowns. “Why are you in detention, anyway?”

For a second, Natalie doesn’t answer.

Jackie thinks she’s not going to. That she’s going to shrug it off, like she does with everything else.

But then, after a long pause, Natalie mutters, “I got accused of something I didn’t do.”

Jackie turns her head, surprised. “What?”

Natalie exhales through her nose, finally looking away from the window. “Some shit got stolen from a teacher’s desk. No proof. No witnesses. Just an assumption. ” She smiles, but there’s no humor in it. “And guess who they pinned it on?”

Jackie’s chest aches with something she doesn’t quite understand.

Anger.

Frustration.

A sudden, overwhelming guilt that makes her stomach twist, because she knows— God, she knows —that she’s been one of those people.

She’s made those assumptions.

She’s looked at Natalie and thought burnout . Thought trouble . Thought she deserves whatever comes her way .

And yet here Jackie is.

She is the one who actually did something wrong.

She is the one who cheated .

And Natalie is the one being punished for something she didn’t even do.

Jackie swallows past the lump in her throat. “That’s…” She doesn’t even know what to say.

Natalie just shrugs, like it doesn’t matter. Like it never does.

But Jackie knows it does.

She knows, because she sees it now—sees the way Natalie’s fingers twitch, the way her jaw tenses slightly, the way she’s avoiding Jackie’s gaze like she doesn’t want her to see the parts of herself she keeps hidden.

Jackie hates it.

Hates that Natalie just expects people to see her this way. Hates that she’s used to it.

Before she can say anything, Natalie shifts slightly, finally looking at her again. And there’s something in her expression—something thoughtful, something searching.

“Why’d you cheat?” she asks, voice quiet.

Jackie takes a breath.

She looks down, focusing on the pattern of raindrops on the window, gathering her thoughts before answering.

“My dad,” she says finally, and the words feel strange on her tongue, like she’s never actually said them out loud before. “He… he puts a lot of pressure on me. To get the perfect grade. To be the perfect student. To be perfect in every way.”

She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “It felt like too much. Like if I didn’t meet his expectations, then I—” She cuts herself off, suddenly embarrassed.

Natalie doesn’t say anything right away.

Jackie feels stupid. Feels exposed. She doesn’t know why she told her that. She’s never told anyone that. Maybe it’s the weird, detached atmosphere of detention, the way it feels like this moment exists outside of the real world.

But then, softly, hesitantly—

“That sucks.”

Jackie looks up, surprised at how uncertain Natalie sounds.

Natalie shifts her weight, rubbing the back of her neck, looking down as she mumbles, “I, uh… I get how shitty dads can be.”

Jackie’s breath catches.

For some reason, that —those quiet, unpolished words—feels heavier than anything else they’ve said all day.

She looks at Natalie’s face, and it’s like she’s seeing her for the first time.

The hard edges of her expression have softened, the usual sharpness of her smirk gone. There’s something open about her now, something raw and vulnerable and real.

Her blue eyes are darker in the dim light, flecks of green and gold shifting like something restless beneath the surface.

Her lips are slightly parted, the faintest crease between her brows like she isn’t used to talking like this, like she isn’t used to being seen like this.

And suddenly, Jackie wonders— how had she never noticed how beautiful Natalie was?

Something pulls in her chest, something reckless and unfamiliar and dangerous.

Natalie notices.

“What?” she asks, lips curling like she already knows the answer.

Jackie swears the air in the room shifts.

She hears herself say nothing , but her voice is quieter now, barely there, like even speaking too loudly would shatter whatever fragile thing has settled between them.

And then—

Natalie just stares at her.

It isn’t a casual look. It isn’t a smirk, or a teasing glance, or even that usual knowing expression Natalie so often wears, like she has the entire world figured out.

No.

This is different .

Her gaze is intense, burning into Jackie with an unreadable weight that makes something inside her stir in a way she doesn’t understand. It almost feels like Natalie is searching for something—like she’s peeling back layers Jackie didn’t even realize she had, looking for the pieces Jackie keeps hidden from everyone else.

And no one has ever looked at Jackie like that before.

She’s used to being admired, being seen, being the person people gravitate toward because she’s Jackie Taylor , and Jackie Taylor is someone worth looking at.

But this isn’t admiration.

This is something else entirely.

And it almost feels like staring into the sun.

It sets her skin on fire.

Jackie swallows, her heart a violent rhythm in her chest.

Her breathing feels uneven now, and she doesn’t even know why.

She wants to look away, to break the moment, to make some sarcastic comment that will set everything back to normal—but she can’t .

Jackie doesn’t realize she’s leaning in.

Or maybe she does.

Or maybe Natalie is the one moving.

It’s impossible to tell who does it first—who crosses that invisible line—but suddenly, Natalie is closer.

It’s barely a movement at all, just the faintest tilt forward, a shift in the space between them so subtle that Jackie wouldn’t have even noticed if her entire body weren’t so attuned to every single one of Natalie’s movements.

But she does notice.

She notices everything .

The way Natalie’s lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something but decides against it.

The way she tilts her chin just so, like she’s daring Jackie to do something reckless.

The way her breath fans against Jackie’s lips, warm and unsteady.

The tension between them is suffocating.

It stretches, thick and unbearable, filling every inch of space between their bodies until there is nothing left between them at all.

Jackie should step back.

She shouldn’t let this happen.

But she doesn’t.

Because she wants it.

God, she wants it.

She doesn’t know who closes the gap. Maybe it’s both of them, maybe it’s neither.

But the next second, Natalie’s lips are on hers.

And Jackie’s entire world shatters .

The moment their lips meet, it’s like something inside her cracks open, something she didn’t even know was there in the first place.

It isn’t soft. It isn’t tentative.

It’s alive .

It’s fire and breathlessness and something electric sparking down her spine, something that makes her fingers twitch at her sides, makes her chest tighten in a way that almost feels unbearable.

It’s dangerous.

And Jackie has never wanted anything more in her life.

Jackie feels Natalie’s hand on her waist, soft yet firm, fingers curling just enough to pull her closer. The warmth sears through the thin fabric of her shirt, sending a shiver down her spine.

Her own hands move without thought, threading into Natalie’s hair, tangling in the messy blonde strands. It’s softer than she expected, and something about that realization makes her heart stutter.

The kiss is alive, desperate in a way Jackie didn’t even know she could be desperate.

She can taste the faint hint of Red Vines and cigarette smoke on Natalie’s lips, feels the way Natalie exhales sharply through her nose as if she needs this just as much as Jackie does.

Jackie is burning.

She is falling.

And she doesn’t care.

But then—

The door swings open.

They jump apart like they’ve been electrocuted, Jackie’s breath catching violently in her throat.

Her heart slams against her ribs as she whirls around, hands immediately dropping to her sides as if that will somehow erase what just happened.

The detention teacher stands in the doorway, eyeing them with narrowed suspicion.

Jackie’s face is on fire.

She forces herself to breathe, forces herself to school her expression into something neutral—something that doesn’t scream I was just making out with Natalie Scatorccio like my life depended on it.

The teacher doesn’t say anything right away, just looks between them, gaze heavy with disapproval.

Jackie prays she doesn’t look as guilty as she feels.

But then, against her better judgment, she allows herself one quick glance at Natalie.

And— shit.

She looks completely ruined.

Her lips are slightly swollen, parted like she’s still catching her breath. Her pupils are blown wide, and there’s something dark in her gaze, something raw and unreadable that makes Jackie’s stomach flip.

That thought sends a shiver down her spine.

If that’s what Natalie looks like after only making out…

Jackie immediately cuts off her own train of thought before it can spiral further.

She cannot be thinking about this right now.

She cannot be thinking about how good it felt, how right it felt, how—

Nope. Nope. Absolutely not.

She clears her throat, scrambling to grab her essay off the desk, nearly knocking over the Walkman in her rush.

The teacher finally speaks, her tone clipped. “It’s four. Detention is over.”

Jackie swallows hard, nodding quickly as she practically throws her essay onto the teacher’s desk.

The teacher glances at it, then gives her a stiff nod.

Jackie exhales, tension still coiled tight in her shoulders.

Meanwhile, Natalie doesn’t move.

She doesn’t grab her blank essay paper. She doesn’t acknowledge Jackie.

Instead, she just smirks at the teacher, voice dripping with lazy amusement.

“See you next weekend.”

Jackie’s stomach tightens at that.

The teacher scowls. “Make sure to behave in the meantime, Scatorccio.”

Natalie just chuckles, that usual casual, defiant energy sliding effortlessly back into place, like she hadn’t just been kissing Jackie Taylor against a classroom window moments ago.

Like nothing had happened.

Jackie stares at her, still feeling off-balance, still reeling.

And then, without another glance in her direction, Natalie waltzes out of the room with that same careless, untouchable attitude she always carries, as if she doesn’t have a single care in the world.

Jackie watches her go, something aching in her chest.

Because she cares.

And that terrifies her more than anything.

…. 

Jackie sat on the edge of the curb, arms crossed tightly over her chest, tapping her foot against the pavement as she waited for her dad to pick her up.

4 PM sharp, he had said.

She rolled her eyes, but the bitterness crawling up her throat wasn’t just about his tardiness. It was the principle of it.

Her dad could lecture her all day long about responsibility , about respecting people’s time , about how one mistake could ruin everything —but he wasn’t even here.

Not really.

Not when she was five and wanted to show him the picture she drew of their family, only for him to glance at it for all of two seconds before mumbling, That’s nice, sweetheart without even looking.

Not when she was ten and had the flu so bad she couldn’t get out of bed, but he still scolded her for missing a soccer practice.

And not now.

It’s not about being late, Jackie thought, hands gripping her sleeves. It’s about what it means.

That she wasn’t his priority. That she could be scolded for making mistakes, but his went unnoticed. That she could do everything right—be perfect, be his perfect daughter—and it still wouldn’t be enough to make him show up for her the way she wanted.

Jackie exhaled sharply, shaking the thought away.

It wasn’t worth getting worked up over.

But the feeling—that quiet, aching rejection—sat heavy in her chest all the same.

She was so caught up in her own head that she didn’t even notice Natalie approaching until she felt her presence beside her.

Jackie’s breath caught, and she tensed immediately.

For the first time today, the silence between them was awkward.

Natalie just stood there, hands shoved deep in her pockets, trying too hard to seem casual. But Jackie knew her well enough now to notice the stiffness in her shoulders, the way her weight shifted like she was second-guessing being here at all.

Jackie, meanwhile, was fidgeting—tugging at the cuffs of her sleeves, biting the inside of her cheek, looking anywhere but at Natalie.

She wasn’t supposed to feel this nervous.

But she did.

Finally, she forced herself to look.

And when she did, she realized something.

She wasn’t looking at Natalie Scatorccio, burnout from the wrong side of town with a bad reputation .

She was looking at Nat .

The girl she had spent her entire day listening to music with. The girl she had shared candy with, had talked about things that didn’t matter and things that did in the same breath.

The girl she had kissed .

Jackie’s eyes flicked over Natalie’s face, and—shit.

Her hair was still messy, messier than usual, and Jackie knew that was because of her .

Heat bloomed in her cheeks at the thought.

And then—

"You’re staring," Natalie said, her tone flat.

Jackie flinched at the coldness in her voice, the sharp cut of it slicing through the moment like a knife.

A stab of hurt twisted in her chest.

But just as quickly, frustration flared up in its place.

Because why was Natalie acting like this? Like nothing happened? Like it didn’t mean something?

Jackie narrowed her eyes. "Why are you acting like nothing happened?"

Natalie scoffed, shaking her head as she kicked at the ground. "Because nothing happened."

The words landed like a punch to Jackie’s stomach.

She felt them—sharp and cruel, twisting in a way that made her throat tighten.

Hurt bloomed in her chest, hot and unbearable.

Because she knew that wasn’t true.

But before she could say anything, before she could tell Natalie she was lying, Natalie looked at her.

And for the first time since they stepped out of that classroom, she let Jackie see something real.

Her face was drawn tight, eyes stormy with frustration, something raw flickering beneath them—something that looked almost like pain.

Jackie’s breath hitched.

Natalie was struggling .

And suddenly, Jackie wasn’t mad anymore.

"Why would you say that?" she asked, her voice quieter now, softer.

Natalie exhaled through her nose, shaking her head like she didn’t even want to have this conversation, but then she finally said, "What do you expect, Jackie?"

Jackie stiffened.

"You think this means something?" Natalie laughed, but there was no humor in it. She ran a hand through her already-messy hair, eyes flashing. "What, you gonna hold my hand down the hallway? Invite me to sit with your friends at lunch? Introduce me to your parents?"

Jackie’s stomach twisted .

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Natalie scoffed. "Exactly . "

Her voice was different now—lower, rougher, like she was forcing herself to say this, like she needed to hear it out loud to believe it.

"This would never work, Taylor. You and me?" She shook her head, her expression darkening. "In real life, when you’re walking down the hall with your jock friends, you won’t even look at me."

Jackie’s breath caught.

Because— fuck.

She wasn’t wrong.

Jackie didn’t know what she would do if Natalie approached her in the middle of the hallway, if people were watching.

She didn’t know if she could do anything.

And that realization made something crack inside her.

Natalie’s laugh was bitter, empty. "See?"

She tilted her head, the smirk on her lips not reaching her eyes. "This isn’t a movie, Jackie. We don’t get some picture-perfect ending where we ride off into the sunset together."

Jackie couldn’t look at her.

Because if she did, she knew she’d break.

Because she knew Natalie was right.

They existed in two different worlds.

And whatever happened today—whatever this was—would never survive outside of the strange liminal space of detention, where it almost felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

It shouldn’t hurt this much.

But it does .

The silence stretched between them, heavier than before.

And then—

Natalie let out a breath, shaking her head like she was letting it all go.

"See you around, Taylor."

Jackie flinched at the use of her last name.

But she didn’t stop her.

Didn’t call out. Didn’t reach for her.

She just sat there, silent , as she watched Natalie walk away.