Chapter 30
Summer's POV
I stood in front of my locker Thursday morning, my fingers trembling slightly as I spun the combination. The hallway buzzed with pre-homeroom chaos—sneakers squeaking on polished floors, locker doors slamming, someone's laugh echoing off the vaulted ceiling. None of it registered.
Because there, inside my locker, sat a single sheet of paper folded in half.
My breath caught. I recognized the left-handed scrawl immediately, even before I unfolded it. Kieran's handwriting slanted unevenly across the page, the pressure inconsistent in places where his injured hand must have cramped. It was a complete walkthrough of yesterday's problem set—the momentum conservation one I'd been struggling with—broken down into careful, methodical steps like he was teaching a small child who needed extra patience.
At the bottom, in smaller letters: Your approach on the force diagram was creative. This is how I'd structure it. - K
I traced my fingertips over the words, watching how the ink pooled slightly where he'd had to pause, probably flexing his fingers against the pain. I could picture him hunched over this page late at night, forcing his left hand to write clearly enough for me to understand, probably ignoring the shooting pain in his right arm even though he knew—he knew I'd heard everything yesterday. Everything about his mom, about Lily's surgery, about money he didn't have.
He'd caught me standing outside Coach Anderson's office like some kind of stalker, listening to his private pain.
And instead of confronting me, instead of telling me to mind my own business or asking what the hell I thought I was doing—he'd left me this. This carefully written solution that must have taken him an hour at least, slipped into my locker like nothing had happened.
My throat tightened. I glanced around to make sure nobody was watching before carefully folding the paper and sliding it into my bag like it was made of glass.
The warning bell rang. I shut my locker and headed to homeroom, my heart doing complicated things in my chest that I didn't want to examine too closely.
---
Ms. Thompson wasn't in yet when I slid into my seat. Kieran's chair sat empty beside me, his desk surface bare except for a faint pencil smudge. Sunlight slanted through the windows, catching dust motes in the air, and I found myself staring at that empty space, wondering if he was avoiding me now. If he'd decided that helping the rich girl who couldn't mind her own business wasn't worth the trouble anymore.
I pulled out his note again, unable to help myself.
He hadn't just written out the solution. He'd added annotations—See page 342 for similar examples. Remember force is the cause, acceleration is the effect. Structure your equation accordingly. His handwriting got messier toward the bottom where his hand must have been cramping badly, but he'd pushed through anyway, making sure every step was clear enough for me to follow.
My chest felt warm and tight all at once. This was the boy whose mother worked double shifts washing dishes, whose little sister needed a surgery he couldn't afford, who'd probably stayed up past midnight writing this instead of sleeping. And I'd violated his privacy, stood there eavesdropping on his worst moment like I had any right to his pain, and he still—
"Miss Hayes." Ms. Thompson's voice made me jump. "Physics homework?"
I raised my hand, spine straight, voice confident even though my stomach was churning. "Completed, Ms. Thompson."
She looked mildly surprised but moved on. Across the aisle, Tyler Ashford shot me a skeptical look. I ignored him and slid Kieran's note back into my folder, my fingers lingering on the edge of the paper.
I needed to thank him properly. Not just with snacks and desperate early-morning ambushes. I needed him to know I wasn't just using him, that I saw what this cost him—the time, the effort, the generosity of helping someone who'd crossed a line she shouldn't have crossed. But how did you thank someone for kindness when you'd already violated their privacy? How did you bridge that gap without making everything worse?
Don't be Evan, I told myself fiercely. Don't take and take and never give back.
---
By last period, I was vibrating with unspent energy. PE was always the worst—too much standing around, too much time to overthink. Today we had volleyball practice, which meant I got to be equipment manager while everyone else actually played.
"Come help me with the net," I told Mia, grabbing her wrist.
She blinked. "You need help carrying a net?"
"Yes. Desperately. It's very heavy."
"Summer, it's literally made of—"
"Mia. Please."
She sighed but followed me toward the equipment shed, which faced the outdoor courts where the cheerleading squad was running drills. Brooke Martinez stood front and center in her white pleated skirt and fitted crop top, her movements sharp and flawless, every angle of her body precisely controlled like she'd been engineered for maximum visual impact. A couple guys from the lacrosse team had stopped to watch, not even pretending to be subtle about it.
I looked away and focused on unlocking the shed, my hands steadier than they'd been this morning.
"Brooke really is pretty," Mia said quietly.
I made a noncommittal noise.
"But so are you, you know."
I nearly dropped the key. "What?"
Mia studied me with those thoughtful brown eyes, her head tilted slightly like she was trying to figure out a puzzle. "You've changed, Summer. You used to hunch over in your blazer like you were trying to disappear. Now you're... I don't know. More confident?"
"Great," I muttered, yanking the door open. "Now I feel even more self-conscious."
"I'm serious." She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You're not trying to hide anymore. You took off your blazer in class yesterday and I swear half the guys couldn't stop staring."
My face went nuclear. "Mia!"
"I'm just saying!" She held up her hands. "Brooke is like a pristine white lily, all sharp angles and perfection. You're... warmer. Like wild strawberries in summer, sweet and unexpected."
I pressed my palms to my burning cheeks. "Oh my god, stop."
"I'm serious," she insisted, tugging me toward the volleyball net. "And you always smell like strawberries too. It's kind of your thing now."
My brain short-circuited. Kieran had noticed. Kieran had said something about it, that first day in the hallway when I'd grabbed his sleeve, his gray eyes narrowing slightly like he was trying to place the scent. The memory made my pulse spike.
"Forget I said anything," Mia laughed, but then she stopped mid-step, her gaze fixed on something over my shoulder. "Wait. Someone's watching from the physics building."
My heart did a complete somersault.
"What?" I turned to look, trying to keep my voice casual even though my pulse was hammering in my throat.
"Third floor window," she said slowly. "Administration Building."
The Georgian red brick loomed across the athletic fields, warm in the afternoon sun. The third floor housed the Physics Competition Team's dedicated classroom. I squinted against the glare on the windows, but I couldn't make out any faces, just the vague silhouette of someone standing near the glass.
"Probably just someone taking a break," I managed. My voice sounded strangled.
Mia gave me a knowing look but didn't push it. We hauled the net back to the courts in silence, but my mind was racing, my skin prickling with awareness.
Was it him? Was he watching?
And if he was... what did that mean? That he'd forgiven me for yesterday? That he was just checking to make sure I wasn't falling apart? Or that maybe—maybe—he was thinking about me the same way I couldn't stop thinking about him?
I forced myself not to look back at the window, even though every nerve in my body wanted to. Instead, I focused on setting up the volleyball net with Mia, my hands steady even as my heart refused to settle, the afternoon sun warm on my shoulders and the ghost of his careful handwriting still burning against my ribs like a brand.