Chapter 12 Three Years Before
3 years before Penny
The last week of school is pure chaos. Nobody listens to the teachers anymore, not really. They stand at the front of the class trying to pretend like we’re still learning something, but the only thing on anyone’s mind is summer. Dress code is out the window — girls wear tank tops and cutoffs, guys show up in basketball jerseys, and no one bothers to stop it. The halls are louder, messier, like everyone knows the rules expired a week early.
I spend half my time pretending to pay attention, and the other half trying to catch Jemma’s eye across the room. Sometimes she meets my look and grins, biting down on her lip in that way that makes my stomach flip. Sometimes she just shakes her head like I’m ridiculous.
Between classes, we sneak quick kisses whenever we can get away with it. A corner by the stairwell, behind the library shelves, even just a brush of lips when no one’s looking in the crowded hallway. They’re short, fast, stolen moments, but every single one makes the day better.
Tuesday night I pick her up, and we drive out to the lot where all the food trucks line up under strings of lights. The air smells like every kind of food at once — tacos, pizza slices bigger than my head, deep-fried everything. Music plays from a speaker somewhere, mixing with the chatter of people leaning against the sides of trucks, their hands full of food.
“What do you want?” I ask as we walk down the line, our hands brushing until she finally takes mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
She scans the options, her eyes lit with indecision. “Everything. Can we just… eat everything?”
I laugh. “I mean, we can try, but I don’t think my stomach’s built for that.”
“Coward,” she teases, tugging me toward a taco truck. She orders something with way too much hot sauce, and I get a cheeseburger from the stand next door. We sit on the curb, balancing paper plates on our laps, trading bites back and forth.
“Yours is better,” she says around a mouthful of my burger, then tries to hand me her taco. “Here, fair trade.”
I bite into it, the heat hitting me immediately. I cough, reaching for my soda, while she laughs so hard she nearly spills hers.
“Oh my God,” she gasps, covering her mouth. “Your face!”
“That is not fair,” I wheeze, still reaching for my drink. “You didn’t warn me.”
“You’re supposed to be tough,” she says, giggling.
“I’m supposed to live,” I shoot back, and we both dissolve into laughter.
We stay there long after we finish eating, watching the lights glow against the dark, her hand still in mine.
It’s simple. But it’s good.
Really good.
We’re not official. At least, I don’t think we are. But I’m not in a rush. It’s just nice being in her presence. Jemma has this way of turning even the dullest part of the day into something worth remembering.
At school, she floats between her own circle and mine. Some days she sits with her friends, other days she slides into the seat next to me, tray clattering down like it belongs there. My guys don’t mind. She laughs at their dumb jokes, asks them questions, even cheers them on when they’re bragging about skate tricks or weekend games. She fits.
Lunch that day is its usual mess: trays banging, kids yelling across tables, someone blasting music off their phone even though the teachers keep telling them not to. Nate is halfway through a story about nearly bailing on a half-pipe when Ryan suddenly blurts, “So—graduation retreat. You guys going?”
Jemma’s fork freezes halfway to her mouth, and then she claps her hands together, practically bouncing in her seat. “Yes! I’ve been waiting for that all year.”
Her curls fly as she turns to me, eyes shining. “You’re going, right?”
I shrug, poking at the fries on my tray. “Hadn’t really planned on it.”
The table erupts like I just said I hate puppies.
Ryan groans. “Dude, it’s the whole class! Bonfires, parties, one giant chalet in the woods. You can’t skip it.”
“Yeah, don’t be lame,” Caleb adds, shaking his head.
But Jemma’s the one who lands the hit. She leans forward, pressing her hands together like she’s praying, eyes wide and sparkling. “Come on, Logan. Please? It’ll be so much fun. Games, late nights, just… everyone together one last time.”
The whole table joins her chant of “Come on, come on, come on,” and I can already feel myself caving.
I throw my hands up, shaking my head with a grin. “Okay, fine! I’ll go.”
The cheer that goes up makes half the cafeteria look over. Ryan slaps my shoulder, Caleb whistles, and Jemma beams so wide it’s impossible not to grin back.
And right there, I know it doesn’t matter if I wanted to go or not. If Jemma and the guys are there, it’ll be worth it.
The walk home feels different than usual. Maybe it’s just the air — thick with summer heat, buzzing with the sound of cicadas in the trees — or maybe it’s me. My head is spinning with the thought that there are only two days left.
Two.
Thursday, Friday, then done. Four years of high school wrapped up in forty-eight hours. After that, it’s whatever comes next. For some of my friends, it’s college. For others, jobs they’ve already lined up. For Jemma, maybe marketing, maybe something else. For me… I don’t know.
And then there’s Friday night, when we’ll pile into cars and drive out to the chalet. The whole class under one roof, one last weekend together. It still feels unreal.
By the time I turn onto my street, the sun is dipping low, painting the tops of the houses in gold. The driveway comes into view, and my stomach sinks a little at the sight.
The only car parked there is mine.
No surprise, really. But it still makes something tighten in my chest.
Inside, the house is exactly how I left it this morning. Nothing touched, nothing moved. Like the air’s been holding its breath all day.
So they didn’t come back.
I drop my backpack by the door, kick off my sneakers, and head straight for the kitchen. I don’t even bother checking the fridge right away. Instead, I wash my hands at the sink, staring out the window at the fading light, then pull open the door and scan the shelves.
There’s bread. Cheese. A couple of eggs. Enough to make something.
I pull the pan down from the rack and set it on the stove. The click of the burner is sharp in the silence, the blue flame catching instantly. The house creaks around me, empty, but I’ve done this enough times that it doesn’t throw me anymore. Dinner for one is just… dinner.
I crack the eggs into the pan, let them sizzle, slice bread for toast, and move on autopilot.
It’s not glamorous. But it’s what I’ve got.