Chapter 32 HARPER
If ignoring someone counted as a skill, then today I was becoming a master at it.
I didn’t look at Tyler once during first period. Not when he answered a question. Not when he walked up to the board. Not even when I felt that familiar prickle at the back of my neck that usually meant his eyes were on me.
I kept my gaze glued to the board like it held the meaning of life. If he stared—good for him. If he didn’t—still not my problem.
By last period, the air between us was frozen solid. I walked past him and his teammates without a single glance, pretending I didn’t notice how the room went still for a second.
As if the universe was on my side, our English teacher, Mrs. Carter, tapped her marker against the board, commanding everyone’s attention.
“Your final assessment will be a short documentary—ten to fifteen minutes,” she announced. “Real stories. Real voices. It must relate to school life—friendships, achievements, or even the darker parts like bullying or mental health. Something that matters.”
Groans and excited whispers broke out immediately, but Mrs. Carter wasn’t one to entertain complaints.
“You will work in teams of five,” she continued. “Director, scriptwriter, cinematographer, editor, and interviewer. Everyone has a job or your points will suffer. Submissions are due the week before exams begin, so don’t procrastinate.”
Cassie leaned forward dramatically and muttered, “Watch her stick me with the social rejects.”
I cracked a small smile. Cassie wasn’t the most attentive student—half the time, she didn’t even hear the teacher’s question before she was already in trouble for not answering it.
“Please give me Harper,” she whispered to the ceiling, hands pressed together like she was praying.
Mrs. Carter began assigning groups.
“Harper Lane—you’ll lead group eight. Members: Jax Donovan, Peter Hudson—”
“Oh please, please,” Cassie interrupted under her breath.
“And Cassie Lockwood.”
Cassie shot up like a champagne cork. “Yes!”
Mrs. Carter narrowed her eyes. “Sorry! Just… thrilled about all this…uh…teamwork and stuff.”
“Zip it, Miss Lockwood.”
Cassie zipped her lips with a nod.
“And lastly, Tyler Mercer.”
My lips twitched upward. Perfect. More forced proximity. More chances to prove he meant nothing to me.
When the closing bell rang, Peter stood on his desk like he was conducting an army.
“Group eight—assemble!”
Cassie practically sparkled. “I love this. Three of the hottest hockey players and the class nerd—score!”
“Nerd?” I raised a brow as I grabbed my books.
“It’s a compliment,” she insisted. “Relax.”
“Wow. So honored.”
She nudged me with a grin. “Fine—Miss Smart-Pants. Better?”
I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help smiling as we headed for the back of the class where the boys were waiting.
Peter hopped off the table, swinging his backpack around like he’d suddenly become a Hollywood producer.
“Alright, team! We are going to create a masterpiece that brings Mrs. Carter to tears and wins us a spot in the film festival.”
Cassie blinked. “There’s a film festival?”
“No,” Peter deadpanned. “That was sarcasm.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “Well… rude.”
Tyler leaned back against the wall, his good hand cradling his cast, acting like this was the least interesting thing happening in his day.
“So,” he said, gaze flicking to me for the first time, “you’re the boss?”
I kept my posture straight, expression flat. “Director,” I corrected. “Boss sounds too informal.”
“Oh, excuse me.” He gave a mocking half-bow. “Director Lane.”
Cassie clasped her hands dramatically. “The power is already getting to her head.”
“Power keeps the project from looking like a circus.”
I shot a pointed look at Tyler because, well, hockey boys and chaos were practically synonymous.
Jax rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, so who’s doing what?”
“Tyler’s scriptwriter,” I stated before anyone could argue. “Peter handles cinematography. Cassie—interviewer. Jax—editor.”
Tyler frowned. “Why do you get to choose all that?”
“Because Mrs. Carter put me in charge,” I replied coolly. “Unless you have difficulty with instructions?”
His jaw tightened. Good.
“Great,” Peter said, trying to break the tension. “So… what’s the documentary about?”
“We’ll focus on the pressure of senior year,” I answered. “Expectations versus reality. Stress. Friendships. How everything feels like it’s about to explode.”
Cassie perked up. “Ooh, like a countdown to doom?”
“Exactly,” I said. “And since Tyler’s the scriptwriter—he’ll handle interview questions too.”
Tyler blinked. “Hold up. That’s Cassie’s—”
“Cassie asks them. You write them.” I stared him down, daring him to challenge me. “You can do that, right? Or should we swap your role with someone who can handle responsibility?”
Cassie mouthed ‘wow’ like she couldn’t believe this version of me.
“Someone’s in a mood,” Tyler muttered.
“I’m focused,” I corrected again. “This project is worth a huge chunk of our grade. And if I’m putting in real effort, everyone else better keep up.”
Cassie leaned closer to Jax and whispered—not nearly quiet enough, “I thought she was the fun one.”
I heard it. And I turned to her with a blank expression.
“I’m not fun when it comes to school work,” I said, voice like ice.
But my eyes were locked on Tyler.
He stood up from his desk slowly, stepping closer like he refused to lose ground.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, voice low—too low for anyone but me to catch. “What I said yesterday—at the beach—doesn’t apply to you. You acting cold won’t change the fact that I still don’t want you as my therapist.”
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.
“That’s good,” I replied crisply. “Because I’m not here right now to fix you.”
His eyes narrowed, irritation darkening them. “Then what’s with the sudden ice queen routine?”
“It’s not sudden,” I said. “It’s selective.”
Peter cleared his throat, sliding between us with a strained smile. “Okayyy, so maybe we take ten steps back from the drama and focus on—”
Tyler cut him off, gaze still locked on mine. “If you think this is going to scare me into playing nice—”
“I don’t need you nice,” I interrupted sharply. “I need you useful.”
That did it. His jaw ticked. The room went rigid.
Jax muttered, “Yikes,” under his breath.
Tyler leaned in, his voice a quiet challenge. “Careful, Director Lane. Don’t forget who has to bring your brilliant idea to life.”
I lifted my chin. “And don’t forget who gets to sign off on every word you write.”
For a second—barely long enough for anyone else to notice—his expression faltered. Something like regret flickered in his eyes, before it was gone—shutters slammed shut again.
Cassie threw her hands up, exasperated. “Oh my God—this is gonna be the longest project of my entire life.”
But neither of us even looked at her. Because Tyler and I were too busy staring each other down—and neither one of us was willing to break first.