Chapter 37: Chapter 37

Monday arrived like it had a personal grudge.

I woke up before my alarm, stared at the ceiling for a full minute, and seriously considered faking a minor but convincing illness. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to avoid the assembly, the clapping, the stage, the feeling of every pair of eyes in Briar Ridge High landing on me at once.

Then my phone buzzed.

Jaxon:

awake?

I smiled despite myself.

Me:

Unfortunately.

The reply came fast.

Jaxon:

good. no disappearing today.

I stared at that for a second.

Then:

Me:

That sounds controlling.

Jaxon:

that’s because I’m very invested in your public success.

I laughed quietly and set the phone down.

By the time I got to school, my nerves were fully operational. Naomi took one look at me outside first period and made a face.

“You look like a Victorian heroine on the way to a fainting couch.”

“That is the meanest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“It is also the truest.” She linked her arm through mine as we walked inside. “You’re going to be fine.”

“That is not evidence.”

“It’s a prophecy.”

“I hate prophecies.”

“I know.”

I made it through first and second period in a fog. I took notes I would not remember. I answered one question in chemistry entirely on reflex. By the time the bell rang for assembly, my heart had climbed into my throat and apparently settled there permanently.

The gym was already filling when Naomi and I got there. Rows of folding chairs. Teachers pretending they had control. Students packed in by grade level and talking too loudly until the principal stepped to the mic and everyone remembered how to act like an institution.

Jaxon was three rows over with the senior class boys.

He found me immediately.

Of course he did.

He didn’t wave. Didn’t grin. Just held my gaze for one second and tapped two fingers lightly against his knee like a private signal.

I’m here.

It shouldn’t have worked.

It did.

The assembly dragged at first. Sports updates. Club announcements. Some speech from student council that felt longer than history itself. My nerves built with every passing minute. I kept waiting for my name and dreading the second it would arrive.

Then the principal picked up a paper and said, “We’d also like to recognize one of our senior students for receiving the State Writing and Research Fellowship.”

My stomach dropped so hard I thought I might actually leave my body.

Naomi grabbed my wrist.

“And congratulations to Mila Santos.”

The gym erupted in applause.

For one suspended second, I could not move.

Then Naomi was hissing, “Get up, genius,” and I stood on legs that felt entirely theoretical.

The walk to the front of the gym was endless.

I was aware of everything and nothing all at once. Shoes on polished floor. The mic feedback whining softly overhead. People clapping. Teachers smiling. My own heartbeat battering the inside of my ribs.

Then I heard it.

One clap, louder than the rest. Sharper. Deliberate.

I looked up.

Jaxon was standing now.

Actually standing.

Applauding like he intended to break his hands.

And that ridiculous, beautiful certainty in his face carried me the rest of the way.

I shook the principal’s hand. Accepted the certificate. Turned toward the gym for the obligatory photo I would hate later. The applause kept going.

Not because Briar Ridge had suddenly become full of good people.

Because for one moment, the thing was bigger than them.

The work. The hours. The wanting. Me.

When I finally sat back down, Naomi grabbed my arm so hard it almost hurt.

“You did it,” she whispered.

I laughed breathlessly. “I think I blacked out.”

“You looked hot doing it.”

“That is not the point.”

“It can be two points.”

The rest of the assembly passed in fragments. I barely heard anything. My skin was too warm, my pulse still uneven. I kept replaying that moment of looking up and seeing Jaxon on his feet.

On his feet for me.

When dismissal finally came, the gym exploded into noise. Naomi hugged me hard enough to wrinkle my shirt, then got swept away by Hannah and two other girls offering congratulations.

I barely made it to the side doors before Jaxon caught up to me.

“Mila.”

I turned.

He didn’t stop until he was right in front of me, close enough that the crowd moving around us felt distant.

“You okay?”

I looked at him and laughed softly, still a little shaky. “I think so.”

“You looked terrified.”

“I was.”

His expression gentled. “You still did it.”

The simple pride in his voice nearly wrecked me.

I folded my arms partly because I needed something to do with them. “You stood up.”

“Yeah.”

“In front of everyone.”

“Yeah.”

“That was a lot.”

His mouth tilted slightly. “That was the point.”

I stared at him.

“You were amazing,” he said quietly. “I needed the room to act accordingly.”

That was it. That was the sentence that made my throat go tight all over again.

“Jaxon.”

He stepped a little closer. “What?”

“You can’t keep doing this.”

A faint line appeared between his brows. “Doing what?”

“Making me feel things in public.”

He laughed once under his breath, relieved maybe that I wasn’t upset in the way he briefly feared. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“That is rude.”

“That is honest.”

People streamed past us toward the parking lot, loud and careless, but nobody interrupted. For once, the moment held.

I looked down, then back up at him. “Thank you.”

His expression softened instantly. “For clapping?”

“For being the loudest one there.”

He didn’t make a joke. Didn’t brush it off.

Instead he said, “Always.”

One word.

Enough to undo me.

I reached for his hand before I could overthink it. He laced our fingers together automatically, like that too had become its own kind of instinct.

We started down the hallway side by side. The school still buzzed around us, but it didn’t feel sharp today. Not the way it used to.

For once, being seen after doing something good didn’t feel like a trap.

It felt earned.

Halfway to the exit, Lucy came barreling around the corner with Mr. Reed behind her, somehow having appeared from the elementary office side of campus like a tiny victorious ghost.

She launched herself at me. “I heard! You won your smart-person trophy!”

I laughed and hugged her back. “It’s not a trophy.”

“It is emotionally.”

Mr. Reed smiled warmly. “Congratulations, Mila.”

“Thank you.”

Lucy pulled back and looked between me and Jaxon. “Did he clap too much?”

I glanced at Jaxon, who had the decency to look slightly embarrassed.

“Yes,” I said.

Lucy nodded approvingly. “Good. That’s brand consistency.”

That made all of us laugh, and just like that the last of the fear drained out of me.

Because maybe that was what this was becoming—not just romance, not just healing, not just being chosen.

A life I could stand in without apologizing for taking up space.

And as we walked out into the bright afternoon together, certificate tucked under my arm and Jaxon’s hand warm around mine, I realized I had done more than survive the assembly.

I had let myself be proud.