Chapter 63 Class 3-B Heart-to-Heart!

Chapter 63 Class 3-B Heart-to-Heart!
(Trish's POV)

Usually, Classroom 3-B was a place of frantic note-taking and the occasional flying eraser, but today, it felt like a sanctuary. We were days away from the stage, days away from the gowns, and most of us were days away from never seeing each other again.

Miss Forger stood at the front desk, a vibrant contrast to the chalkboard behind her. In the center of her desk sat a simple wooden box.

"Alright, settle down, everyone," she said, her voice warm and carrying that familiar authority. "Before we let you go into the wild world, we’re doing one last tradition. It’s called the 3-B Heart-to-Heart."

A stack of ivory-colored paper was passed down the rows.

"The rules are simple," Miss Forger continued. "You write down the name of one person in this room you care about. Tell them why. Write a message that comes from the heart, something you were too afraid to say during the semester. Fold it, put their name on the outside, and bring it to the box."

The room went silent, save for the scratching of pens. I looked at my paper, my heart already thumping against my ribs.

To my left, Anaya was scribbling furiously, a small smile on her face. Across the room, I caught Joseph’s profile. He wasn't even hesitating. His pen was moving with a focus I’d usually only seen when he was studying a playbook.

One by one, we walked up and dropped our secrets into the box.

Miss Forger reached in, her fingers dancing over the papers until she pulled one out. She looked at the name on the back, then unfolded it to verify the recipient. Suddenly, her face lit up. A soft, knowing "Ahhh..." escaped her lips, and her eyes immediately darted toward me.

I felt my face heat up instantly. I tried to look at my fingernails, but I could feel the entire class’s attention shifting.

"Trish Carpenter," Miss Forger called out, her voice singing with mischief. "Come up and claim your mail."

I stood up, my legs feeling like they were made of jelly. As I walked to the front, the whispers started. The class of 3-B was nothing if not nosy.

"Wait, why is Miss Forger smiling like that?" someone shouted from the back.

"Who is it from, Trish?" another boy teased. "Is it a secret admirer?"

I took the paper from Miss Forger’s hand. She leaned in, whispering just loud enough for me to hear, "He’s a man of his word, Trish."

"Tell us!" the class chanted. "Read it! Who wrote it?"

I clutched the paper to my chest, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst through my ribs. "I'm not telling," I mumbled, trying to retreat to my seat. "It’s... it’s private."

I sat back down, trying to disappear into my chair, but Anaya wasn't having it. She was leaning so far into my personal space she was practically in my lap. She peeked over my shoulder, her eyes widening as she caught the messy, bold scrawl at the bottom of the page.

"Oh my god!" Anaya yelled, her voice piercing through the classroom. "It’s from Joseph! It’s from the Golden Boy himself!"

The room erupted.

A deafening wave of clapping and whistling broke out. Boys were slapping Joseph on the back, and the girls were leaning over their desks to get a look at me. Joseph didn't look away this time. He sat there, his cheeks a faint shade of pink, but his eyes were locked on mine, steady and unapologetic.

I finally looked down at the paper. It said:

"Trish,

I used to think I was the one who had to carry everything. But you’re the only person who ever saw the weight I was holding and offered to help me carry it. You made me want to be someone worth knowing. If you go to New York, don't forget that you’re leaving a piece of my heart here,or better yet, just take it with you.

Love Joseph."

The classroom was in absolute chaos. Anaya hadn't just peeked; she had snatched the paper from my fingers with a grin that was nothing short of villainous. And she began doing what she does best again.

"Oh, listen to this!" Anaya projected her voice like she was auditioning for a lead role on Broadway.

"Anaya, give it back!" I lunged for her, my face burning with a heat that could have powered the school’s furnace.

Usually, Anaya was faster than me, but things were different now. My hand clamped onto her forearm to pull her back, and for a split second, I felt the resistance of her muscle against the new, hardened strength in my grip.

Anaya’s eyes went wide. She let out a startled yelp, realizing that the "frail" Trish was gone. "Ouch! Trish, let go! You’re actually hurting me!"

She wrenched herself free and scrambled toward the front of the room, using Miss Forger’s desk as a barricade. "Trish is a beast now! I felt it! She nearly snapped my arm!"

“If I was the golden boy, you're my golden girl,” she read a piece of Joseph's writing on the note.

The class erupted in "Awwws" and giggles, the boys whistling at Joseph while the girls huddled together, dying to hear every word of the letter.

Anaya cleared her throat, holding the paper high above her head. "Trish... I used to think I was the one who had to carry—"

"Anaya! That is quite enough!" Miss Forger stepped in, her voice slicing through the laughter. She expertly snatched the paper from Anaya’s hand. "How would you feel if someone took your private thoughts and turned them into a public performance? Go back to your seat. Now."

Anaya pouted, still giggling as she retreated. "I’m just saying, the Golden Boy has a poet’s soul! And Trish has... whatever those muscles are! Seriously, Miss Forger, she’s scary now!"

Miss Forger handed me the note with a protective, sympathetic smile. "Quietly, Anaya. Sit."

As soon as Anaya slid into her chair next to me, I didn't give her a second to breathe. I reached over, my fingers locking onto her wrist in a way that wasn't painful, but was undeniably immovable. It was the kind of grip Joseph had taught me, stable, firm, and authoritative.

Anaya froze, staring down at my hand. "Uhh, Trish? Why does it feel like I’m being held by a vice grip? Seriously, what in the hell did you do to yourself? The strength is coming from the bones, I swear. Your arms are like iron."

"It’s called actually doing my PE training," I whispered, my voice low and dangerous, though my eyes were still sparkling with the remnants of my embarrassment. "And if you ever read my mail again, I’m going to use you as a practice dummy for my next workout."

"Message received!" Anaya squeaked, though she couldn't stop grinning. "But seriously... he loves you, Trish. Look at him. He’s not even pretending to look at his own desk anymore."

I glanced over. Joseph was leaning back, his arms crossed, watching our interaction with a smirk that told me he’d enjoyed every second of the chaos he’d caused. He didn't care that the class knew. He wanted them to know.

I tucked the note into my pocket, the ink feeling like it was burning a hole through my clothes. My heart was still racing, but the fear of the exams and the stress of the house felt a little lighter.

So now, I had a new body, and a boy who was willing to tell the whole world I was his, and also that half a million dollars, still sitting in my account.