Chapter 14
Ellie's POV
"We'll just move through quickly and try not to be seen," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "If we're lucky, they'll be too busy with their setup to notice us passing by."
The crowd around Pioneer Arena was massive, with students pushing and shoving to get a better view.
"There he is," Lily pointed.
Lucas emerged from the Pioneer arena, looking nervous but determined. The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles. I instinctively took a step back, feeling exposed despite being hidden in the crowd.
"Ellie!"
I turned to see Coach Davis approaching me with a clipboard. "Perfect timing! We need extra hands to bring out equipment from the storage room for tennis class."
"Now?" I asked, relieved to have an excuse to avoid the silver-laden spectacle.
"Yes, now," he confirmed. "The freshman class starts in twenty-five minutes."
I glanced around, thinking to ask Lily if she wanted to come along, but realized she'd already been swept into the crowd surrounding the heart-shaped display. She was barely visible among the sea of excited students, all straining to get a better view of whatever Lucas was about to do.
"I'll help," I volunteered quickly, perhaps too eagerly. "Lead the way."
"Ellie! Wait up!"
I turned to see a girl with perfectly styled blonde hair rushing toward me. Blake Thompson—captain of the debate team and notorious campus gossip. Great.
"Let me help you with that equipment," she offered with a smile too bright to be genuine. "Coach Davis probably needs all hands on deck."
I knew exactly what this was about. Blake thought I was somehow central to Lucas's romantic spectacle, and she wanted front-row seats to the drama—maybe even walk in with the "star" of the show.
"Thanks, but I've got it covered," I replied, trying to sound casual.
"Oh, I don't mind!" Blake insisted, falling into step beside me. "Four hands are better than two. Plus, we never get to hang out!"
We'd spoken maybe twice. I fought the urge to roll my eyes.
"Seriously, it's fine. You should head back to the plaza—you don't want to miss the big reveal."
Blake's pretense slipped slightly. "But you're going to be part of it, right? Everyone's saying—"
"I'm not involved in whatever Lucas is planning," I cut her off firmly. "At all."
Blake wasn't convinced. She reached for my arm in a gesture of false camaraderie, her fingers wrapping around my wrist. I immediately yanked my arm away, the contact sending a searing pain through my skin.
"What's on your hand?" I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady while Thalia snarled defensively in my mind.
Stay down. Stay hidden. Not here.
Blake looked confused. "Nothing? I just walked through the rose display and touched some of the decorations. Maybe some silver dust?" She leaned closer. "Why? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I said quickly, hiding my arm behind my back. The pain was intensifying, silver particles transferring from her touch.
"You look really pale," Blake observed, reaching toward me again.
Suddenly, Jackson appeared behind me, smoothly taking my injured wrist in his hand. I felt an immediate cooling sensation spreading across my burn, like some kind of soothing balm being applied. My eyes widened in surprise as the pain began to subside.
"Coach Davis is waiting for us," Jackson said calmly, his fingers still wrapped around my wrist, somehow neutralizing the silver's effect.
"Look," I said firmly, stepping back, "I'm not part of Lucas's show. I'm not the mystery girl. There's no scoop here."
Her interest visibly deflated. "Oh. Well... guess I should get back then. Don't want to miss the real action."
And just like that, she turned and hurried back toward the plaza, all pretense of helping forgotten.
As she hurried away, I let out a shaky breath.
"Thank you," I murmured once she was out of earshot.
Jackson leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to make the bustling corridor fade into background noise. Time slowed as his words reached only my ears, creating an intimate bubble around us amid the chaos of passing students.
"You don't need to pretend with me, Ellie," he said, his breath warm against my cheek. "I prepared some salve for silver burns yesterday and started carrying it with me. Never thought I'd actually need it so soon."
His fingers gently turned my wrist, applying more of the cooling substance. The pain receded like waves pulling back from shore.
"People with your... sensitivity are rare these days," he continued, his eyes meeting mine with quiet understanding. "Most have developed some tolerance by your age."
I should have been alarmed by the implication of his words, by how much he seemed to know about my condition. Instead, a strange sense of safety washed over me. For the first time since discovering what I was, I felt understood rather than exposed.
My heart hammered in my chest, the sound filling my ears like a drumbeat underscoring this moment. I wasn't sure if it was lingering anxiety from the silver exposure or something else entirely—something to do with the way Jackson's eyes held mine, knowing and protective.
I stared at his face, searching for any sign of deception but finding only calm certainty. Words failed me as I tried to formulate a response that wouldn't reveal too much. The moment stretched between us, charged with unspoken understanding, until my phone suddenly vibrated against my hip, startling me back to reality. I blinked, realizing I'd been holding my breath.
My phone buzzed with a text from Megan:
[OMG WHERE ARE YOU?? Lucas just announced he's getting back together with Samantha! Everyone thought it was for you but it's for her! Are you ok???]
I stared at the screen, a complex mix of emotions washing over me. So Samantha really did follow him to CVU—the shadowy figure I'd glimpsed yesterday wasn't my imagination after all. It really could be her. But I needed proof. Fortunately, we'd already downloaded the security footage. Once I found the right camera angle, I could prove what she'd done. And something else—a quiet satisfaction that I felt nothing but mild curiosity about the whole thing. No jealousy, no heartbreak—just the calm certainty that this chapter of my life was truly closed.
"Bad news?" Jackson asked, watching my expression.
"No," I said honestly. "Just confirmation of something I already knew."
I suddenly remembered my original task. "I still need to get the equipment for Coach Davis, but I'm not sure where the storage room is. And I don't see the coach anywhere."
"I know where it is," Jackson offered, nodding toward the east wing. "I'll show you."
He led me to a small storage room tucked behind the gym, helping me gather the tennis rackets and ball hoppers Coach Davis had requested. With equipment in hand, we headed toward the tennis courts, which would take us past the Pioneer Arena.
"I hope they've finished by now," I said, adjusting my grip on the rackets.
"You're not a fan of public declarations?" Jackson asked, carrying the heavy ball hopper with ease. "Is it because of the silver or do you just hate these kinds of spectacles?"
"Both," I admitted. "These public displays feel like performances to me. I don't think real love needs an audience or a show. It's something private, something you build day by day."
Jackson's lips curved into a slight smile. "I'll remember that."
"What?" I asked, confused by his response.
"Nothing," he said, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Come on, let's go."
"Fine," I agreed reluctantly. "But I'm staying far away from any silver decorations."
Jackson nodded. "I'll make sure of it."