Pride Is Expensive

Noah didn't bother with the library that day. He just went home, dumped his bag out, and promised himself he’d muddle through alone. He usually did.

This time, the assignment was some big analysis on The Great Gatsby. He stared at the same paragraph over and over nothing stuck.

The rubric? Full of words like “synthesize” and “contextualize.” Honestly, it felt like a secret code he was supposed to crack.

He knew what the words meant in a dictionary, but he didn't know what they looked like on a page. It was like being asked to build a house when you'd only ever seen a tent.

He gave it a go, anyway. Wrote a messy trio of paragraphs, scrapped two, rewrote the last one. By midnight, he had half a page—it was nothing like those sample essays from class.

He shut his laptop and just lay there, staring at the ceiling. His phone buzzed.

Unknown: You didn’t show.

He ignored it.

The next day, Joe caught up with him between classes.

“You skipped,” Joe said.

“I was busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Homework.”

Joe just looked at him for a moment. “And? How’d that go?”

Noah didn’t answer.

Joe sighed. “Come with me after school.”

“Where?”

“Hockey practice. Just watch. You don’t have to talk to anyone, just come.”

Noah frowned. “Why would I watch hockey practice?”

Joe shrugged. “Maybe if you see what Jay actually does, you’ll stop being so stubborn.” He jostled his backpack. “Please? One hour, that’s it.”

Noah wanted to say no, but Joe had that look—hopeful and determined, and it was hard to turn down.

He muttered, “Fine. One hour.”

The rink was cold. Like, really cold. Noah hadn’t expected that; he’d never been to a practice before. The air cut sharp—part ice, part rubber, all chilly.

Joe led him up to the bleachers, where a handful of other people sat—some girlfriends, a few bored friends, others just killing time.

“There,” Joe pointed at the ice.

The team skated around, sticks rattling, shout echoes bouncing off empty seats. Noah spotted a couple guys he recognized from lunches. They all moved quick.

Then he saw Jay. He stood out—taller, smoother. Jay didn’t skate, he almost floated. Everything looked easy, sharp.

“He’s captain for a reason,” Joe murmured. “Just watch.”

Jay got the puck and went for it. Two defenders cut him off. He juked, slid right by, and scored so fast Noah nearly missed it.

Coach’s whistle cut through. “Vale! Again. Show Martinez how it’s done.”

Jay didn’t acknowledge anyone, just drifted back to center.

“He’s good,” Noah said.

Joe grinned. “He’s the best. Scouts are always coming to watch. He’ll get recruited.”

Noah leaned back. “So why does he care if I watch him practice?”

Joe just shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he just wants you around.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Since when does anything about Jay Vale make sense?”

Noah didn’t answer. They watched another round of drills—more passing, more shooting, guys lining up for defense. Jay barely talked, but whenever he did, everyone listened. Even the coach.

Noah’s eyes found Liam Knox, keeping up with Jay every step. He moved different though—aggressive, noisy, like he had something to prove. Still, he kept up. Maybe even better sometimes.

And Jay and Liam kept their distance. Even in group drills, they cut opposite directions, avoiding each other without even trying.

“They used to be best friends,” Joe said, voice soft.

Noah blinked. “What?”

“Jay and Liam. All of freshman and sophomore year, they were inseparable. Even co-captains junior year. Then…something happened. Now? They barely speak.”

Jay scored another goal. Liam slammed his stick into the boards. Frustrated, angry.

“They hate each other,” Noah said quietly.

Joe nodded. “Yeah. They do.”

Something about the way Joe said it was sad. Noah glanced at him and caught the way Joe kept looking at Liam.

“Joe—” Noah started.

“I know what you’re gonna say,” Joe cut him off.

“Then why do you keep staring at him like that?”

No answer.

Practice finished maybe twenty minutes later. The team poured off the ice, laughing and shoving each other, same as kids everywhere. Jay lingered, taking his time.

He looked up and caught Noah right away.

Noah’s stomach twisted. Jay didn’t wave, didn’t smile—just locked eyes for a second, then walked out.

Joe nudged him. “See? He noticed you came.”

“So?”

“So maybe stop fighting and just talk to him.”

Noah rolled his eyes and stood. “I’m going home.”

“Noah—”

“I’ll figure it out, Joe. I always do.”

He left before Joe could answer.

The truth? He didn’t figure it out.

That night, Noah filled out three job applications—grocery store, coffee shop, tutoring gig for barely any pay. He stayed up finishing them, eyes burning. Hit send.

The next day, two rejections appeared in his inbox. The third place never replied.

He tried studying again. Made it halfway through a textbook chapter, realized none of it stuck.

He thought about asking his mom, but she was working double shifts. He wouldn’t ask her for tutor money. He wouldn’t ask her for anything.

That left one option.

Noah stared at his phone.

Unknown: Fourth floor library. 4pm.

It was already 3:45.

He closed his eyes, let out a shaky breath. Pride was expensive. And he was broke.

The fourth floor was just as deserted as always—dusty books, quiet corners, forgotten tables. He lugged his heavy backpack up the stairs.

Jay sat by a window, half-hidden by his laptop. Didn’t look up when Noah walked over.

“I’m here,” Noah said.

Jay glanced up. “Sit.”

Noah slumped into the chair across from him. They both sat in silence for a minute.

Finally, Noah broke first. “I gotta know something.”

Jay nudged his laptop half-shut. “What?”

“Why do you want to help me?”

“I told you. You help me train.”

“That’s not it.” Noah leaned closer. “You don’t even know me. You don’t owe me. Why bother?”

Jay looked right at him, cold and steady. Then he stood, coming close enough that Noah could see every freckle on his face.

“You want the truth?” Jay asked.

“Yeah.”

“You’re interesting.”

Noah stared. “That’s it?”

“Most people are boring. You’re not.” Jay’s head tilted, still sizing him up.

“That’s really it?”

“That’s really it.”

Noah didn’t know what to say.

Jay kept looking at him. “You stood up to Knox. Wouldn’t back down, even when you should have. That takes guts. Or maybe it’s just stubborn, but you don’t seem stupid.”

“So you’re tutoring me because I’m not boring?”

Jay shrugged and stepped back. “I’m tutoring you because I want to. And you need it.”

Noah clenched his jaw. “I don’t—”

“Yes, you do,” Jay interrupted. No sugarcoating. “You’re failing English. I bet you’re barely hanging on in Calculus. If you lose your scholarship over grades—well, right now, you’re close to the edge.”

It all stung, but it all sounded true.

Jay sat again. “Here’s the deal. I tutor you three days a week. You come watch practice. That’s all.”

“Why do you care if I’m there?”

“I just do.”

“That—"

“Take it or leave it, Carter.”

Noah stared. Part of him wanted to bolt. But he thought of his mom, those rejection emails, the essay that was basically a fail. One more year. All he needed.

“Fine,” he said, almost whispering.

Jay barely reacted but something changed in his eyes. A flicker of—something. Pleased.

“Good,” Jay said, flipping his laptop open. “Show me your English essay.”

Noah hesitated, but pulled out his notebook. For the first time since showing up at Westbridge, he didn’t feel like he was drowning. Not completely, anyway.

Even if the lifeline was from a guy he could barely figure out.