CHAPTER 7 -THE LIBRARY

The weekend was supposed to be a break from Ashford Academy.

For Ezra Monroe, it only meant forty-eight hours without hearing his name twisted into another joke.

He had learned to appreciate silence. Silence didn't laugh when he walked into a room. It didn't whisper "whale" under its breath or pretend not to notice when cafeteria chairs creaked beneath his weight. Silence never looked at him with pity.

That was why he chose the public library.

It was quiet.

Predictable.

Safe.

He arrived twenty minutes before one, carrying his laptop, two notebooks and the English project outline Mr. Holloway had assigned earlier that week. Every table near the windows was empty, just the way he liked it.

Ezra settled into the farthest corner and began organizing his notes.

If Jace decided not to come, he'd finish the assignment himself.

It wouldn't be the first time.

At exactly one o'clock, the chair opposite him scraped softly against the floor.

"I thought you would've left."

Ezra looked up.

Jace Ryland stood there in a black hoodie, dark jeans and white sneakers, his backpack hanging carelessly from one shoulder. Without the school uniform, he looked less like Ashford Academy's untouchable football captain and more like an ordinary seventeen-year-old.

Almost.

"You're on time," Ezra said.

"You sound disappointed."

"I was hoping to finish the project alone."

Jace pulled out the chair and sat down anyway.

"Too bad."

Ezra sighed, sliding the project outline across the table.

"We have to compare the symbolism in two novels. I already picked them."

Jace glanced at the pages.

"You've done half the work."

"I get things done."

"I noticed."

Ezra paused.

"What?"

"You always finish assignments before everyone else."

"You noticed?"

Jace looked up from the papers, confused by the question.

"Yeah."

Ezra frowned slightly before opening his laptop.

That didn't make sense.

Jace barely acknowledged his existence unless there were people around to laugh.

How would he know Ezra always submitted assignments early?

He pushed the thought away.

Coincidence.

Nothing more.

For the next several minutes, neither of them spoke.

The silence wasn't awkward.

It was… unexpected.

Jace actually read.

Not skimmed.

Read.

Every few minutes he'd underline something, circle a paragraph or make notes in the margin.

His handwriting was terrible.

Ezra couldn't stop staring at it.

"You planning to grade my penmanship?" Jace asked without looking up.

Ezra immediately looked away.

"No."

"You've been staring at my notebook for the last minute."

"I was trying to figure out if those were words or a doctor's prescription."

Jace laughed.

It wasn't loud.

It wasn't the arrogant laugh Ezra heard every day at school.

It was brief, almost surprised, as if he hadn't expected the joke himself.

"You've got jokes."

"Only when people deserve them."

"So I deserve them?"

"You've earned worse."

The smile faded from Jace's face.

Ezra instantly regretted saying it.

Not because it wasn't true.

Because he didn't want to spend the next two hours arguing.

He lowered his eyes to the laptop again.

"I'll write the introduction."

"Fine."

Another stretch of silence settled between them.

Outside, rain clouds drifted across the afternoon sky, dimming the sunlight filtering through the tall windows. Somewhere between the bookshelves, a little boy laughed before his mother shushed him.

The library felt strangely peaceful.

Ezra almost forgot who he was sitting with.

Almost.

"I don't get you."

Jace's voice broke the silence.

Ezra kept typing.

"Good."

"No, seriously."

Ezra finally looked up.

"What?"

Jace leaned back in his chair, absentmindedly spinning a pen between his fingers.

"Why do you still come to school?"

Ezra blinked.

"What kind of question is that?"

"You know what people are like."

"You mean your friends?"

Jace didn't answer.

Ezra gave a dry laugh.

"I need an education."

"You could transfer."

"So could you."

"I've lived here my whole life."

"So have I."

Jace studied him quietly.

"Then why stay?"

Ezra closed the laptop.

For the first time since they had met that afternoon, his expression hardened.

"You really don't know?"

Jace frowned.

"My parents built half this town. My grandparents helped found Ashford Academy. Leaving because a few rich boys think bullying is a personality trait would make them think they won."

Jace said nothing.

Ezra continued.

"I'm not giving anyone that satisfaction."

Something flickered across Jace's face.

Respect?

Guilt?

Ezra couldn't tell.

Before either of them spoke again, a cheerful voice interrupted.

"Jace?"

Both boys turned.

A girl with long brown hair approached their table, carrying two iced coffees in a cardboard tray. She wore the same academy jacket tied around her waist, and judging from the familiarity in her smile, she knew Jace well.

"I've been calling you," she said.

"My phone was on silent."

"I figured." She smiled before holding out one of the drinks. "Your favorite."

"Thanks."

Only then did she notice Ezra.

Her smile faltered.

"Oh."

There was nothing openly rude about the single word.

Yet Ezra had heard that tone his entire life.

Surprise.

Confusion.

Disbelief.

*What is he doing here?*

She looked between them before asking carefully, "Am I interrupting something?"

"We're doing our English project," Jace replied.

Her eyebrows lifted.

"You and… Ezra?"

For a second, she seemed to think it was a joke.

Then she realized Jace wasn't laughing.

"Right…" she said slowly. "Well… I'll let you two finish."

She forced another smile before walking away.

Ezra watched her disappear between the bookshelves.

"You could've told her."

"Told her what?"

"That you're only here because Mr. Holloway forced you."

Jace looked at him for a moment.

"I think she figured that out."

Ezra let out a quiet hum and reopened his laptop.

The conversation died again, but the atmosphere had changed.

Somewhere behind them, two girls whispered.

One glanced toward their table before quickly looking away.

Ezra didn't have to hear the words.

He already knew the conversation.

*Why is Jace Ryland sitting with Ezra Monroe?*

He'd heard enough whispers over the years to recognize curiosity when he saw it.

Jace seemed to notice them too.

He looked over his shoulder once before returning to his notes as if nothing had happened.

That surprised Ezra more than it should have.

Normally, Jace enjoyed attention.

Today…

He ignored it.

Ezra couldn't decide which version of Jace unsettled him more.

They worked for another hour, trading pages back and forth, arguing over which quotes fit best, agreeing more than either of them expected to. By the time the library's overhead lights flickered on against the graying sky outside, the outline was finished. Clean. Better than either of them could have written alone.

Jace zipped his backpack and stood first.

"Same time next week?"

"If we have to."

"We have to."

Ezra packed his own bag slower, giving himself a reason not to walk out beside him. It didn't work. Jace held the door, and they stepped onto the sidewalk together, streetlights just beginning to hum awake in the dusk.

Across the street, three Ashford uniforms paused mid-conversation.

Ezra recognized them immediately.

He watched their eyes move from Jace to him and back again, watched the exact moment recognition curdled into something sharper. One of them pulled out a phone.

"Ignore them," Jace muttered.

"I always do."

But the photo was already taken. Ezra could tell by the tilt of the phone, the way the boy grinned down at his screen. By Monday, it wouldn't matter what actually happened inside that library.

It never did.

Jace walked him as far as the corner before their paths split, and for one strange moment, Ezra thought he might say something else. Something real. Instead, Jace just nodded once and turned toward home, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pocket.

Ezra watched him go until he disappeared past the streetlight.

Then he walked home alone, the way he always did.

His phone buzzed at 9:47 that night.

Ezra was already in bed, lights off, staring at the ceiling the way he did most nights when sleep refused to come easily. The screen lit up the dark room.

**Unknown Number:** *I saw you at the library today.*

Ezra sat up.

He didn't recognize the number. No area code he could place, no name attached. He typed back before he could think better of it.

**Ezra:** *Who is this?*

**Unknown Number:** *Someone who's been paying attention for a while.*

**Ezra:** *That's not an answer.*

**Unknown Number:** *You looked happier today. It suits you.*

Ezra's chest tightened. Nobody talked to him like that. Nobody noticed enough to say something like that, let alone a stranger who apparently knew where he'd spent his Saturday afternoon.

**Ezra:** *How did you get my number?*

**Unknown Number:** *Does it matter?*

**Ezra:** *It matters to me.*

There was a pause. Long enough that Ezra almost set the phone down, almost convinced himself it was some cruel joke from Ashford's usual crowd, warming up for whatever came next.

Then the screen lit up again.

**Unknown Number:** *I'm not going to tell you who I am. Not yet. Just know I'm not one of them.*

Ezra stared at the words until they blurred.

*Not one of them.*

As if this person already understood exactly what "them" meant. As if they'd been watching long enough to know the difference.

**Ezra:** *Why are you texting me?*

**Unknown Number:** *Because I don't think anyone's asked how you're actually doing in a long time.*

Ezra's throat tightened. He didn't answer right away, couldn't find the words, and the stranger didn't push. They just waited, patient in a way that felt almost impossible to believe.

Finally, Ezra typed one word.

**Ezra:** *No.*

**Unknown Number:** *That's what I thought.*

The conversation drifted after that, small and careful, nothing that gave anything away. But before Ezra could ask again who they were, before he could demand a name to put to the strange comfort blooming in his chest, the final message arrived.

**Unknown Number:** *Don't let him break your heart.*

Ezra went completely still.

His fingers hovered over the screen, unable to type anything at all.

*Him.*

Not "them." Not "people at school."

*Him.*

Nobody knew. Nobody was supposed to know. He had never said Jace's name out loud to a single person, had buried the feeling so deep he sometimes convinced himself it wasn't real at all.

So how did a stranger already know exactly who *him* was?