Chapter 3

Beckett

She wasn’t supposed to talk back.

That’s the problem.

That’s the only thought stuck in my head all day.

Not practice.

Not classes.

Not the fact that Coach called me out twice for being off.

Just—

Her.

Ella James.

Standing there like she didn’t care.

Like she didn’t know how this works.

Like she didn’t understand that people like her don’t do that.

I jog off the field, grabbing my water bottle and taking a long drink, trying to shake it off.

It shouldn’t matter.

She shouldn’t matter.

And yet—

“You’re distracted.”

I glance over.

Sean leans against the bench, watching me with a smirk. “You’ve been off all practice.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” he says. “You missed two passes and almost let Carter get by you.”

“I said I’m fine.”

He raises his hands. “Alright. Don’t bite my head off.”

I don’t respond.

Because if I do, I’ll say something I don’t feel like explaining.

Like why every time I lose focus—

I see her.

The hallway.

The way she looked at me.

Not nervous.

Not quiet.

Not the way she’s supposed to be.

Different.

And I don’t like that.

I don’t like things that don’t fit.

I’ve spent years making sure everything in my life fits exactly where it’s supposed to.

Football.

School.

Reputation.

People.

Especially people.

Everyone has a place.

Everyone has a role.

And Ella?

She’s always been—

background.

Easy to ignore.

Easy to dismiss.

Easy.

Except today—

She wasn’t.

“You going over later?” Sean asks.

I glance at him. “Where?”

He smirks. “Next door. Like you always do.”

My jaw tightens slightly.

Of course he noticed.

Everyone notices everything.

“Maybe,” I say.

He nods like that’s exactly what he expected. “Her mom home?”

“Probably not.”

“She ever home?” he mutters.

I don’t answer that.

Because it’s not my business.

Even if I know he’s not wrong.

I grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder.

“I’m heading out.”

“Yeah,” Sean says. “Try not to get distracted on the way.”

I shoot him a look.

He just grins.

—

The drive home is quiet.

Too quiet.

Because there’s nothing to drown it out.

No noise.

No distractions.

Just my own thoughts—

Which I’d rather not deal with.

I pull into my driveway and cut the engine.

For a second, I just sit there.

Staring straight ahead.

Then—

Movement.

Across the street.

No.

Not across.

Next door.

Ella.

She’s walking up her driveway, head down, shoulders slightly hunched like she’s trying to fold into herself again.

Back to normal.

Or trying to be.

That annoys me.

More than it should.

Because this morning—

She wasn’t like that.

She looked at me like I wasn’t untouchable.

Like I wasn’t—

me.

And I can’t stop thinking about it.

Which is a problem.

Because I don’t think about girls like her.

I don’t.

Girls like Ella don’t—

fit.

Not in my world.

Not in my life.

Not in the image I’ve built.

Everything about my life is controlled.

Intentional.

The people I associate with.

The girls I talk to.

The way things look from the outside.

And Ella?

She doesn’t match any of it.

She hides in clothes that don’t fit her right.

Keeps her head down.

Lets people walk all over her—

Except today.

That’s the part that doesn’t make sense.

I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my hair.

This is stupid.

It’s one moment.

One day.

It doesn’t mean anything.

I get out of the car and head inside.

—

The house is quiet.

My dad’s not home yet.

No surprise there.

I drop my bag by the stairs and grab a drink from the fridge, leaning against the counter.

Trying to reset.

Trying to get back to normal.

But it’s still there.

That same thought.

That same image.

Her standing in front of me.

Not backing down.

My grip tightens slightly around the bottle.

I don’t like not being in control.

And right now—

I’m not.

I push off the counter and head back outside before I can overthink it.

It’s just next door.

It always has been.

No reason to hesitate.

No reason to think about it.

I walk across the grass without bothering with the sidewalk.

The side gate to her yard is already open.

It always is.

Convenient.

Easy.

Unrestricted.

Just like everything else in her life seems to be.

Except it’s not.

I know that much.

Even if I don’t think about it.

I step inside without knocking.

The door’s unlocked.

It’s always unlocked.

“Hello?” I call out.

No answer.

Then—

movement in the kitchen.

I walk toward it.

And there she is.

Standing at the counter.

Back to me.

Shoulders slightly tense.

Like she already knows someone’s there.

I lean against the doorway.

“Hey.”

She spins around, startled. “God—Beckett!”

I almost smirk.

Almost.

“Door was unlocked,” I say.

She exhales, clearly trying to steady herself. “You could knock.”

I shrug. “Didn’t think it mattered.”

Her jaw tightens slightly.

There it is.

That reaction.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

But it’s there.

And I notice it.

I notice everything about her now.

Which is—

annoying.

“What do you want?” she asks.

Straight to it.

No hesitation.

That’s new too.

I hesitate for half a second.

Then—

“I need a favor.”

Her reaction is immediate.

“No.”

I almost laugh.

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“I don’t need to.”

My gaze lingers on her for a second longer than it should.

And I realize something.

She’s already decided who I am.

And she’s not wrong.

That’s the problem.

“I’m serious,” I say. “This isn’t—” I gesture vaguely “—that.”

“That?” she repeats.

“You know what I mean.”

She does.

I can see it in her face.

The history.

The tension.

The fact that I made this what it is.

I run a hand through my hair, exhaling.

“I need help with English.”

She blinks.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

There’s a pause.

And for the first time all day—

I feel it.

That shift.

The balance changing.

Because now—

I’m the one asking.

And she knows it.

“You’re asking me?” she says.

“Yeah.”

“Secretly.”

“Yeah.”

She shakes her head slightly.

And I can tell—

She’s not impressed.

Good.

She shouldn’t be.

I don’t even like asking.

“I’ll make it worth your time,” I say.

Her expression hardens.

“There it is.”

I frown. “What?”

“The deal,” she says. “You’ll stop making my life miserable if I help you.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s exactly what you said.”

My jaw tightens.

Because—

It kind of is.

Even if I didn’t mean it like that.

“It’s not like that,” I say.

“It is like that.”

Silence.

Then she says it.

Quiet.

But it hits harder than anything else.

“Because I’m not smart enough.”

I stare at her.

That’s—

wrong.

Completely wrong.

“You’re not average,” I say.

She laughs like I just told a joke.

That bothers me more than it should.

Because she believes it.

That’s the worst part.

She actually believes that.

I study her for a second.

Really look at her.

And I don’t see what everyone else sees.

Or maybe I do—

but I also see something else.

Something she doesn’t.

And I don’t know what to do with that.

“Think about it,” I say finally.

She hesitates.

Then nods.

And that—

that small, almost reluctant agreement—

shouldn’t feel like anything.

But it does.

I step back, giving her space.

Because this?

This is already more than I expected.

More than I wanted.

I turn and head for the door.

But as I leave—

one thought sticks with me.

Louder than anything else.

She doesn’t fit.

She doesn’t belong in my world.

She doesn’t match anything I’ve built.

So why—

why can’t I stop noticing her?