The bell rang like a warning shot through the halls of Westbridge High, echoing off the lockers and concrete like it had something to prove. Jake moved through the crowd like a ghost, slipping between students who laughed too loudly and walked too slowly.
Senior year. You'd think things would get easier by now. But when every day felt like a balancing act between home and survival, school was just another battlefield.
By third period, Jake was already tired. English had been uneventful, and math was a blur of numbers and Mr. Kessler's coffee breath. When gym class rolled around, though, things shifted.
Jake didn't hate gym. He actually liked it — not because of the competition or the sports, but because it was one of the only times he could move. Breathe. Shake off the weight he carried.
Today was sparring.
Coach Harris, a former college wrestler with a whistle glued to his lips, was pairing students off on the mats in the center of the gym. Most were goofing around, swinging half-hearted punches or wrestling like it was a joke.
Jake laced up his sneakers in silence.
"Cross," Harris barked. "You're with Miller."
A ripple of laughter followed that. Miller — as in Brandon Miller — was the biggest guy in the class. Six-two, built like a linebacker, and dumb as bricks. He was grinning already, cracking his knuckles.
Jake stood, rolled his shoulders, and walked to the mat.
William shot him a look from the bleachers. "You sure?"
Jake didn't answer. He just stepped onto the mat.
"Alright, boys," Coach said, already checking his clipboard. "Keep it clean. Show control."
The whistle blew.
Brandon came in fast, throwing a wild punch meant more to intimidate than hit. Jake ducked smoothly, pivoted on the ball of his foot, and stepped behind him in a blur. He didn't hit — just nudged Brandon's shoulder as he passed, making the bigger guy stumble.
A few students hollered in surprise.
Brandon growled and charged again, this time with more aggression. Jake's stance was low and steady — his dad's voice echoing in his head: "Wait. Read. Then move."
Jake sidestepped and swept Brandon's legs out from under him in one clean motion. Brandon hit the mat with a grunt, flat on his back.
The gym went quiet for a second. Even Coach Harris raised an eyebrow.
"Damn," someone muttered.
Jake stepped back, calm, breathing steady.
Brandon sat up, looking stunned.
"Good control," Coach said with a nod. "Cross, stay sharp. Miller, you alright?"
"I'm good," Brandon mumbled, red-faced.
William clapped slowly from the bleachers. "My guy."
Jake smirked for just a second, then went to grab his water bottle. His hands were steady. But inside? That old, familiar fire was starting to rise.
By the end of sixth period, Jake was already thinking about the medicine he needed to grab on the way home. He was pulling his backpack from his locker when he heard her voice.
"Jake."
He turned. Kate stood a few feet away, arms folded, her brows drawn together like she was holding back a dozen thoughts at once.
"Hey," he said, cautiously.
She looked down the hall, then back at him. "Can we talk? Somewhere quiet?"
Jake nodded, surprised. "Yeah. Um… sure."
They ended up behind the auditorium, where the noise of the halls dulled into a hum. It smelled like dust and stage curtains.
Kate leaned against the wall, her arms still folded. "I've been meaning to ask you something. For a while now."
Jake waited.
"You used to be one of my best friends, Jake. And then... you just stopped. Talking to me. Showing up. I thought I'd done something."
He swallowed hard. "You didn't. I just—life got complicated."
Kate looked at him with eyes that weren't angry, just hurt. "We all have complicated, Jake. But you just disappeared. I had no idea what was going on until Will told me about your mom."
Jake shifted his weight, staring at the floor. "I didn't want anyone's pity."
"It's not pity," she said quickly. "It's... I just wanted to be there. And now it's like you've built this wall. And I don't know how to get through it."
He finally looked up. "I didn't want to pull you into it. Everything in my life right now feels like it's barely holding together. I couldn't... add you to that."
Kate stepped closer. "You don't get to decide what I can or can't handle. I'm not some porcelain doll in a glass case, Jake."
That made him smile, just a little. "I never thought that. Just thought... you had your own world. One that didn't need mine in it."
She hesitated. "And what about us? Before Rick. Before all this. Did that mean anything to you?"
Jake's chest tightened. He remembered summer nights when they'd ride bikes until the streetlights buzzed on. The way her laugh sounded like something untouchable. He remembered the almost-moments. The glances. The silences that said more than words ever could.
"Yeah," he said. "It did. It still does."
Kate nodded slowly. "Then don't shut me out."
Before he could answer, the bell rang.
She gave him one last look, then turned and walked back toward the hallway, her ponytail swaying behind her.
Jake stood there a moment longer, letting the noise of the day rush back in around him.
Maybe he didn't have everything figured out. Maybe he couldn't fix his home, his mom, or the weight that sat on his shoulders like a second backpack.
But maybe... just maybe... he didn't have to carry it alone anymore.