CHAPTER TWO — "THE PROBLEM IS I NOTICED"
(Jaxon's POV)
I don't normally linger in the hallway after dropping Sadie off.
I usually give her a fist bump, make sure she actually goes through the classroom door instead of wandering off to annoy campus squirrels, then leave. Simple. Routine.
But today? Today I just… stood there.
Sadie had already disappeared into her art class, waving the little snack bag at me like I'd just sent her into battle with magical supplies. The teacher nodded at me, the usual "thank you for bringing her" look on her face, and then the door shut.
And I stayed.
Not because I needed to. Not because I wanted to.
Hell, maybe it was because something in me hadn't caught up with the morning yet.
Or maybe because of her.
Harper Lane.
The girl who looked like chaos bottled into a person. The girl who argued with me like she'd been doing it her whole life. The girl whose voice shook earlier—not scared, just overwhelmed—and I caught myself caring.
I shouldn't care.
I know better than that.
I leaned against the wall, arms folded, pretending to check my phone, pretending I wasn't replaying the last twenty minutes like a damn idiot.
The way she clung to me on the bike. The way her forehead pressed into my back. The way she smelled like vanilla, rain, and sleep.
The way she told Sadie she was the sweetest person on campus—like she meant it, fully, genuinely, without the fake tone adults use with kids.
I let out a breath and shut my eyes for a second.
Stupid.
I opened them again when I felt someone approaching.
"Why are you standing here like a lost ghost?" a familiar voice asked.
I didn't even need to look. Only one person sounded like they were constantly two seconds away from laughing at me.
Ava.
Great.
I turned. "Shouldn't you be ruining a latte somewhere?"
She punched my arm lightly. "I'm on break, jerk."
Ava worked part-time at the campus café—more because she liked people-watching than because she needed money. She was the closest thing I had to a friend who wasn't forced by blood or professors.
She narrowed her eyes at me, reading me too easily. "Okay. What happened? You have that look."
"What look?"
"The 'I'm irritated but also thinking too hard about something I won't admit' look."
I glared. "I don't have that look."
"You literally have ONLY that look."
I shoved my hands into my hoodie pockets, pushing off the wall. "Nothing happened."
"Liar," she said, walking with me as I headed toward the main courtyard. "Is it Sadie? Did someone pick on her again? I will actually fight a sixth grader, I'm not kidding."
"No," I said with half a laugh. "She's fine."
"Then what?"
I didn't answer.
Because I wasn't about to say:
It's Harper. Again. Somehow.
We stepped outside. The late-morning breeze was cooler than usual, blowing leaves across the walkway. Students moved around us—some rushing, some dragging their feet, some half-asleep with hoodies up to their noses.
Normal campus things.
But I felt… not normal.
Ava bumped my shoulder. "Do I have to guess?"
"No."
"I'm guessing."
I sighed. "Ava—"
"It's a girl."
I stopped walking. "Shut up."
She gasped dramatically. "It IS!"
"It's not."
"Oh my GOD, it's totally a girl."
I rubbed my face. "It's not—"
"Who? Come on, tell me."
The worst part?
The answer sat on my tongue too easily.
Harper.
Harper with her sarcastic mouth.
Harper with her wild morning hair.
Harper who acts like she doesn't care but blushes when she does.
Harper who touched me like she didn't know whether to strangle me or hold on tighter.
But I wasn't about to tell Ava any of that.
"It's nothing," I muttered.
"Mhm," she said, unconvinced. "You're acting strange. Stranger than usual."
"Can you just—drop it?"
She tilted her head, studying me. "Okay. Fine. I'll drop it."
She paused.
"But I know it's a girl."
I groaned as she laughed and jogged toward the café.
---
I finally made it back to my spot behind the engineering building—my unofficial hideout, a half-empty courtyard with cracked pavement and a vending machine that ate more money than it accepted.
I sat on the low brick wall and pulled out my sketchbook. Drawing always cleared my head. Or it used to.
Today, my pencil hovered over the page.
Because instead of gears or designs or abstract shapes…
I found myself sketching a half-finished outline of a girl's profile.
Messy hair. A hoodie pulled too tight around her neck. Eyes wide, like she'd just been caught doing something she shouldn't.
Harper.
I snapped my sketchbook shut.
No.
Nope.
Not going there.
I checked my phone instead. My messages were exactly what I expected:
Mom: Thank you for bringing Sadie. I love you. Please remember the rent is due Friday.
Sadie: Harper said I'm the sweetest person on campus 😁 Can she come to my art fair??
Mom again: Also, did you eat?
I smiled at the second one despite myself.
Sadie adored Harper. She had from the first time Harper stopped to help her pick up spilled crayons in the student center. I'd walked in to see my little sister talking to Harper like they were old friends, rambling about unicorns.
Harper listened. Actually listened.
Most people don't.
And maybe that's why she stuck in my head more than she should.
My father never listened. Not when he still lived with us. Not when Mom begged him to stay. Not when Sadie cried for him on the nights she thought we were asleep.
He'd walk out, make excuses, come back, leave again.
A cycle.
Until he left for good.
I don't miss him.
What I miss is the version I imagined he could've been.
My phone buzzed again.
A text from Harper.
Wait.
No—she didn't text me. It was her Instagram story notification. She'd posted a photo—her lunch on campus, a sandwich she'd clearly already bullied with her hands, and a caption:
"Surviving college one questionable meal at a time."
I stared at it longer than necessary.
Then I tossed my phone beside me like it was guilty.
---
By noon, I forced myself to get up and head back toward the main buildings. I had welding class, and if I was late again, Professor Stein would nail me to the wall for scrap metal.
But halfway there, I saw her.
Harper.
She was sitting on the grass near the fountain, legs crossed, laptop open, hair pulled into a lazy bun that still somehow fell apart in two directions. She was chewing the end of her pen, which she definitely didn't realize she was doing.
Her brows were furrowed. She looked frustrated. Or like she was trying to write something and hating every word.
My feet slowed.
Against my better judgment.
Against everything I told myself on repeat.
I walked toward her.
She didn't notice me at first. She was too busy mumbling at her screen.
"No, that sentence is dumb," she said. "Delete… crap, why is everything I write stupid?"
I couldn't help it. The corner of my mouth twitched.
"You talk to yourself more than Sadie does," I said.
She jolted like I'd dropped a bomb behind her. "Jesus Christ—Jaxon!"
"Good morning to you too."
"It's literally noon."
"Time is a social construct."
She rolled her eyes and closed her laptop halfway. "What do you want?"
"Nothing. Walking to class. Saw you. Decided to annoy you."
"That sounds about right."
I dropped onto the grass beside her without asking. She scooted half an inch away, like I was contagious.
"What's wrong with your face?" she asked.
"That's rude."
"It's scrunched up."
"I always look like this."
"Exactly."
I snorted. "You're in a great mood."
She sighed, letting her pen fall into her lap. "I'm trying to write this stupid article for my journalism class. It's nothing deep, just a community-profile assignment. But every version I write sounds fake. Like… robotic."
My chest tightened a little.
She wanted her writing to feel human.
I understood that way too well.
"Let me see," I said.
"No."
"You're bad at hiding things."
"I'm not hiding anything."
"You're literally covering your laptop with your whole arm."
She glared. "Jaxon, I swear—"
I tugged gently—not enough to actually take it, just enough to annoy her. "Come on. I won't judge."
"You judge everything."
"Not you."
She froze for half a second.
Just a half.
But it was enough.
She cleared her throat too quickly. "That's not true."
I shrugged. "Maybe."
She finally relented and turned her laptop so I could glance. It wasn't bad. It wasn't even close to bad. It was just… guarded. Like she was scared to write with her actual voice.
"It's missing you," I said.
"What?"
"Your personality. Your sarcasm. The way you talk too fast and complain about everything."
"That's supposed to be a compliment?"
"It is."
She stared at the screen, chewing her lip.
She looked small for a second. Uncertain.
And I hated it—how much I cared about that.
I leaned back on my elbows. "Just write the way you spoke to Sadie earlier."
She blinked. "What do you mean?"
"You sounded… kind. Real. Human."
Her cheeks flushed. She looked away. "That's different. Sadie is—Sadie."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "She is."
Something soft flickered between us.
But it scared her, I think. Because she straightened suddenly, closing the laptop.
"Well," she said, grabbing her bag, "I should go eat before my next class."
"You just got here."
"I have things to do."
"Like overthink?"
"Exactly."
She stood, brushing grass off her jeans.
I stayed sitting, watching her in a way I probably shouldn't have.
She turned halfway, looked back at me, then away again.
Like she didn't know what to do with whatever this was.
Truth is—neither did I.
"See you around, Jaxon," she said.
"Yeah," I replied. "You will."
She froze for a beat at the certainty in my voice.
Then she walked away.
And I knew.
I knew she was going to be a problem.
Because I'd noticed her.
Really noticed her.
And the problem with noticing?
You don't just… stop.