October leaves crunched underfoot as Eastwood High settled into the crisp rhythm of fall. Pumpkins appeared on porches, hoodies replaced tank tops, and the hallways buzzed with mid-term stress mixed with weekend plans. For Lydia, the days blurred into a careful balance: smiling through the ache of watching Cynthia and Raymond grow closer, while finding unexpected comfort in Jack's easy company.
Jack Harlan had integrated himself seamlessly into their circle. He showed up at lunch every day now, sliding into the seat beside Lydia with a grin and a casual "Saved you a spot?" He'd ask about her classes, share funny stories from soccer practice, or pass her fries from his tray without being asked. It was effortless friendship—nothing flirtatious, nothing loaded. Jack was just... there. Attentive in a way that felt safe, especially when Lydia's thoughts spiraled about Raymond.
One Tuesday afternoon, they ended up paired for a quick partner activity in AP Literature—analyzing a poem about unrequited love, ironically. Jack leaned over her desk, reading aloud in an exaggerated dramatic voice that made her laugh out loud.
"You're terrible at this," Lydia whispered, giggling as Mr. Harlan shot them a look.
"Terrible? I'm a poet," Jack protested, clutching his chest. "My heart bleeds iambic pentameter."
After class, he walked her to her locker. "Hey, you free after school? I need help picking a book for that independent reading thing. You're the expert."
Lydia hesitated only a second. "Sure. Library?"
"Perfect."
They spent an hour in the back corner stacks, Jack holding up random titles and making up ridiculous summaries while Lydia recommended actual ones. He listened seriously when she explained why she loved certain authors, nodding and asking questions. By the time they left, his backpack was heavier with borrowed books—all her suggestions.
Across the library, Raymond sat with a history textbook open but unread. He'd come to study, but his eyes kept drifting to the stacks where laughter—Lydia's laughter—floated over the shelves. When he spotted them emerging together, Jack carrying books and Lydia smiling in that relaxed way she rarely did lately, his jaw tightened. Expression stern, unreadable, he looked away quickly, focusing harder on words that now blurred on the page.
He told himself it was nothing. Lydia could have friends. Jack seemed harmless—charming, sure, but friendly to everyone. Still, the sight left a quiet knot in his stomach.
That evening, Raymond texted Thomas: Meet up tomorrow? Just us.
Thomas replied instantly: Yeah man, what's up? Trouble in paradise?
Raymond: Shut up. Just talk.
They met the next day after practice, grabbing burgers at the diner off campus—a spot they'd claimed since freshman year. Thomas slid into the booth opposite Raymond, fries already in hand.
"So," Thomas said, grinning around a mouthful. "What's the crisis? Girl trouble?"
Raymond stirred his drink, avoiding eye contact. "It's about Lydia."
Thomas's grin widened. "Knew it."
"Does she... actually like me?" Raymond asked quietly. "Like Gabriel said?"
Thomas leaned back, studying his friend. "Dude, yes. She was asking if you were single, spilling to Gabriel how she's been crushing hard. Why the doubt now?"
Raymond shrugged, expression guarded. "Just... things change. People move on."
Thomas popped another fry. "You mean Jack?"
Raymond's silence was answer enough.
"Look, Jack's cool. New guy charm and all. But Lydia's not into him like that. They're just tight—study buddies, lunch buddies, whatever. Everyone's calling them the new power duo, but it's platonic."
Raymond's brow furrowed. "Everyone?"
"Yeah." Thomas laughed. "In gym yesterday, Coach paired them for relays and the whole class started chanting 'Lovers! Lovers!' like idiots. Lydia went red, Jack just laughed it off. Julius looked ready to punch someone."
Raymond's stern mask cracked slightly—irritation flashing in his eyes. "They call them lovers?"
"Harmless teasing. You know how it is." Thomas nudged him. "But if it bugs you, maybe do something about it. Lydia's not gonna wait forever."
Raymond didn't respond, just stared at his untouched burger.
Meanwhile, the teasing escalated.
In the cafeteria the following Monday, Jack arrived with two chocolate milks—one for himself, one slid casually to Lydia. "Figured you'd want the good kind," he said.
"Thanks," she smiled, accepting it.
From the end of the table, a sophomore from the next group over called out, "Aww, look at the lovers sharing drinks!"
Laughter rippled down the table. Cynthia grinned, joining in. "Goals, honestly."
Lydia rolled her eyes, cheeks pink. "We're not—it's just milk."
Jack played along, bowing dramatically. "My lady's favorite."
More laughs. Even Mia and Sarah chimed in with heart emojis in the air.
Raymond sat rigidly, fork paused mid-bite. His expression had gone full stern—jaw set, blue eyes cool as he focused on his tray. Julius, beside him, scowled openly, pushing food around his plate without eating.
Thomas caught Raymond's look and kicked him under the table. "Chill, man. It's jokes."
But it wasn't funny to everyone.
Later that week, during a group study session in the library for upcoming history midterms, the dynamic played out again. Cynthia had organized it—her, Lydia, Jack, Raymond, Thomas, and Julius crammed around a large table piled with notes and laptops.
Jack sat next to Lydia naturally, sharing her textbook when his copy went missing. They whispered about dates and events, Jack quizzing her and vice versa. At one point, he reached over to point at something in her notes, his arm brushing hers casually.
From across the table, a group of juniors at the next station overheard and snickered. "Get a room, lovers!"
The nickname had stuck, spreading like wildfire. Lydia buried her face in her hands, groaning. "Make it stop."
Jack laughed good-naturedly. "I'm flattered, honestly."
Cynthia winked. "You two are adorable."
Raymond's pen scratched harder against his paper, stern expression fixed in place. He didn't look up, but his grip tightened noticeably. Julius muttered something under his breath, shifting his chair farther away.
Thomas, ever the peacemaker, tried changing the subject. "Okay, Industrial Revolution—who's got the factory system down?"
But the teasing continued in smaller ways. In the halls, people Lydia barely knew would smile knowingly when she and Jack walked together to class. Notes passed in study hall: Lydia + jack. Even teachers noticed—Ms. Rivera in lit called them "our dynamic duo" when they turned in a joint worksheet.
Lydia laughed it off outwardly, but inside it added layers of confusion. Jack remained the perfect friend—supportive, fun, zero pressure. But the constant "lovers" label made her hyper-aware of Raymond's reactions. Every time it happened, she'd glance his way, catching that stern mask before he looked away.
One Friday after school, Jack caught up with her in the parking lot. "Hey, you heading to the game tonight? Team's playing Riverton—should be good."
"I wasn't planning on it," Lydia admitted. "Crowds aren't my thing."
"Come on," Jack coaxed. "I'll save you a seat. We can mock the cheer routines together."
She hesitated, then smiled. "Fine. But you owe me hot chocolate if we freeze."
"Deal."
They ended up on the bleachers together, sharing a blanket Jack had grabbed from his car. The game was close, crowd roaring, but they spent most of it talking—about books, college fears, silly childhood stories. Jack listened like he always did, asking follow-ups, making her laugh.
From higher up in the stands, Raymond watched with Thomas and Julius. He'd come for the game, but his eyes kept finding Lydia and Jack below—heads close, laughing, sharing snacks.
Thomas followed his gaze. "They're just friends, man."
Raymond's expression stayed stern. "Yeah."
Julius snorted. "Friends don't look at each other like that."
"They don't look at each other like anything," Thomas countered. "It's everyone else projecting."
But the "lovers" chant started again when Jack threw an arm around Lydia's shoulders during a cold wind—purely to block it, but the crowd nearby ate it up. "Lovers! Lovers!"
Lydia ducked her head, laughing embarrassedly. Jack joined in the chant ironically, making it worse.
Raymond stood abruptly. "I'm heading out."
"Dude, it's only halftime," Thomas protested.
"Got stuff to do."
He left without another word, stern mask firmly in place.
The next Monday brought the worst of it.
In gym class, Coach paired students for a relay activity. When Lydia and Jack ended up on the same team, the entire class erupted.
"Perfect! The lovers together!"
"Undefeated champs!"
Even Coach chuckled. "Alright, alright. Harlan and Harper—let's see that teamwork."
They ran the relay flawlessly, Jack passing the baton smoothly, both laughing breathlessly at the end. The class cheered wildly, chanting "Lovers! Lovers!" louder than ever.
From the sidelines, where he'd finished early, Raymond watched with arms crossed, expression harder than stone. Julius stood beside him, openly glaring.
Thomas jogged over after. "You two look pissed."
"It's stupid," Julius muttered.
"It's not stupid," Raymond said quietly. "It's... constant."
Thomas sighed. "Talk to her then. This misinterpretation crap is getting old."
But Raymond didn't. He kept the stern expression, the distance.
That afternoon, Lydia noticed Julius's avoidance had worsened. No more nods in the hall, no eye contact at lunch. If she approached the group, he'd find an excuse to leave. It stung, but with everything else—the rumors, Raymond's coldness, Cynthia's oblivious happiness—she pushed it down.
Jack remained her constant. After the gym incident, he walked her to her next class. "Sorry about the chanting. They're relentless."
"It's fine," Lydia said. "Kinda funny, actually."
"You're a good sport." He bumped her shoulder. "Hot chocolate later? To recover from public humiliation?"
She smiled. "You're on."
As they parted ways, Raymond rounded the corner, catching the tail end—the easy smiles, the casual plans. His expression went stern again, sharper this time.
Inside, questions swirled. Did Lydia really like him anymore? Or had Jack replaced that quiet crush with something louder, easier?
He didn't have answers. Only the growing weight of assumption, pressing down on everyone.
The web tightened further—friendships strained by whispers, feelings buried under teasing labels. And still, no one spoke the truth aloud.