Page 29 of The Rookie

“You really don’t know how to say thank you, do you?” I ask after a minute.

“I didn’t ask you to wait for me,” she shoots back. And I kind of love that she’s back to shooting zingers at me. It actually feels weird when she compliments me.

“True,” I say, smirking. “But you would’ve gotten lost without me.”

“I would’ve figured it out,” she mutters, her focus on the path ahead.

Uh-huh.

We reach a steep incline, and I let her take the lead, partly because I’m curious how long her stubborn streak will last.

Not long, apparently.

Her foot slips on a loose stone, and she stumbles forward, her bag swinging awkwardly at her side.

Before I can think, I grab her arm, steadying her before she can hit the ground.

“Careful,” I say, my voice softer than I intended. “It’s not exactly flat terrain.”

She jerks her arm away, her face flushed. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” I reply, stepping back to give her space.

We reach the top of the incline, where the group is waiting near a large temple. Fernando waves us over, his cheerful voice ringing out as he launches into another explanation.

“See?” she says as we join the group. “I made it.”

“With my help,” I point out, grinning.

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, and for some reason, that feels like a win.

As Fernando talks, I glance at Avery again. She’s scribbling in her notebook, her focus back on the ruins, and I wonder if she even remembers the moment we just had.

Probably not.

But I do.

And for the first time, I wonder what it would take to actually get her to see me.

nine

. . .

Griffin

That night,I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, flipping through Spanish flashcards on my phone—mostly to look productive while I wait for the group text to decide where we’re going tonight. The faint murmur of voices and laughter drifts up from the courtyard, where a few classmates are already pregaming with cheap tequila and bad dance moves.

Avery’s been holed up in the bathroom for a while now. She came back from dinner quieter than usual, which is saying something, considering she’s been pretty subdued since the breakup.

When she finally steps out, her hair tied back and her face freshly washed, she looks... tired. Like she’s carrying the weight of something heavier than she lets on.

“You okay?” I ask, leaning back against the headboard.

“I’m fine,” she says automatically, sitting on the edge of her bed and scrolling through her phone.

It’s a lie, obviously.

A thought hits me, and before I can second-guess it, I say, “A bunch of us are heading out tonight. You should come.”

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