Page 109 of Rules, Roses, and Rivals
I swallowed. The kick of the air conditioning coming on sounding loud in the quiet.
He pulled out something small—a folded note. He handed it to me without ceremony, though there was a hint of a familiar smile quirking his lips.
He hadn’t passed me a note at school since—sixth grade? Maybe? I couldn’t remember.
I opened it.
It wasn’t a speech. Not a poem. Just a line in his handwriting.
If you’re still figuring it out, I’ll wait. If you already know… I’ll still go with you anyway.
I looked up.
His eyes met mine. Calm. Steady. Not pushing.
“We’ve been friends forever, and I know I screwed up,” he said softly. “But this? This isn’t about that. It’s about you.Wanting you to have someone who shows up without making it complicated. Just… me. No glitter. No conditions.”
My throat got tight.
“Think about it,” he said, backing away. “I’ll still sit next to you either way.”
Then he left, as easily as he arrived.
I didn’t cry.
I almost did.
But the day wasn’t done with me yet.
Jake found me. Right outside the AP Euro room. Mr. G wasn’t there, but that wasn’t unusual. That stupid desk he usually sat at was still empty like a ghost.
“Frankie.”
His voice was quiet. Rough around the edges. Like he’d worn it down rehearsing.
I swallowed, then squared my shoulders to meet his gaze. If he could take the time to talk to me straight out, I could make the time to listen.
He didn’t look like a guy with a plan. No speech. No props. Just Jake. T-shirt untucked from his jeans, hair a mess like he’d been raking his hand through it. A bruise still decorated his knuckles.
“I’m not gonna give you some grand proposal,” he said, voice low. “I don’t think I have the right to ask anything of you right now.”
That should’ve hurt. It didn’t. He looked so damn uncomfortable it made me ache.
He ran a hand through his hair. “But I wanted you to know… I see it now. Everything I missed. Everything I said that was wrong. Everything I didn’t say that mattered more. Where I fucked up—I don’t think I can apologize enough for that.”
I didn’t breathe.
Jake reached into his backpack and pulled out something—folded parchment paper. A rose.
The same kind that had been in my locker for the last week.
He held it out.
Was he behind the roses?
“I was too much. Then not enough.” He coughed. “Then too late. But I never stopped rooting for you, Frankie. I never will. I screwed up. I get that. I’ll spend however long it takes to make it up to you.”
My chest cracked.
