The end of the school day passes in a blur after Jack gets my number.

I don't know why, but I keep waiting for his text—some confirmation about our project, some plan, some reason for this whole situation to make sense.

And yet, my phone stays silent.

Why am I even thinking about this? Why do I care?

I catch myself checking my screen between classes, sneaking glances during passing periods, half-expecting some notification from him. But nothing. Instead, I spot Jack talking to Eli—who, apparently, is already one of the most well-liked guys at school. His defense skills on the field helped with that, but so did the fact that Jack and Brent seemed comfortable around him, like he had always been part of their world.

I should move on. I should focus on my own life.

And yet, as I pass by, I find myself hoping Jack will pull out his phone. That I'll hear the faint ping of a message. That he'll actually—ugh, stop it, Aria!

This is pathetic. Why am I like this?

I shake myself out of it, gripping the strap of my bag tighter. I need my routine. My schedule.

I should be heading to The Cozy Corner for my iced pumpkin chai latte. My comfort drink. Something to keep me grounded after an already chaotic Monday. I should be vlogging. I should be editing. I should be anywhere but here, overthinking a guy who shouldn't matter.

And yet—

My feet carry me in the opposite direction.

Not to The Cozy Corner.
Not to my car.
Not to the safety of my predictable routine.

I don't even realize where I'm going until I hear it—the sharp blast of a whistle, the distant echoes of voices calling plays, the steady rhythm of cleats pounding against the turf.

The football field.

I stop short, my pulse jumping.

Why the hell am I here?

This is a bad idea. A really bad idea.

The last time I was anywhere near a football field, it nearly ended in disaster. A spilled drink, one misstep, and I barely got away with my secret intact. I swore I'd never put myself in that position again.

I told myself I was done with high school experiences. Done letting Alice convince me to live a little.

And yet...

I don't turn around.

Instead, I climb the bleachers, moving higher until I'm far enough to blend in. Just another shadow. Just another background figure no one will notice.

From up here, I can watch.

And I hate that I want to.

Jack Carter is already on the field, helmet in hand, listening intently to the coach. Focused. Completely in his element. He carries himself with a quiet confidence, like the weight of the entire team rests on his shoulders and he doesn't hesitate to bear it.

Just like Friday night.

The same composure. The same command over the field.

This is what he wants. USC. A future beyond this small-town high school. His last year is coming, and he's already moving like a guy who knows exactly where he's headed.

Brent stands nearby, arms crossed, his usual easy smirk replaced with something more serious. I noticed him in AP English earlier—he and Olivia seem to get along well, though Brent keeps his walls up just like me just enough to make him unreadable. He was the same way at The Cozy Corner, but Jack knew him better because the way I said it he wanted to ask him what is up, but he didn't. Of course, because Brent is his best friend. Jack had shrugged it off, unbothered.

Eli, meanwhile, has already cemented himself into the team's rhythm. It's like he's been playing with them for years, seamlessly holding the defensive line.

They make it look easy. Effortless.

I don't know how long I sit there, watching. Observing.

On the sidelines, the cheerleaders run through their routines—jumps, tumbles, perfectly synchronized motions. I'm not fit enough to do any of that, even though I'm a mermaid. You'd think swimming would make me more flexible, but honestly? Swimming is exhausting sometimes.

I glance back at the field. Some of Jack's teammates are distracted, stealing glances at the cheerleaders. A few of the cheerleaders return the attention, barely hiding their smiles.

Then—

Jack cuts through the noise.

He calls out to his teammates, pulling them back into focus. No nonsense. No distractions. Just control.

And damn, that's hot.

Oh, god. What the hell, Aria?

I'm just as bad as the cheerleaders now, checking him out like he's some movie protagonist.

Get it together.

But even as I tell myself that, I don't move.

Not yet.

The scrimmage intensifies, bodies colliding as the team moves in perfect sync. Jack is calling plays, shifting effortlessly across the field, completely in control. His voice cuts through the chaos—sharp, clear, commanding.

I should leave.

Yeah, I should definitely leave. Right now. I should grab my stuff, head to The Cozy Corner, and get my iced pumpkin chai latte before I embarrass myself further. It's bad enough I'm Jack's partner for this project—I do not need to interact with him outside of class.

So why am I still sitting here?

I don't even know why I came here in the first place. I blame my feet. Stupid feet.

This was supposed to be a passing moment, a brief curiosity. But now, my legs feel glued to the bleachers, my fingers curled too tightly around the hem of my hoodie.

Am I really that desperate for his attention?

I mean, I was just obsessing over whether he'd text me, and now I'm sitting here, watching him like some starstruck fangirl. This is not helping my case.

And then—

Jack looks up.

Holy shit. He notices me.

My heart nearly short-circuits in my chest. My nerves go into overdrive, and suddenly, I forget how to function like a normal human being.

Calm down. Play it cool.

For a split second, his gaze locks onto mine.

Not a passing glance. Not an accident.

A full, undeniable second of eye contact.

Heat rushes to my face. He sees me.

Like, actually sees me.

Not in the fleeting, oh-you're-my-project-partner way. Not in the here's-your-notebook-back way.

This time, he notices me.

And this is bad.

I should have left when I had the chance. I should have sprinted straight to The Cozy Corner. I should have teleported out of here. Why did I think lingering was a good idea?

Jack doesn't look away right away. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, like he's figuring something out.

No. No figuring out. No curiosity. Stay on that side of the wall I built.

I force my face into neutral mode, keeping my expression unreadable. He can't know I've been watching. He can't know I'm stuck here, unable to look away.

Jack doesn't smile. He doesn't wave. He doesn't do anything normal.

Instead, his gray-blue eyes flicker with something unreadable.

Something that makes my stomach twist.

And then—just as quickly as he noticed me—he turns away.

Back to the game. Back to his world.

And somehow, that does not make me feel any better.

Why do I feel like something just shifted between us?

I already dodged his questions during class today and yet here I am, doing the opposite of moving on.

Ugh. This is so not like me.

I shake my head, gripping my bag. I'm leaving. Right now. Before I make an even bigger fool of myself.

Except—

The whistle blows. Practice ends.

Welp. So much for that.

Players slow to a jog, pulling off their helmets, stretching out tired muscles. Conversations start up, laughter rising as they grab water bottles and towels.

Brent and Eli grab their drinks, but then—Brent glances at Jack. Then at me. Oh no. I stiffen. Brent noticed something. So did Eli. They're both watching. My face burns. Why are they watching? Why is this becoming a thing?! Jack is walking straight toward me. Oh. Oh, shit. I clutch my bag like a lifeline, but there's nowhere to escape.

Jack reaches the base of the bleachers, stopping just below me. His hair is damp, his gray-blue eyes sharp despite the exhaustion clinging to his frame. His presence is disruptive, like he belongs in every space he walks into without trying.

And right now, that presence is entirely focused on me.

"Why are you here?"

The words are casual. Too casual. But there's an edge to them.

I blink. "What?"

Jack lifts a brow, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. "I asked why you're here. Do you need something?"

Do I need something? Yeah. I need a time machine to go back five minutes and stop myself from ever coming here. I hate myself right now. Great Monday. Fantastic. Love this for me.

I scramble for an excuse. Anything that doesn't make me sound like a complete idiot. "I don't need anything," I say quickly. Too quickly. "I was just... wandering around."

Wandering around. Seriously?! That's it. He definitely thinks I'm a creep now. Jack doesn't look convinced. "Wandering?"

"I was curious about football," I blurt out. Desperate save.

Jack tilts his head slightly. "Curious about football," he repeats slowly. Like he knows I'm full of shit.

I force myself not to break eye contact. "Yep."

His lips twitch. Almost amused. Almost. God, I want to punch him.

"I didn't know you were into football," Jack says, voice smooth, challenging.

"I—uh—yeah," I lie. "I like football."

Bullshit, Aria now that's a fucking lie. Jack stares at me for a second longer, then—he smirks. Not cocky. Not arrogant. Worse. It's small. Knowing.

"Sure," he says easily. "If you say so."

And somehow—that's worse. Because now he knows I'm lying. And he's letting me know he knows. Heat prickles at the back of my neck.

"I—"

"See you in class, Aria."

With that, Jack turns and walks away. Leaving me seething on the bleachers. Heart pounding. Pulse unsteady. Brain short-circuiting. Damn him.

The moment I pull into my driveway, I'm not surprised to see the house completely dark. Of course. Lonely Aria. My phone buzzes on the console, the screen lighting up with a message from my mom.

Mom: Left early for a business trip. Food on the table. Money if you need anything. Back soon.

I stare at the text for a second, then lock my phone and toss it onto the console. Wow. No surprise there. She always says they'll be back soon. But they never really see me, do they? I exhale, pressing my head back against the seat. I should be used to this by now.

At least I didn't tell Jack Carter the truth about my family situation. I already know how that conversation would go. He'd ask too many questions, push for answers I don't have. Maybe even someone would call CPS on me, which—honestly? I'm surprised no one has.

But my parents are smart. They know how to look like parents just enough to keep anyone from noticing.

Still, it's late. The house is empty. And I don't want to go inside. Not when my brain is still spinning. Not when I can still feel Jack's eyes on me from earlier, still hear the teasing lilt in his voice. I need to clear my head.

I need the ocean.

Within minutes, I'm already heading toward the private beach, the cool night air brushing against my skin as I slip out of my car. The streets are quiet, the distant hum of waves calling me like a whisper only I can hear.

It's instinctual, this pull toward the water. It always has been. The moment my bare feet sink into the sand, the tension in my chest unravels, dissolving like seafoam into the tide. I don't hesitate. I run. Heart pounding—not from nerves, not from fear—but from relief. And then—I dive.

The second my body hits the water, magic ripples through me.

My legs fuse effortlessly, my sleek purple tail shimmering in the moonlight. My top forms from the water itself, woven of oceanic energy.

Weightless. Free. Untouchable.

I exhale, letting myself sink deeper into the stillness of the sea. The world above fades, dissolving into the quiet hum of the ocean's pulse. Schools of angelfish dart past, their bodies glowing like scattered stars between the reefs.

Everything is calm.

Peaceful.

Until I see it. A glimmer at the ocean floor. I stop mid-glide, my pulse stuttering as something catches my eye. A flicker of silver, half-buried in the sand. At first, I think it's just a piece of lost jewelry, nothing special. But something about it pulls at me, an invisible thread tugging me closer.

I hesitate. Then, curiosity wins.

I glide toward it, fingers brushing against the smooth metal as I uncover it from the sand. The moment I pick it up—

A pulse of energy ripples through me. Not strong. Not overwhelming. But present. Like a whisper.

I inhale sharply, turning the ring over in my palm.

The band is silver, smooth and untarnished—too perfect to have been in the ocean for long. Delicate wave-like engravings curl along its edges, intricate and endless, like the rolling tides.

At its center—

A deep ocean-blue stone, shimmering with an eerie, otherworldly glow.

I freeze.

It almost looks... alive. The color shifts as I rotate it under the moonlight filtering through the water—one second, it's a rich sapphire blue. The next, darker, deeper—like the abyss itself.

A cold prickle crawls down my spine.

I run my thumb over the engravings, tracing the delicate patterns. The instant my skin touches the stone—

A shiver rushes through me.

Not from the cold.

From something else.

A sensation—like a whisper of energy, pressing against the edges of my mind. A memory just out of reach.

I inhale sharply, fingers tightening around the ring.

What is this?

Why was it here?

And why do I feel like it wasn't supposed to be found?

The moon pool is quiet, untouched by the tides. Its waters reflect the dusky sky above, an endless mirror of soft silver light. It's always felt safe here.

I swim toward the smooth rock ledge and lean back, half-submerged, my fingers still curled around the ring.

I should keep it. I should bring it home.

But I know myself.

If I keep it, I won't be able to stop thinking about it. I won't be able to ignore it.

I already have enough stress. Jack Carter. A dumb English project. Keeping my mermaid secret intact. I don't need this ring consuming my thoughts.

So, I make my choice. I tuck it near the ledge, hidden among the rocks—for now. I'll come back. I'll figure it out when I'm ready. But not tonight. I flick my tail, propelling myself forward, cutting through the moon pool's stillness like a shadow. The ocean calls. And tonight? I just want to swim.

The moment I wake up, I regret every decision that led me here. I groan into my pillow, exhausted. It's only Tuesday. How is it only Tuesday?

Last night was supposed to reset me. The ocean usually clears my head, untangles my thoughts, lets me breathe. But this time?

Nope.

Instead, I spent half the night editing vlogs—because if the ocean couldn't help, maybe losing myself in filming and makeup tutorials could. Even though I never upload my videos, vlogging feels like a personal diary, a space where I can talk without judgment.

And, unfortunately, I talked about the project. And Jack. And the ring. Ugh.

I push that thought aside for the millionth time. I cannot, will not, let this stupid ring take up space in my brain.

I already have enough to deal with.

Like the fact that I have a massive English project to finish.
With Jack freaking Carter.

And I have no excuse to avoid him today.

Yay. Lucky me.

I roll over, staring at the ceiling. I need coffee. Immediately.

I don't care how late I am, I will not survive today without caffeine.

So, despite my impending doom, I stop at The Cozy Corner on my way to school.

The moment I step inside, Alice, who is on morning shift, takes one look at me and smirks.

"You look like shit," she announces. Way too loudly.

Wow. No filter.

"Gee, thanks," I mutter, rubbing my eyes as I order my iced pumpkin chai latte—because if I'm going to suffer today, I'm at least going to have my comfort drink.

Alice hands me my cup with zero sympathy. "Long night?"

"You have no idea."

She hums. "You know, usually when someone looks this wrecked, it's because of a guy."

I almost choke on my first sip.

Alice narrows her eyes. "Wait... it is a guy, isn't it?"

"Nope," I say way too fast. Suspiciously fast. "Absolutely not."

Alice squints. I grab my drink and escape before she starts asking real questions.

I shuffle into school, gripping my pumpkin chai latte like it's my lifeline.

I'm wearing the usual—ponytail, glasses slightly slipping off my nose—but I can already tell I look worse than usual.

Which is confirmed the second I step into AP English.

Because Jack Carter is already looking at me.

He's ridiculously at ease, leaning back in his chair, completely unbothered by anything and everything. Meanwhile, I'm still trying to pretend I wasn't caught watching him at football practice yesterday.

And, you know. Trying to forget that he is annoyingly good-looking.

Unfortunately, he looks even better today.

Jack's outfit consists of a dark brown suede utility jacket with structured pockets, layered over a light beige crewneck sweater—a soft contrast to the rugged jacket. He pairs it with slim-fit khaki chinos, effortlessly pulling off an earthy, neutral-toned palette. His white high-top sneakers add a clean, modern edge, completing the whole laid-back yet unfairly attractive aesthetic.

And here I am. Barely functioning.

Aria, are you really trying to get over Jack?

Because this is not helping.

I drop into my seat and immediately flip open my notebook, pretending to study something very important.

Maybe if I look busy enough, he won't—

"Morning, Aria."

Damn it.

I glance up, only to find Jack watching me. His gaze flickers to my drink before settling back on me. And I know what he's thinking. Yes, I look like hell. Yes, I am running on caffeine. Shut up, Jack.

I clear my throat. "Morning." I take a long, deliberate sip of my drink, hoping this conversation dies before it starts.

It does not.

Jack tilts his head. "Sleep well?"

I hate how casual he sounds. Like he knows something.

Let me answer that for you, Jack. No, I did not. And it's all your fault.

I force a shrug. "Yeah. Why?"

Jack smirks. Oh no. Not the smirk. "Just wondering," he says smoothly. Too smoothly. "You seemed a little... distracted yesterday."

I stiffen. Oh my god. He's still talking about football practice. I let out an exaggerated sigh, slumping in my chair. "Are we seriously still talking about this?"

Jack's smirk does not fade. In fact, it gets worse. "I don't know, Aria." He leans forward slightly, resting his arms on the desk. "Are we?"

Oh my god. I hate him.

I am mentally picturing myself punching him in the face. Just a nice little punch.

I roll my eyes and snap my notebook open. "Let's just work on the project."

Jack chuckles under his breath—but thankfully, he lets it go.

For now.

The moment the bell rings, I'm out of my seat.

Not literally—because that would be obvious—but with purpose.

I do not want to deal with Jack.

Ms. Daniels gave us the entire class period to work on our projects, but that was a disaster.

Jack spent half of it scrolling through his phone. I spent half of it trying to stay awake. And in between those two things, he definitely noticed my moodiness.

Lack of caffeine does that to me. I get moody.

If I can just make it out of the classroom without another interaction, I can pretend this morning didn't happen.

Unfortunately, fate has other plans.

I barely take two steps into the hallway before I hear her.

"Jaaack."

Oh, for the love of—

I don't stop walking, but I don't need to turn around to know exactly what's happening.

Brooke Montgomery, resident golden girl, student body sweetheart, and Oceanview Academy's favorite It-Girl, has zeroed in on Jack Carter like a heat-seeking missile.

And because the universe is cruel, I hear everything.

"Hey, stranger." Brooke's voice is all honeyed sweetness, the kind that's dangerously practiced. "You totally ghosted me on Friday."

Jack doesn't answer immediately. I should leave. I shouldn't be paying attention. But somehow, I'm slowing down. Just a little. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to catch Jack's response. Which takes a second.

And when it finally comes—his tone is completely unreadable. "Did I?"

Oh, come on. That's it? No reaction? No apology? Nothing? Goodness, Jack, it's obvious Brooke has a crush on you. Get with her already. That's your girl.

Ick.

I don't know why I phrased it like that, but it's true. She likes him. She's right there, waiting. What's stopping him? I risk a glance over my shoulder. And instantly regret it. Brooke is standing too close.

One hand rests lightly on Jack's arm, the kind of touch that isn't casual but isn't outright clingy either. It's the kind of thing girls like Brooke do without thinking—like they know they belong in a guy's space.

She tilts her head, flashing him a perfectly executed smile. "You did," she purrs, tilting her head. "But I see you were busy with Brent and Eli."

She sighs, dramatically. "I wanted to dance with you."

Jack just shrugs. "Sorry, but it was my time with the guys."

Brooke pouts. "Awh, but babe, we would've had so much fun. If you know what I mean."

Babe? I pause mid-step. She just called him babe. And Jack didn't even correct her. Huh.

Jack huffs a small laugh. "Sorry, but it was guy time."

Brooke giggles, not letting go. "Mmm, maybe next time, then?"

Jack doesn't answer. He doesn't pull away. He doesn't encourage it, but he doesn't shut it down either. I don't know why I expected anything different.

Jack doesn't date seriously. I know that. Brooke knows that. Every girl at this school knows that. And yet, they all still try anyway. Not my problem. Definitely not my problem. I adjust my bag on my shoulder and keep walking.

But my stomach twists anyway. And I hate that. I don't even like Jack Carter.

Not anymore. So why does it feel like Brooke just stepped on something that belongs to me? I shut the thought down immediately, tightening my grip on my latte.

I have better things to do than stand here and listen to Brooke Montgomery flirt with Jack fucking Carter. And with that, I turn the corner and walk straight into my next class. Without looking back.

By the time lunch rolls around, I've successfully shoved all thoughts of Jack and Brooke out of my brain.

I need to go to the library. Actually, I need to research the ring. I haven't thought about it much—which is a complete lie—but it wouldn't hurt to dig around, right? Just a side project. Nothing serious. I head to my locker, focusing on literally anything else—like how much I hate Tuesdays, how my iced pumpkin chai latte is dangerously low, and how I have zero motivation for the rest of the day.

I'm so focused that I don't notice someone walking up beside me.

Until I hear his voice. "Thinking too hard, Morales."

Damn it. I jump slightly, barely managing to keep my drink from spilling. That was a close call. If my drink had spilled on me, I'd be screwed. Jack would've seen everything. And what then? He'd be disgusted that he got paired with a mermaid? Would he tell someone? Would I be some government experiment? Nope. Not happening.

I glance up—Jack Carter is standing there, looking entirely too amused with himself. Of course. I hate his stupid smirks. Why did I obsess over this guy freshman year? And why is he suddenly talking to me so much? I thought he hated underclassmen.

I sigh, slamming my locker shut. "Do you make it a habit to sneak up on people?"

Holy shit, am I seriously acting like this? This isn't me. I don't snap at people. I don't bring attention to myself. Okay. Definitely the caffeine withdrawal. Good. I need to get this moodiness out of my system. And if Jack is here, then he's the easiest target.

Jack leans casually against the locker next to mine. "Do you make it a habit to be this jumpy?"

I narrow my eyes. "Only when I'm being stalked."

Jack doesn't smirk this time. "If I was stalking you," he says lightly, "you wouldn't even know."

I scoff, rolling my eyes. What does that even mean?

Jack doesn't flirt the way other guys do. He's different. Detached. He doesn't chase girls. He doesn't date seriously. He lets them come to him. Then, when they start wanting more, he simply... walks away. That's his thing. And yet, here he is. Interacting with me.

Jack just shrugs, then glances at my drink. "How many of those do you have a day?"

I raise a brow. "Why do you care?"

"I don't," Jack says easily. "Just an observation."

I take a slow sip, staring at him over the rim of my cup. "Wow. Observing me now? Sounds a little stalker-ish, Carter."

Where is this confidence coming from? I don't talk to Jack Carter like this. I don't talk to anyone like this.

Jack exhales a quiet breath, something close to a laugh but not quite. "Guess we're both guilty then."

I hate that he's good at this.

I pull my bag over my shoulder. "What do you want, Jack?"

He stretches, like he has all the time in the world. "Relax. Just making conversation."

That's not him. Jack doesn't make conversation. He doesn't care. I mean, he flirts with girls, makes them fall for his charm, and then tosses them aside.Right?

Right? I sigh, turning to walk away, but Jack speaks again.

"Oh, by the way—"

I pause, glancing at him warily. "What?"

Jack tilts his head slightly. "You were there when Brooke stopped me, weren't you?"

Seriously? Why is he bringing Brooke into this? I immediately turn back to my locker and start fiddling with the combination, even though I just shut it.

"The fact she was flirting with you?" I say, forcing neutrality into my tone. "I mean, it's quite obvious she likes you. You really need to give her a chance, you know."

Jack says nothing.

I keep going. "I know you broke the last girl's heart. Maybe it's a sign that Brooke is your soulmate."

The words come out before I can stop them. Damn it. Why did I say that? Why did that feel so bitter?

Jack chuckles under his breath. "Mmhmm."

I keep my face neutral, pretending I am very busy with this extremely important locker. Jack watches me for a beat. Then—he does it.

He casually, effortlessly, just-throwing-this-out-there says, "She called me babe, you know."

I freeze. For half a second.

Then I force myself to keep fiddling with my locker like I don't care. "I mean," I say flatly. "She likes you. It's obvious—even people around us, bro."

Jack makes a thoughtful noise. "Didn't correct her either."

I don't react. I refuse to react.

Jack leans slightly closer, just enough that I feel his presence. "You think I should've?"

I swallow hard. I don't let it show. Instead, I turn to him with a polite, almost sweet smile—a practiced one. "Jack, this is your soulmate we're talking about." My tone is so fake, I almost applaud myself. "So yes, call her babe."

Jack doesn't smirk this time. His eyes flicker—just for a second. Then, his expression shifts into something else. Something... unreadable. Something I can't place. He watches me for a long second.

Then, finally—he exhales through his nose. "Mmhmm."

I hate that noise. I hate that I don't know what it means. I narrow my eyes. "Well, okay, then. Bye."

I turn and walk off. Jack doesn't stop me. But as I disappear down the hallway, I swear I can feel him still watching me.

<>
A/N: Another edited version. Please comment, vote, and feedback greatly appreciated.