8 Years Later

  The first day of senior year always carried a certain buzz—new shoes squeaking on linoleum, backpacks slung low, everyone pretending they weren’t anxious. But Jay Zurich sat in the middle of Room 203 like he wasn’t part of any of it, one leg stretched out, hood half up, eyes unfocused. Sunlight cut across the desks, but it never seemed to reach him. Ms. Anderson called roll with a bright voice.

  "Reggie Fields?"

  "Here."

  "Nick Swenson?"

  "Here."

  "Jasper Zurich?"

  Jay didn’t look up. “It’s Jay.”

  “Oh. Jay Zurich.” She corrected the list with a smile, as if this small courtesy mattered. “Alright, Jay. Heather?”

  But Jay wasn’t listening anymore. School felt like a long hallway he’d been forced to walk for years — pointless, slow, and nothing like the world he actually lived in. He didn’t think about the future. Didn’t believe in one.

  A staffer stepped in with a slip of paper and handed it off. Ms. Anderson walked it to his desk and set it down. Reminder: Meeting with Vice Principal Robinson — Lunch Period.

  Great, he thought to himself. Another lecture. Another adult pretending they could fix a life they never bothered to understand. Seconds after he read the note, the bell rang. He dragged himself to the meeting.

  Jay knocked twice on the office door, more out of obligation than respect. “Come in,” said Vice Principal Robinson. “Have a seat, Jasper.”

  Jay dropped into the chair, slouching low, arms crossed.

  Robinson leaned forward, fingers interlaced, the posture of a man trying to look firm but compassionate. “Jay, we need to talk. Your record is… extensive. Vandalism. Theft. Drug possession. Three trips to juvie.” He tapped the folder. “You keep going like this, you’re going to run out of chances.”

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  Jay stared at a stain on the carpet. He could feel Robinson watching him, waiting for something—remorse, maybe. Interest. Anything.

  Robinson continued, “We’ve arranged counseling, and we’d like to place you in a mentorship program designed for students like you. But it only works if you’re willing to engage. Will you let us help you?”

  Jay lifted his eyes just long enough to show he didn’t care. He was used to men like this—soft voices, softer hands, trying to talk him out of a life that none of them had ever had to survive.

  He shrugged.

  Jay didn’t name the numbness. He just lived in it. He’d learned young that numb was safer. Punches landed, people left, and numbness made it all quiet. He called it strength. Really it was survival.

  It wasn’t just that Jay avoided connection — he sabotaged it. Girls mistook his intensity for affection, and he let them because it got him what he wanted. They flitted in and out of his life like shadows at night.

  None stuck.

  Not even Christy.

  Jay sat on the edge of the bed, pulling up his jeans. The mattress sagged in the middle and squeaked every time he moved. Posters curled off the walls, edges browned from age and smoke.

  Christy reached behind her back to clasp her bra, the butterfly on her neck flexing with her jaw.

  “Who’s Jessica?” she demanded, eyes sharp.

  “Nobody. Just drop it.” Jay picked at a loose thread on the sheet.

  “Your phone lit up all night.” Her voice was muffled in the cotton as she yanked the shirt down.

  His face went hard. “It’s none of your business. I told you, we’re not—”

  She snatched the phone off the nightstand. “We’re not what? Go on. Say it—exclusive? Bullshit, Jay.” Her thumbs flew. “Jessica Reece from third period?” She read aloud, mocking: “‘Can’t wait to see you after school again.’”

  “It’s not like that,” he snapped, heat finally breaking through the numbness.

  “You’re such a liar.”

  He stood and stepped in close, lowering his voice until it sounded almost gentle. “I love you. You know that.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, sealing the lie. She went quiet.

  She hesitated, like she almost didn’t believe him, but then she sagged a little. The fight leaked out of her shoulders.

  “Are you going to meet her tonight?” she asked quietly.

  “Nah,” he lied easily. “I’m not seeing her. Don’t worry.”

  “Will you call me when you get home?”

  “I’ll call you later, Christy.”

  He never had any intention of calling.

  All night, his phone buzzed with texts from Christy.

  R u there?

  Did I do something?

  Y won’t u answer me!!!?

  He flipped it face down and let it vibrate itself to death on the dresser.