Chapter Three: Just for Fun

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I don't do relationships.

Not after Jasmine.

Not after the way she made me feel like I finally had something real—only to turn around and pick some dude like I ain't matter. Like I was just a phase.

So now? I don't let nobody get close.

I take what I want, I dip when I'm done, and I don't look back.

Simple.

That's how I end up in the girls' bathroom between third and fourth period, pressed up against some chick whose name I barely remember.

"Jordan," she breathes, her hands gripping my blazer. "We should hang out after school."

I smirk, running my fingers through her curls. "I got plans."

She pouts. "Cancel them."

I chuckle. "Nah."

Her face drops a little, like she just now realizing I ain't gonna give her what she wants. I see it all the time—girls thinking they special, thinking they can change me.

They can't.

"You're such a fuckboy," she mutters, stepping back, fixing her skirt.

I grin. "And you knew that when you let me kiss you."

She huffs, rolling her eyes before storming out.

I exhale, running a hand down my face.

This shit getting old.

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Mother-Daughter Bonding (Or Whatever)

I come home to the smell of something burning.

I pause in the doorway, sniffing the air. "Yo, what the—?"

"In the kitchen!" Mom calls.

I groan, shutting the door behind me before making my way toward the disaster zone.

Sure enough, Mom standing over the stove, waving a dish towel at the smoke detector while something black and unrecognizable sizzles in a pan.

I lean against the counter, smirking. "Since when you cook?"

She shoots me a look. "Since now."

I raise an eyebrow.

She sighs, turning off the burner. "I wanted to make dinner. Thought we could eat together."

I snort. "Why? We got a chef."

"Because," she says, rubbing her temples, "I want us to talk. Actually spend time together."

I grab an apple from the counter, biting into it. "We talking now."

"Jordan."

I sigh, dropping the attitude for half a second. "What?"

She looks at me—really looks at me—like she trying to see past all the walls I built. "I just want to understand you."

I let out a dry laugh. "Yeah? Good luck with that."

She flinches, just barely, but I catch it.

For a split second, I feel bad.

Then I remember all the times she wasn't there. All the times she sent me off to some therapist or private school instead of actually listening to me.

She don't get to play the caring mother now.

I toss the apple core in the trash. "I'm going out."

"Jordan—"

"Don't wait up."

And just like that am gone.

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Chapter Three: Cycles (Part 2)

I end up at some girl's house that night.

I barely remember her name—Kayla? Kyra? Whatever. Don't matter.

She's cute enough, clinging to me like I'm something she been waiting for. Her bedroom dimly lit, the air thick with whatever vanilla perfume she drowning in.

"You always this quiet?" she asks, fingers running over my jaw.

I smirk. "Nah. Just thinking."

She leans in. "Thinking about what?"

I don't answer. Instead, I pull her onto my lap, kissing her like she the only thing that exists in this moment.

I don't gotta think when I'm doing this.

Don't gotta feel nothing.

And that's the point.

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Matthew's Concern

"You ever get tired of it?"

I glance at Matthew over my cigarette, blowing smoke into the afternoon air. We sitting on the back steps behind the gym, skipping lunch like we always do.

I smirk. "Tired of what?"

He gives me a look. "The way you be moving. Hooking up with girls and bouncing before they can even blink."

I chuckle. "Why, you jealous?"

He rolls his eyes. "Jordan, I'm serious."

I flick the ash off my cig. "Ain't that deep, Matt."

He exhales, rubbing his face. "Man… Josie like you, you know that, right?"

I freeze for half a second.

Then I laugh. "Josie? C'mon, bro."

"I'm not stupid. I see the way she look at you. And I see the way you look at her too, even if you think you slick."

I shake my head, grinning. "You overthinking, man."

"Nah, you running."

I suck my teeth, turning my head away. "Don't start that therapist shit."

Matthew sighs. "I just don't get why you won't let yourself be happy."

I smirk, leaning back. "Who said I ain't happy?"

He stares at me for a long minute, like he wanna say something else. But he don't.

And I'm glad.

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Therapy, Again

Mom waits until I'm halfway through my breakfast the next morning before dropping the bomb.

"I got you an appointment with a therapist," she says, sipping her coffee like she just told me the weather.

I stop chewing. "The hell you mean, 'therapist'?"

She sets her mug down. "I heard about what happened with that boy. Your first day back, and you're already fighting? You need help, Jordan."

I snort. "Help?"

She exhales like she tired. "It's just to talk. Someone to help you work through things."

I push my plate away, appetite gone. "Therapy is for white people."

"Jordan—"

"No, for real." I lean back, arms crossed. "Ain't no Black person I know sitting in some office crying about their problems. We deal with our shit."

Mom pinches the bridge of her nose. "That's not healthy."

I scoff. "And what, sitting in a chair while some old lady scribbles notes about how 'troubled' I am is?"

"At least try it."

I shake my head, standing up. "This is bullshit."

She calls after me, but I don't stop. I grab my bag, slam the door behind me, and light a cigarette as I walk down the driveway.

Ain't no way I'm sitting in some office talking about my feelings.

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Chapter Three: Cycles (Part 3)

The therapy office smell like cheap lavender candles and disappointment.

I sit in the chair, arms crossed, staring at the lady across from me. She white, just like I figured, with short blonde hair and glasses that make her look extra judgmental. Her name—Dr. Reynolds—written all fancy on a plaque on her desk.

She smiles like she trying too hard. "Jordan, it's nice to meet you."

I don't respond.

She tilts her head. "Your mom said this is your first session back in therapy. How do you feel about that?"

I exhale through my nose. "Like I wanna leave."

Her smile don't budge. "That's fair."

I shift in my seat, already impatient. "Look, let's cut to the chase. My mom paid you to fix me or whatever, but I don't need fixing."

She nods, scribbling something in her little notebook. "You don't think you need help?"

I smirk. "Nah. I think she need help for thinking this gon' change anything."

More writing. "Why do you think your mom wants you here?"

I shrug. "Probably so she don't gotta deal with me herself."

She watches me for a beat. "And how does that make you feel?"

I let out a dry laugh. "Man, I knew you was gon' say that."

She chuckles a little. "I walked right into that one, huh?"

I don't smile back. "Look, you can keep asking me how I feel, but I don't do all that emotional shit. I'm good. So let's just sit here, let the hour pass, and tell my mom I did great."

Dr. Reynolds don't look fazed. She just nods, setting her pen down. "Okay. We don't have to talk about feelings."

I blink. "Huh?"

She leans forward slightly. "We can talk about whatever you want. No pressure."

I hesitate, suspicious. "Whatever I want?"

She nods.

I smirk. "Bet. You ever smoked a blunt before?"

She just laughs, shaking her head. "Nice try."

Damn.

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Matthew's Realization

"You won't believe what I just sat through," I say, dropping onto the bleachers next to Matthew after school.

"Therapy?" he guesses.

I groan. "Nigga, yes."

He laughs, passing me his water bottle. "How bad was it?"

I take a sip. "She tried to hit me with the 'How does that make you feel?' bullshit. I almost walked out."

Matthew shakes his head. "You should actually try talking to her, though."

I side-eye him. "Whose side you on?"

"Yours," he says, looking at me serious. "But I do think you hold a lot of shit in."

I sigh, leaning back. "Whatever, man."

Matthew watches me for a second before changing the subject. "So, I been peeping something."

I raise a brow. "What?"

He hesitates, then says, "Maiesha."

I groan. "Nigga, don't say her name to me."

He chuckles. "Nah, for real. She been acting… weird."

"Weird how?"

"Like…" He rubs the back of his neck. "Like she got a thing for you or something."

I choke on my water. "What?"

"I'm deadass."

I wipe my mouth, shaking my head. "Nah, you tripping."

"Jordan, she stay looking at you. And every time your name come up, she get real defensive. Like, too much for somebody who supposedly hate you."

I smirk. "Damn, you think she wanna fuck?"

He groans. "Bro, I hate how you see everything through that lens."

I laugh, nudging his shoulder. "I mean, it would be funny. Kaleb's girl on my dick?" I shake my head. "I'd love to see his face."

Matthew sighs. "You messy as hell."

"You knew that when you met me."

We both laugh, but in the back of my mind, I think about what he said.

Maiesha? Liking me?

Yeah. That'd be wild.

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