Between the Lines

JACE

The silence between us is louder than any argument we've ever had.

Ava walks into class like nothing happened, hair in that usual tight ponytail, eyes fixed anywhere but me. It's stupid how I still notice the details. She doesn't even glance my way, not once. Not when the teacher hands out assignments. Not when she jokes with Emma. Not when she brushes past my desk like I don't exist.

It shouldn't bother me. It does.

I tap my pen against the desk, ignoring the smirk on Nate's face next to me. He's probably waiting for me to say something—anything—about Ava. But I don't. I can't. Because if I open my mouth, I'll say something I'll regret.

And right now, I have enough of those.

Ava's POV

I see him.

Of course I see him. He's sitting two rows away in that black hoodie he probably thinks makes him invisible. It doesn't. Nothing about Jace Collins is subtle—especially the way he keeps tapping that damn pen like he's trying to drill a hole through the desk.

I pretend not to care. I do.

We agreed to work separately. We agreed it was for the best. So why does my stomach twist every time I hear his voice behind me? Why do I keep checking my phone like maybe—just maybe—he changed his mind?

I hate that he hasn't.

Jace's POV

Ms. Caldwell asks how the project is going. I lie through my teeth.

"Great," I say. "We decided to split it up. Efficiency and all that."

She raises a brow but doesn't push. Good.

What I don't say is that I haven't written a single word since Ava walked out. That every sentence I try to start sounds forced. That half of my notes still have her handwriting in the margins, little sarcastic comments that made me laugh. That I miss her—God, I miss her.

Ava's POV

Layla says I should just talk to him. Emma agrees. They both think we're being stubborn.

They're not wrong.

But I can't. Not after the way he looked at me in the hallway. Like I'd betrayed him. Like I wasn't worth the effort anymore.

So I pour everything into my part of the project. I stay late in the library. I color-code my notes. I rehearse my presentation in front of the mirror until my voice cracks. Because if I can't fix what's broken between us, at least I can prove I don't need him.

Even if it feels like I do.

JACE'S POV

It's Friday when I see her alone on the bleachers after school, earbuds in, head down over her laptop. The late sun hits her hair just right, turning it gold.

I think about walking over. I think about saying something—anything. But what if she shuts me down again? What if we're really past fixing?

Instead, I just watch her for a minute. And for the first time all week, I admit the truth to myself:

I don't want to work separately.

I want her back.

Ava's POV

Someone's watching me. I feel it before I even look up.

It's him.

Our eyes meet for a split second before he turns away, walking off like nothing happened. But it did. Something shifted in that moment. Something small. Something that feels like the start of a crack in the wall we both built.

And maybe, just maybe… we're not done yet

---

I stared at the blank page in front of me, pen hovering uselessly in my hand. The silence, once comforting, now echoed with every unsaid word between us. There was no Jace to argue with, no sparks of challenge to push me forward, just a wide, hollow space where our chaos used to be. And I hated how much I missed it.

Because as much as I resented him—as much as I wanted to blame him for everything—we had once made a good team. Even when we fought, we balanced each other. Where I planned, he improvised. Where he challenged, I countered. Somewhere in that mess, we created something almost... good.

But maybe good wasn't enough anymore.

With a shaky breath, I pushed all of that aside. The memories, the tension, the ghost of what we used to be. I had work to do. And if I wanted to prove I didn't need Jace Collins to succeed, this project would be the first step.

I pulled my laptop closer and typed the title at the top of the document:

Renewable Energy Trends: The Future of Solar Integration in Urban Communities

And just like that, I began to write. Alone.

Even if my chest ached with every sentence.

Even if I knew that some things—some people—weren't so easy to leave behind.

Ava's POV

I stared at the blinking cursor on my laptop screen like it had personally offended me. The shared Google Doc was empty on my side—only Jace's section showed any life, and even that had slowed to a trickle. A few paragraphs. Bullet points. Cold, clinical facts. No comments. No suggestions. No effort to collaborate.

It had been over a week since we last spoke properly. Every encounter at school had been a tightrope walk—eye contact dodged, sarcastic remarks swallowed, silences stretched like taut wire between us.

A notification popped up on the corner of my screen:

Jace Collins has added a comment.

I clicked it before I could think better of it.

"We might need a more consistent citation style here. Let me know if you want to revise it together."

Polite. Neutral. It might as well have been written by a stranger.

I sighed and closed my laptop. I didn't want to revise anything together. I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to ask why he cared about citation style more than the fact that we were falling apart.

And the worst part? I wasn't even sure if "falling apart" meant the project or… something else.

---

Jace's POV

I hated this.

I wasn't sure if it was the silence between us, the awkward nods in the hallway, or the way Ava wouldn't even glance my way when we passed each other in class. Maybe it was all of it.

Ever since we agreed to work separately, something had shifted. At first, it felt like relief—no more tension, no more arguments. But now? Now it felt like distance. And I'd never realized how much I hated distance until it was Ava putting it there.

I watched the cursor hover in the doc, waiting for her reply. Nothing came.

I leaned back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. Maybe I deserved this. I'd pushed her. I'd called her stubborn. I'd made assumptions.

But I also knew we worked better together. Even when we fought, there was something electric in it. Like we were both reaching for something neither of us wanted to admit.

---

Ava's POV

"Are you okay?"

Layla's voice broke me out of my thoughts at lunch. I blinked at her and realized I hadn't touched my sandwich.

"Yeah. Just tired," I lied.

She tilted her head. "Is this about the project? Or... Jace?"

I shot her a look. She smirked.

"I knew it," she said, jabbing a fork into her salad. "You two have that weird energy. Like enemies who are about to kiss or explode."

I choked. "That's not—what even is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you care more than you're pretending to," she said softly. "And I think he does too."

I glanced across the cafeteria and spotted Jace sitting with his friends, laughing at something Ash said. But when I looked closer, I saw it—the stiffness in his shoulders, the way his eyes drifted toward my table for a split second before darting away.

We were pretending. Both of us. And I didn't know how much longer we could keep it up.

---

Jace's POV

The library was quiet except for the sound of fingers tapping on keys and pages turning. I sat alone at one of the corner tables, reviewing our presentation slides. Ava's work was good—really good. It was sharp, thoughtful, and precise.

But it lacked something.

Me.

Us.

I remembered that night at the café, before everything started crumbling. The way her voice had softened when she said my name. The way she leaned in, like maybe she was about to say something that mattered.

I missed her. And not just her writing or her part of the project. I missed her.

I closed my laptop and stood up. Enough pretending.

---

Ava's POV

The knock on my front door startled me.

I wasn't expecting anyone. My parents were out, and I was in the middle of rewriting one of my sections—something I'd already done twice.

I opened the door to find Jace standing there, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes unreadable.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," I echoed, heart thudding.

"I was... in the neighborhood."

I raised an eyebrow. "You live twenty minutes away."

He gave a half-smile. "Okay, I lied. I came here to talk. About the project. And... us."

The word us lingered in the air between us like a spark.

I stepped aside, silently letting him in.