Noah's POV
The final bell rings and I gather my things, my mind still stuck in that hotel room three days ago.
Three days of Lena avoiding me, refusing eye contact, acting like I'm invisible.
Maybe I deserve it. Maybe we both do, Evan and me, for thinking we could fix her problems and convincing ourselves it was about feelings instead of guilt.
I'm heading toward the parking lot to meet Evan when I see her. Lena's walking toward me, head down, books clutched to her chest like armor.
My feet stop moving, and for a moment I think maybe this time will be different.
Our eyes meet.
For half a second, there's recognition, something like pain or anger flickering across her face.
Then she drops her gaze and walks past me like I'm nothing, like we didn't spend that night tangled together, like I didn't tell her I liked her and mean it. I stand there watching her disappear into the crowd.
Did we do the right thing? The question has been eating at me for days.
We thought we were protecting her, saving her from some stranger who might hurt her.
But maybe we just hurt her differently. Maybe we took away her choice by making it about us, about our need to be heroes.
I find myself following her, trying to figure out when I can approach without an audience. She heads to the cafeteria, finds a corner table, and pulls out her phone.
Perfect.
I cross the cafeteria and slide into the seat next to her. The moment I do, before I can even say her name, she stands up.
She doesn't even look at me or acknowledge me. She just gathers her phone and bag and walks out like I'm something she needs to escape.
I sit there alone and let out a long breath. Fine.
Message received.
She doesn't want to talk, doesn't want my apologies, doesn't want anything to do with me. I should give up. Let her move on, go to her college with her money, and forget we existed.
But I can't stop thinking about the first time I really noticed her. Sophomore year, late October, after practice when I was cutting through the arts building.
Shouting came from around the corner, cruel laughter that means someone's getting hurt. I turned the corner and saw Lena Hart standing between three seniors and a skinny freshman kid who looked ready to cry.
She said he was sorry and told them to leave him alone, her voice steady despite being outnumbered.
One of the seniors, Wheeler, stepped closer, using his size to intimidate.
He asked what she was going to do about it, calling her charity case. But Lena didn't flinch. She stood her ground, chin up, and stared him down until Wheeler backed off, muttering it wasn't worth it. The freshman ran, and Lena walked away like she had just done the most normal thing in the world.
I've loved her quietly ever since. Watching her in classes, noticing how she raises her hand even when people roll their eyes, how she helps other students without making them feel stupid.
But I never knew how to approach someone so self-contained, someone who seemed complete without needing anyone else.
The memory fades as I push through the cafeteria doors. I'm almost to the parking lot when I hear Trent Lawson's voice.
“There's the scholarship slut,” he says. “How much did you charge for that college fund?”
My blood goes cold. I turn the corner and see Lena frozen while Trent circles her.
I'm moving before I finish processing the words, closing the distance in four strides. My fist connects with Trent's jaw with a satisfying crack.
“I told you to stop bullying her.” My voice is low and dangerous. I told him months ago. He didn't listen.
Trent recovers, his hand going to his jaw, eyes widening. He's squaring up, fists coming up, and I'm ready for it.
But Lena steps between us, and she's not facing Trent. She's facing me, and the look on her face isn't gratitude.
It's fury.
“Leave.” Her voice is shaking but firm.
“What?!” I can't help but blurt out.
“Stop rescuing me like I'm helpless," she says. “I don't need you to fight my battles.”
The words land like a punch to my gut.
Behind her, Trent's face splits into a smirk, victorious despite the blood on his lip.
“Yeah Mercer,” he says. “She doesn't need you.”
The hallway fills with people now, phones coming out, voices rising. But there's no fight. Just me, standing like an idiot, and Lena looking at me like I'm part of the problem.
I drop my hands, take a step back.
“I was trying to help,” I mutter softly, hating how defensive I sound.
“I didn't ask for help,” She retorts immediately, her eyes bright with unshed tears and anger. “When are you going to understand that?”
I look at her for one more second, trying to find something to say that won't make this worse.
Nothing comes.
So I turn and walk away, past the gathering crowd, past their phones, past Evan who's appeared looking confused.
I don't stop until I'm in the parking lot, hands shaking, heart pounding, wondering when trying to do the right thing became so complicated.