Five

I get a message the next morning from an unknown number. My phone lights up on my dresser, and I squint to read the words. Rolling over and tangling my body with the bedspread, I blink several times to clear my vision, and then, I pick up the phone to read what it says.

Jake's stable. He's still at the hospital.

I frown, massaging my temple. What the hell?

Last night's memories come back in a whirlwind, and I read the message again, this time my brain unfogged. I unlock my phone, typing in a response.

Is this Nash?

Yeah. His answer is short.

What happened yesterday? I dare type.

He doesn't reply. I groan, falling back on the pillow. My head tilts to the side, and I stare out the window, a beam of sun blazing through the window, warming up my room. I sit up, trying aside my covers, the cool air chilling my bare legs from where my pyjama pants rolled up.

"Carey! Breakfast!" Mum calls me seconds later when I'm washing my face.

I do my usual routine of brushing my teeth, my hair and then take a shower, and apply some skincare. I don't bother with makeup, just moisturiser and lip balm for my winter-caused chapped lips. I rifle through my small closet, digging for something casual and comfortable. Whilst I wasn't big on makeup or jewellery, I took pride in dressing well, I liked wearing nice clothes.

Today seemed like a nice day for a powder blue sweater that hung off one shoulder, and I pair it with dark denim jeans. I tug on black boots that reach my knees, and then I pull up my hair into a neat ponytail. I was lucky not to worry about straighteners. Backpack on my shoulder, headphones around my neck, I leave my room with my phone in hand.

**

School is abuzz with gossip this morning, everyone talking about last night's party at Ralph's house. The first one for the semester, and it was a big one. Like most of the big parties, the invitation was open to all who knew about it, but I didn't think twice about not going. I'd already learnt my lesson. Plus, my mother was Asian and being strict was part of her genetic makeup.

At the beginning of the school year, I'd gone to one of Beatrice White's parties (a girl from the cheer team who invited me), and it was the least fun I'd had in ages. I didn't drink, I didn't like loud music or dancing, and I wasn't a fan of small talk. I was picky like that, and from then onward, I skipped attending parties. People who enjoyed that sort of thing should go for it, but I wasn't one of them.

Every junior I pass mentions the chandelier breaking incident at Ralph's house, but not a soul seems interested in what happened to Jake and why he's absent from school today. Perhaps they assumed he had a massive hungover, most of the kids in the class were complaining about that. But he didn't attend and so the thought of Jake still bothers me.

I know for one, Nash did go to the party. I heard the party music in the background when I called him last night on Jake's phone and the chandelier crashing. Ralph's voice blasted through the phone. Nash appeared to have hungover as well, dark circles bruised his eyes, and he looked sleepy, his shoulders hunched – but I think that's just from sleep deprivation. His best friend is in the hospital, it must've been hard to get sleep after that.

I pick up my books for first period and head to the class. At the entrance, I see Nash and Clarissa huddled to one side, by some of the lockers, talking in hushed voices. Clarissa is talking rapidly, angrily almost as she frowns at Nash, her words coming out in a whirlwind fury. Nash is much calmer, as usual, his arms crossed as he leans on one of the locker doors. He barely looks like he's listening to Clarissa but merely waiting for the bell to ring.

"Why won't Jake answer his phone? Don't tell me something happened at the track," Clarissa is saying when I pass them, frustration and annoyance lacing her voice. "I could've sworn I told you, Nash, not to –"

"I waited for Jake at Ralph's House. He's the only reason I went," Nash interrupts.

"You should've been with him."

"I'm not having this conversation with you again," Nash replies evenly. "Class is about to start, I don't want to be late."

I hurry passed them and get to my seat before they can realise, I was listening. Mr Jenkins is already in when I get to my place right in the back of the class, next to the window, writing out notes on French verbs. Clarissa ends up sitting in front of me, next to Rosa and then, to worsen matters, Nash pulls out the chair next to me and causally sits down. As if this is an everyday occurrence.

I try to catch his eye, but he refuses to look at me, his gaze forward, chair tipped back so it leans against the wall. Clarissa too, seems bothered by Nash's unannounced presence, so when Mr Jenkins turns his attention away, Clarissa is quick to look over her shoulder and shoot Nash an irritated glare. In retaliation, he gives her a flat look, but a muscle in his jaw ticks.

"Who can give me the answer to this question?" Mr Jenkins announces, and Clarissa turns to the front, irritation seeping around her.

"Hi," I deadpan, raising a brow at Nash expectantly.

His voice is the same, low tone as my own when he replies, yet it comes out so much huskier. "Hey."

"You didn't reply to my text," I say without preamble. We both know what I'm talking about.

"I did. You asked if I sent the text, and I said yes."

"And then I asked what happened yesterday."

Nash, to my chagrin, does not reply much like his fucking text message.

He drawls out a long sigh. "It's over Carey."

"What the fuck is it?" I duck my head so Mr Jenkins can't see me.

Nash gives me a sideways glance. "You're really that concerned for Jake?"

From my periphery, Clarissa looks over at the two of us, confusion etched on her face.

"Not like that," my voice is a snarl and I lower it to a whisper. "What happened to him was terrible. That pain shouldn't be inflicted on anyone."

"So you'd be just as concerned if someone else was that badly injured?"

"Yes."

I'm affronted by Nash's question. Of course, I'd be worried if another kid I knew was left beaten up on the sidewalk. What happened to Jake shouldn't happen to anybody – I meant what I said to Nash. It has nothing to do with who Jake is. Or if I have feelings for him (which I don't). It's just that it's Jake for crying out loud! The nicest, friendliest guy in school. I can't imagine him having enemies to that degree.

"Even me?" He asks genuinely.

I frown. "Of course. Why would I be okay with that happening to you, Nash?"

Nash studies me for a moment and the blazing fire, that fight in his stance and his eyes, slithers out. His shoulder sag and his gaze softens, and I know that I've won him over. A feeling of warmth stirs in my chest, like basking in the first of summer's sun. I scold my heart for beating harder against my ribcage.

"Okay," he says, at last, turning forward.

"Okay?" I repeat.

He hesitates for a moment. "I can't ... I can't tell you much Carey. Jake's involved in something dangerous but that's his secret to tell. But just so you know – he is okay. Don't worry about him, he knows what he's doing."

I nod, understanding dawning on me. That's a fair enough answer, though I wished he'd told me a hell lot sooner. So Jake is involved in something he shouldn't be doing. Fighting maybe? Seemed likely given the violent aftermath I'd seen first-hand. Whatever it was, Jake shouldn't be doing it. But that was up to him and Nash to sort out. I wasn't going to get involved.

"And you?" I end up asking Nash instead.

"What about me?"

"Do you know what you're doing?"

He doesn't meet my gaze. "For Jake's sake, I hope I do."

Before I can say something, there's an announcement over the intercom.

" Nash Cooper please report to the principal's office with your bag."

I cast him a look and he only shrugs. But the lack of shock tells me Nash already knew he was going home early. That and the fact that he had no books open on his table or pencil in his hand. He simply slings his bag over his shoulder and strides out of class coolly. The bell rings a minute later.

Mr Jenkins dismisses us with the promise of an upcoming assignment (a promise or a threat?) and as I'm about to leave, Clarissa faces me expectantly.

"Carey, can we speak for a minute?" She taps her perfectly manicured lavender nails against my table.

"Sure," I pack up my bag quickly and Clarissa starts walking. I follow behind.

"You were speaking to Nash, about Jake?" She asks, and when I nod, she goes on. "How did you know what happened to him?"

There's not a hint of venom in her voice, just pure curiosity.

"I found him," my answer is honest. "And then I called Nash to pick him up."

"Any idea which hospital he went to?"

"No clue," I shake my head. "Nash refuses to tell me anything."

Clarissa purses her lips. "Well, that makes two of us. Every time I try to talk to Nash he runs away."

"Did you try phoning him?"

"I would if I had his number."

"I have it," the words slip from my mouth before I can realise what I said.

Clarissa's big brown eyes widen in surprise. "Wow. He must really like you."

"Who Nash?" Heat creeps up my neck, colouring my cheeks. "Nah. He just feels he owes me."

"Still," Clarissa takes my phone to enter his digits. "Nash is super closed off. He doesn't give his details to anyone."

"Like I said, I did him a favour," she hands me back my phone and I tuck it in my jeans pocket.

"I hope you don't mind, I saved your number as well," Clarissa says as if it was an obvious thing to do.

I'm surprised by that. "Not a problem."