Jack's house is the most beautiful house that I've ever seen. It's a massive stone mansion that sits on acres and acres of land.

On the way over here, I had asked Jack what his house is like. He tried to be modest and tell me that it's like every other house in Connecticut, but I kept poking him until he fessed up. Next thing I know, he's telling me that his house has a wine cellar and a spa.

We don't go inside, though. Jack takes me to the backyard instead.

"Just a few more steps," he says as we pass the pool and the tennis court.

"Jack, where are you tak-"

"Ta-da," he exclaims, reaching his hand out and pointing to a treehouse.

My eyes look up as they take in the wooden stairs that lead to a little wooden home. "Woah. Did you build this?"

"Nah. My mom hired some guy. But I did decorate the inside. Wanna see?"

"Uh. Yeah," I state matter-of-factly.

Jack holds my hand as my feet hit each step, and I let go when I make it closer to the top. I hear Jack coming up the stairs, but to be honest with you, the interior of this treehouse holds the majority of my attention.

It's magical.

It's pretty dark inside, but that's only because the lanterns that are placed down on the floor aren't turned on right now. There's a bunch of beanie bags spread across a plaid rug, as well as a hammock that hangs from one side of the wall to the other.

What really captures my attention, though, is the bookshelves that surround a wide ledge to sit on and a window to look out of.

"Welcome to my safe haven," Jack says.

"This is...," I begin to say as I circle my body around the treehouse, "...amazing."

"It's pretty neat, isn't it?"

"It's incredible."

"This is the first time I've been up here in a while."

"How long have you had it for?"

"Since I was 6. I'd come up here after school and just read. Sometimes I'd write, too. My house was pretty loud so this was my quiet place, you know?"

"I love it."

Jack turns to me and then says with a shrug, "Figured I'd show you a piece of me."

"I'm honored. Truly."

I walk over to one of the bookshelves and pull out Ernest Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea.

"Read that one when I was 11," Jack says as I flip through the book, finding highlighted passages, notes, and bookmarked pages. "The highlights are my favorite quotes. The bookmarked pages are my favorite moments."

"Now is no time to think of what you do not have. Think of what you can do with that there is," I read one of the highlighted passages. "Wow, that's beautiful."

"One of my favorite quotes to this day."

I smile at Jack, then softly close the book and place it back in its spot on the shelf.

I walk over to him and he watches me with a serious smile. "Thank you for sharing this with me," I tell him.

"I wouldn't do it with just anyone," he tells me back.

***

Track tryouts are today and I decided that I'm going to give it a go, especially since my work at the library ends in November, and I want to build my application to Dartmouth up as much as I can.

The track field happens to be right next to where the lacrosse team practices, and part of me is excited about the fact that I may run into Jack. The other part is definitely nervous. Mainly because Henry's trying out for the men's track team, so he's near, too. And it's safe to say that he and Jack don't like each other.

"Track? I'm impressed," Henry says, making his way over to me with his hands on his hips. He's dressed in mesh shorts and a Sinclair Prep gray t-shirt.

"I can say the same for you," I grin.

"What can I say? I love to run. It's my favorite way to clear my head."

"There's nothing better."

He smiles at me and then says, "I bet I can outrun you. To the end of the field and back."

I squint my eyes at him and say, "You sure about that?"

"Mhm."

"Fine. You're on."

We take our starting positions and Henry calls out, "On the count of 3. 1, 2, 3..."

Henry doesn't take it easy on me from the beginning. He's a really fast runner. Definitely faster than me. But I'm just as strong. For most of the run, our pace is in tandem, but toward the end, I get more breathless, and he ends up winning.

"You won?" I bafflingly state, but pose it as more of a question.

"You look shocked."

"I am. I was pretty confident you were going to let me win."

"I'll let you in on a little secret, Stassie," he says, beckoning me closer with his hand. "I never lose."

"Is that so?"

"Mhm."

"So, you're the competitive type?"

"Oh. Very."

"Well, that's going to change. Because...so am I."

I happen to glance across the field and see Jack looking at me and Henry. He doesn't seem too happy; a scowled expression on his face. He keeps his eyes on me for a few seconds longer before nodding his head and walking his feet backward until he gets to his teammates.

I'm fully aware that he and Henry aren't each other's biggest fans, but I also know that I didn't do anything wrong by talking to Henry. That's why I don't let the sight bother me for the rest of practice and make sure to stay focused on tryouts.

Coach Rhys makes an exception and lets us leave early for the day, which just so happens to work out perfectly because the lacrosse team finishes their practice at the same time. I spot Jack walking with Rafe and Johnny, so I run over to him from behind and playfully push his shoulder with my hand.

"Hey!" I say.

"Hey," he says back, followed by nothing else.

"What's up?"

"Nothing," he shrugs, continuing to walk and talk with his friends as if I'm not there.

Rafe and Johnny must notice that I'm trying to get Jack's attention because Johnny says, "Yo, J, we'll meet you at the car." Jack just nods at him and then looks back at me, hiking his dufflebag up on his shoulder.

"What's with the one-word responses?" I ask Jack once they've walked away.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what's going on with you?"

"Nothing's going on."

"Is something wrong?"

"Geez, why are you pushing me?"

"I'm not pushing you. I just asked a question." He looks ahead and I watch him suck his cheeks in. "Are you mad that I was talking to Henry or something?"

"Why would I be mad? Talk to whoever you want to talk to. It's not like I give a shit."

My forehead creases together as it tries to figure out who I'm speaking to because it sure as hell isn't the same guy who almost kissed me the other day. It sure as hell isn't the same guy who took me to the treehouse.

"Why are you being like this?" I ask him, completely and utterly confused.

"Like what?"

"Like this. Like an asshole."

"Oh, so now I'm back to being an asshole? You know, I didn't take you to be such a flirt. But, hey, I should've known, right? Good girls are never what they seem."

"A flirt?" I repeat in an exasperated tone. "Suddenly I'm a flirt because I'm talking to a guy who isn't you?" He doesn't say anything nor does he look at me. Instead, he looks ahead and past my shoulder. "What do you want, Jack?"

My question gets him to finally make eye contact with me, but his scowled expression remains on his face. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean from me? What do you want from me?" He swallows as we both look at each other, and then a few seconds fade until he finally says:

"From you?" He shakes his head as his bottom lip covers his top one. "Nothing."

"You're lying."

"No. I'm not. I told you from the beginning...there's a world that divides us." And just like that, he pushes past my shoulder and walks over to his friends.