---
There was a storm rolling in.
Not a literal one—not yet—but the kind you felt behind your ribs before the clouds even gathered. Lena sensed it Monday morning when she walked through the double doors of Jefferson High and realized something had shifted again.
Not between her and Jace.
That felt steadier now, like a rhythm they were slowly learning to trust.
No—the shift came from everywhere *else*.
Whispers. Pauses. A glance too long in the hallway from girls she didn't usually talk to. A double-take from Ryan Spencer, who barely remembered her name last semester. The energy was different, like something about her was being noticed—and not all of it was welcome.
At first, she couldn't figure out why.
Until third period.
She slid into her desk in Lit just as the bell rang. Jace was already there, twirling a pen between his fingers, eyes fixed on his notebook like he was trying not to look at her.
She gave him a small nod. He didn't return it.
Weird.
Then Mr. Holden walked in, dropped a stack of printed pages on his desk, and announced, "Class, before we dive into *The Bell Jar*, I've got something interesting for you."
Half the class groaned. Lena didn't move.
Holden lifted a paper and waved it in the air. "One of you made the school's Spring Exhibition feature. Mural submission. Chosen as the visual centerpiece for the art wing's theme this year."
Lena's stomach dropped.
"Miss Carter, stand up."
Jace's head snapped toward her.
So did everyone else's.
She stood, throat tight.
Mr. Holden smiled. "Congratulations. The committee said your work was 'raw and stunning.' It'll be posted in the district newsletter and featured in next month's parent showcase. Nicely done."
A few claps. A few half-hearted congratulations.
And behind them all, whispers already starting.
Lena sat back down slowly, heart pounding.
She glanced sideways at Jace.
He was watching her. His expression unreadable.
---
By lunch, the whispers had turned into questions.
"Wait, *Lena* Carter? *That* mural?"
"She's the one Jace hangs with now, right?"
"Didn't they hate each other last year?"
Lena had always lived in the margins of the school social scene. Not invisible—but not visible, either. Now, suddenly, her name was in people's mouths for a reason she hadn't chosen, and it made her stomach twist.
She found Maddie near the vending machines.
"Please tell me I don't look like I want to crawl into a hole," Lena muttered.
Maddie raised a brow. "You look like someone who just became a school-level icon and doesn't know how to deal with it. Which is fair."
Lena sighed.
Maddie offered a quiet grin. "You earned this, Lena. Don't let the noise shrink it."
---
Jace found her after school.
She was sketching alone in the back courtyard behind the art building, knees tucked up, headphones in. She didn't hear him until his shadow crossed her page.
She looked up, startled.
"Hey," he said softly.
"Hey."
He sat beside her without asking, stretching his legs out in front of him.
"You didn't say anything in Lit," she said, voice low.
"I didn't know if you wanted attention drawn to it," he replied. "You looked like you wanted the floor to open up."
She smirked. "It did. It just didn't swallow me fast enough."
Silence stretched between them. She didn't mind it. He didn't seem to either.
Finally, he asked, "Do you want me to back off for a bit?"
"What?"
"If it's getting weird," he said, "the rumors, the attention. I know how people get."
She stared at him, startled.
Then: "No. I don't want you to back off."
He looked over, cautious hope behind his eyes.
"I want people to know," she added, "that you're… part of my story now."
He swallowed. "Good. Because I don't really want to go anywhere."
---
Later that night, Lena opened her texts to find a photo from Jace.
It was of the courtyard wall, her mural lit by the setting sun. But he'd drawn a small figure sitting under the tree she'd painted—a girl with a ponytail, sketchbook in her lap.
*You.*
That was all the text said.
Lena stared at it for a long time, heart aching in the best way.
She replied:
*Why am I alone in the drawing?*
His answer came back a minute later.
*Because the next frame is me walking up to sit beside you. Haven't drawn that part yet.*
---
*The Space Between (Part 3)**
The next morning, Lena walked into school with her head held higher than usual. Not out of confidence—exactly—but out of choice.
There would be whispers. There would be eyes. But there would also be her.
And her art.
And Jace.
He was leaning against her locker when she got there.
"Morning," he said.
She gave him a look. "You're standing exactly in front of my locker."
"Oh?" He feigned confusion. "How strange. I must've just been casually leaning here with no idea that it belonged to you."
She fought a smile as she opened her locker. "You're annoying."
He shrugged. "You bring it out in me."
She paused, glancing at him. "Why do I feel like that's your version of a compliment?"
He didn't say anything for a second. Then he reached into his bag and handed her a folded sheet of notebook paper.
She looked down. Then back at him.
"Open it later," he said quickly. "Or don't. It's not a big deal."
"Okay…?"
Then he was walking away, that same quiet smirk tugging at his face like he already knew she'd read it the second he turned the corner.
He wasn't wrong.
---
She waited until lunch, retreating to the corner of the library by the windows. The note was folded once, neat. His handwriting was sharp, a little slanted, like someone who wrote quickly but cared enough to make it readable.
It read:
---
**You asked why I didn't draw myself into the picture.**
It's because I'm not used to being in someone's story. Not really. I'm usually the guy people write off early—trouble, drama, whatever label's easiest. So when I saw that mural of yours…
I didn't want to mess it up by showing up in the middle of it.
But then I remembered something.
You're the one who drew it.
So maybe, if you're okay with it, I'd like to start showing up.
Not in the background. Not after the fact.
But there—next to you.
If you'll let me.
—J
---
She read it twice.
Then a third time.
And then she pressed the page to her chest, just for a second, grounding herself with the weight of the words.
---
Friday brought the first real test.
The art showcase was set for that evening, and her mural was front and center. Students, parents, teachers—all would be there. Lena had never presented in front of more than a small class before, and the idea of standing in a gallery room while people whispered about her work made her insides twist.
She nearly backed out.
She told Maddie so while they were waiting in the gym for the last bell to ring.
"You can't," Maddie said flatly. "You've worked too hard."
Lena stared down at her shoes. "I don't want to stand there and feel like a fraud."
"You're not."
"What if people think I'm only getting noticed because—"
"Because of Jace?" Maddie asked. "Because you talk to someone who's visible, suddenly *you* don't get to be proud of what *you* did?"
Lena didn't respond.
Maddie leaned in, her voice soft. "Lena, you're the one who put your soul into that wall. Not him. Not anyone else. You earned this moment. Don't hand it away because you're scared of people who wouldn't last a day inside your skin."
It was exactly what Lena needed to hear.
But it still didn't quiet the noise in her head completely.
---
The gallery was full by the time she arrived.
People stood in small clusters, talking and pointing at student art displayed on easels and walls. Her mural was lit from above, tall and quiet and glowing with gold undertones that came alive under the lights.
Jace was already there.
He caught her eye across the room. No wave. No smile. Just a look—a steady one that grounded her better than air.
She walked over slowly.
"Did you come early?" she asked.
"Had to make sure they didn't hang it upside down," he said dryly.
She rolled her eyes but smiled.
He looked at her. Really looked at her.
"You okay?"
"I'm here," she said. "That's something."
"It's everything."
---
People came by and complimented her. Some awkwardly. Some genuinely. A few teachers patted her shoulder with surprised expressions that felt equal parts pride and confusion.
None of it stuck. Not like Jace's presence beside her. He didn't say much. Didn't need to. Just stood close enough that his arm brushed hers sometimes. Close enough that she remembered she wasn't alone in the space she used to feel invisible in.
Near the end of the night, she looked at him.
"You were wrong, you know," she said softly.
"About what?"
"You said you're not used to being in someone's story."
He raised a brow. "Yeah?"
"You've always been in mine."
He blinked. "Even when we hated each other?"
She smiled. "Especially then. You were the first person who challenged me. Made me want to be seen. Made me want to prove something."
He was quiet for a second.
"Same," he said finally. "Only—I think I was trying to prove something *to* you."
They stood there like that, the room around them fading to background noise.
It wasn't a confession.
Not yet.
But it was the space before one.
And it was enough.
---
That night, Lena lay in bed with the paper he'd given her tucked safely into her sketchbook. Her fingers traced the edge of the mural photo still saved on her phone—the tree, the girl under it, and the knowledge that someone out there was waiting to draw the next frame.
Not rushing. Not forcing.
Just… waiting to be let in.
And for once in her life, she was ready.
---