so I was a little flustered when Mrs. Stone asked about my paper in her room after school.
“Do you have the theme of your thesis picked out, Miss Beckett?” she said as she took the seat in front of me.
Jack leaned closer. It was crazy how any movement from him sent shivers down my spine.
“Yes,” I said.
“What have you decided on? Modern-day parable, or modern-day myth?”
“I decided to write a myth.”
“Have you figured out a topic? A moral conundrum?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
I heard Jack’s chair creak.
“It’s about how there’s no such thing as redemption,” I whispered. “How you deserve what you get, and no higher power can save you.”
Mrs. Stone didn’t answer immediately. The only sound in the room came from my own breathing. “What about heroes?”
I hunched over and scribbled a few lines on my notebook. “There are no heroes.” Sure, it wasn’t an optimistic paper, but it was the only thing I could write passionately about.
She was quiet for a moment again. When she spoke, her voice was gentle. “Okay. I’m excited to see what you put together.”
I nodded.
“And, Mr. Caputo? Everything going well with the personal essay?”
I could only assume he nodded, because Mrs. Stone returned to the front of the classroom. My right hand started to tremble, and I clenched my pencil and began scribbling.
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Jack’s voice was soft.
I lifted my head, allowing my eyes to meet his for the first time in weeks. “It doesn’t matter what I believe.” I looked down at my notebook.
“Wait,” he said.
I turned back. “What?”
He shrugged, then spoke in a low murmur. “Just stop hiding behind your hair for a minute.”
I closed my eyes, but I didn’t turn away. “You’re making things difficult, Jack Caputo,” I whispered.
“At least you remember my name.”
I remembered everything. The first time he called me his girlfriend. The first time he told me he loved me. The first time I started to question whether or not I’d be able to hold on to him. The first time I knew I had to come back to see him again, at whatever cost.
LAST YEAR
January. Two months before the Feed.
I was Jack’s and he was mine. I was getting used to the idea.
“Three whole months, Becks. You’ve been with Jack Caputo for three whole months,” Jules said to me in between bites of her turkey sandwich. “What are you doing to celebrate?”
“I don’t know,” I said, tracing the wood grains of the cafeteria table with my finger. “I don’t think Jack’s the type who keeps track of anniversaries. Besides, three months isn’t exactly a long time.”
Jules flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Are you kidding? He’s never admitted to having a girlfriend before you, so three months is like fifty years in Jack Caputo years.”
I rolled my eyes. “So now we’re counting in dog years?”
Jules gave me a knowing look, and we both giggled. “So, Becks, is tonight … the night?”
She paused, and I caught her meaning. “No!” My cheeks flushed, and I lowered my voice. “No. No, nothing like that has … no.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Don’t hold out on me. It’s Jack Caputo.”
“Stop saying his first and last name, like he’s some sort of god.”
“He is. At least in this school. And mythological beings like him need the physical pleasures of—”
“Stop!” I said, cutting her off. “I’m not talking about this anymore.”
She gave me a disappointed look. “Fine. Just promise you’ll tell me everything.”
“I promise.”
After lunch, I took the route that would lead me past Jack’s locker. When I turned the corner, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Jack was leaning back against his locker, his head resting on the metal, his eyes squeezed shut. His face was tense. But that’s not the reason I stopped.
Lacey Greene was standing right by him, close, leaning her shoulder against the locker next to his and talking
“Do you have the theme of your thesis picked out, Miss Beckett?” she said as she took the seat in front of me.
Jack leaned closer. It was crazy how any movement from him sent shivers down my spine.
“Yes,” I said.
“What have you decided on? Modern-day parable, or modern-day myth?”
“I decided to write a myth.”
“Have you figured out a topic? A moral conundrum?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
I heard Jack’s chair creak.
“It’s about how there’s no such thing as redemption,” I whispered. “How you deserve what you get, and no higher power can save you.”
Mrs. Stone didn’t answer immediately. The only sound in the room came from my own breathing. “What about heroes?”
I hunched over and scribbled a few lines on my notebook. “There are no heroes.” Sure, it wasn’t an optimistic paper, but it was the only thing I could write passionately about.
She was quiet for a moment again. When she spoke, her voice was gentle. “Okay. I’m excited to see what you put together.”
I nodded.
“And, Mr. Caputo? Everything going well with the personal essay?”
I could only assume he nodded, because Mrs. Stone returned to the front of the classroom. My right hand started to tremble, and I clenched my pencil and began scribbling.
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Jack’s voice was soft.
I lifted my head, allowing my eyes to meet his for the first time in weeks. “It doesn’t matter what I believe.” I looked down at my notebook.
“Wait,” he said.
I turned back. “What?”
He shrugged, then spoke in a low murmur. “Just stop hiding behind your hair for a minute.”
I closed my eyes, but I didn’t turn away. “You’re making things difficult, Jack Caputo,” I whispered.
“At least you remember my name.”
I remembered everything. The first time he called me his girlfriend. The first time he told me he loved me. The first time I started to question whether or not I’d be able to hold on to him. The first time I knew I had to come back to see him again, at whatever cost.
LAST YEAR
January. Two months before the Feed.
I was Jack’s and he was mine. I was getting used to the idea.
“Three whole months, Becks. You’ve been with Jack Caputo for three whole months,” Jules said to me in between bites of her turkey sandwich. “What are you doing to celebrate?”
“I don’t know,” I said, tracing the wood grains of the cafeteria table with my finger. “I don’t think Jack’s the type who keeps track of anniversaries. Besides, three months isn’t exactly a long time.”
Jules flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Are you kidding? He’s never admitted to having a girlfriend before you, so three months is like fifty years in Jack Caputo years.”
I rolled my eyes. “So now we’re counting in dog years?”
Jules gave me a knowing look, and we both giggled. “So, Becks, is tonight … the night?”
She paused, and I caught her meaning. “No!” My cheeks flushed, and I lowered my voice. “No. No, nothing like that has … no.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Don’t hold out on me. It’s Jack Caputo.”
“Stop saying his first and last name, like he’s some sort of god.”
“He is. At least in this school. And mythological beings like him need the physical pleasures of—”
“Stop!” I said, cutting her off. “I’m not talking about this anymore.”
She gave me a disappointed look. “Fine. Just promise you’ll tell me everything.”
“I promise.”
After lunch, I took the route that would lead me past Jack’s locker. When I turned the corner, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Jack was leaning back against his locker, his head resting on the metal, his eyes squeezed shut. His face was tense. But that’s not the reason I stopped.
Lacey Greene was standing right by him, close, leaning her shoulder against the locker next to his and talking
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