The Pages Within [BxB]

Journal

I didn't think he'd actually read it. Or maybe I hoped he wouldn't. Professors get stacks of assignments all the time, right? Who really goes through every page, every word, of every journal? But as I sit in the back of English class, pretending to focus, I feel Professor Walters' eyes on me. It's subtle—just a glance every now and then—but it's enough to make my skin prickle with anxiety.

I'm not imagining it. Something's up. He's read my journal. And now, he wants to talk. He told me at the end of class, casually, like it was no big deal, that I should stop by his office. But I know better. I know what's coming. My gut twists, and already, I feel panic creeping in.

The clock inches toward the end of class, but time feels slower, dragging out my dread. My leg bounces uncontrollably under the desk, and I try to listen to the lecture, but Walters' words fade into background noise. My thoughts are louder, more invasive. They circle around the journal. The things I wrote in there. The things that should've stayed buried.

And now, he's read them.

Jason.

I shouldn't care this much—it was just an assignment, right? We were supposed to write whatever was on our minds. But this feels different. It feels like Walters has seen something he wasn't supposed to. Something too personal, too raw.

The bell finally rings, and I grab my bag, eager to escape. But as I'm about to blend into the crowd, slip out unnoticed, I feel Walters' eyes on me again. A subtle nod. A reminder that I'm not getting out of this. I can't avoid it.

I walk across campus, my mind buzzing as I head to his office. Each step is heavy, weighted with dread. The crisp fall air nips at my skin, but it does nothing to calm the storm building in my chest. It's one of those perfect autumn days, the sky bright and clear, the leaves crunching underfoot. But I'm too distracted, too wrapped up in the mess I've made to appreciate any of it. All I can think about are the words I wrote. The secrets I let spill out.

Jason. The confusion. The pull. How he's managed to worm his way into my thoughts, even when I least expect it. I've been trying to bury it all, shove it down where no one could see it. But now, it's out there. Ink on paper. And Walters has seen it.

My stomach churns at the thought.

What does he think? What is he going to say?

Is he going to ask about it? My throat tightens at the idea. How am I supposed to explain something I don't even understand? The confusion, the guilt, the way Jason's face flashes in my mind when I'm with Ava—how do I explain any of that? It doesn't fit with the life I've been living. The life I'm supposed to have. Ava. Football. The guy who has it all together.

Jason doesn't fit into that picture. Not even close.

I reach Walters' office, my hands clammy and cold. I could turn around, leave. Pretend I forgot. Avoid this entire conversation. But I know that's not an option.

I take a deep breath, then knock.

The sound echoes louder than I expect, my heartbeat picking up with it. A moment later, I push open the door.

Walters is sitting behind his desk, glasses perched low on his nose, tapping away at his computer. He looks up, calm as ever, like this is just another meeting. But there's something in his eyes, something that makes my skin crawl. Curiosity. Like he knows more than he's letting on.

"David, come on in," he says, gesturing to the chair across from him.

I sit, my stomach twisting tighter with each passing second. His office is small, cluttered with books and stacks of papers. There's a faint scent of coffee in the air, but I'm too tense to care. The silence between us feels too thick.