Different

11.

Sleep didn't come easy last night. My mind refused to give me peace, tormenting me with a loop of everything that had happened. His hands, his lips, the heat between us—and then the way he left. Just like that. No explanation, no goodbye that made any sense. Just gone.

Now, I'm exhausted but weirdly alert, the kind of buzz you get after too much caffeine and too little sleep. It's written all over my face—dark circles under my eyes, tension in my shoulders. Bree never came home last night, and I assume she stayed at Austin's again. It only makes the twisting in my stomach worse. I feel alone, like everything is slightly off-center. And then there's the fact that today marks the official start of classes. Great timing.

I sit up slowly in bed, my sheets tangled around me like they tried to hold me down overnight. My heart races as I remember I'll be sitting through six hours of lectures today. I peel back the covers and push Jace out of my mind—or try to—and grab my things for a shower.

The communal bathroom is a zoo this time of morning. Hairdryers whirring, girls brushing their teeth like it's a sport, the smell of various shampoos mixing into a vaguely chemical cloud. I duck into a free stall and rush through my routine. No room for spirals in here.

Back in my room, I dress with care. A pair of light blue jeans that fit me just right, my softest white sweater with sleeves that cover half my hands—my comfort armor. I throw on a dark jacket and my white Sambas before curling the ends of my otherwise straight, shoulder-length hair. Something about the extra effort makes me feel a little more human. Like I have control over something.

By 7:40, I'm locking the door and heading toward the café for my morning decaf vanilla latte. No texts from Bree. No texts from him. The silence screams louder than any ringtone.

The campus is buzzing with other first-years, their energy chaotic and awkward. I'm grateful I walked around yesterday to figure everything out. At least I don't look as lost as I feel. I smile to myself, trying to manifest a little optimism. Think positive. It's my mantra today.

The café has a short line, and I shrink into myself while I wait, busying my hands with my phone just to avoid eye contact. Once I've got my latte, it's 7:50—perfect. Not early, not late.

The lecture hall is larger than I expected. I slide into a seat at the back, near the door—close enough to make a quick exit if the anxiety gets bad. I set up my tablet and notebook, glancing around at the other students. Everyone looks quietly terrified, their faces pulled tight with anticipation.

At 7:59 on the dot, the door bangs open, and Bree stumbles in like she's running from a fire. Relief floods through me like a warm wave.

"I wondered if you'd be in some of my classes," I whisper, grinning.

She flashes a smile and slides into the seat beside me, pulling me into a quick side-hug. The professor starts talking before we can exchange more than a look, but her presence is grounding. With Bree here, I just might get through the next hour and a half.

The lecture is mostly introductions and logistics. I open my planner and jot down every date mentioned. Bree's doing the same. It feels nice—like something normal in a world that hasn't felt very normal since him.

When class ends, we finally get to talk. "So," I nudge her playfully. "You're spending a lot of time with Austin, huh?"

She blushes. "Yeah. He's great."

Her eyes go soft, and I know she's already halfway in love. I want to be happy for her—I am—but my heart sinks a little too. "But your turn," she says, instantly serious. "Tell me everything. How was your night with Jace?"

I sigh. "It started off amazing. He came over, we hung out... talked... then we... kissed." My voice trails off as heat rushes to my cheeks.

Bree squeals, practically vibrating in her chair. "You what?"

I smile shyly, then the weight of the ending crashes over me again. "Yeah. But then he got this text and just... left. No explanation. Nothing."

Her face drops. "Wait, seriously?"

I nod. "Right after we kissed. He looked at his phone, said he had to go, and that was it."

"What a dick," she says, crossing her arms. "Did he at least tell you why?"

"Nope. It felt like I was just... disposable. Like he got what he wanted and walked out."

"I'm sorry, Mila," she says gently. "But... I don't know. That doesn't sound like the whole story. He seems like he's into you."

I shrug. "We're not dating. I don't really have a right to be mad, but I still am. I wish he'd stayed, or said something. Anything."

"You sound confused," Bree says, watching me closely.

"Exactly. Maybe he got bored. Maybe I misread everything."

She wraps her arms around me. "Don't spiral, okay? Whatever this is, it's new. Give it a minute."

I nod, appreciating her steady presence. "Thanks. I needed that."

The rest of the day passes in a blur of lectures and notes. I don't have time to overthink—too much information to absorb, too many future exams to jot down in my calendar. But Jace still lingers in the corners of my mind. Like a shadow I can't quite shake. Did he leave to be with someone else? Was I just a distraction until something better came along?

By early evening, I realize I haven't eaten anything substantial. The knot in my stomach begs for food more than closure, so I head back toward the café, grabbing a warm sandwich and a bottle of water. The Seattle sky is turning dusky blue, casting shadows over campus buildings. The cold air soothes me more than the food does. It's like the weather is begging me to have a calm evening inside.

On the way back to my dorm, I take the long route, trying to walk off the tension from today. Rounding the last corner before the building, I freeze when I hear a voice that sounds too familiar.

Jace. What is he doing here?  He's standing just across the walkway, talking to another guy. I'm not ready to see him. Not like this.  I step back, pressing myself against the building wall, totally pathetic, peeking around the corner to observe where he's going, so I can take the other way. 

They shake hands. Normal enough. But then Jace pulls something from his jacket pocket and passes it subtly. A small plastic bag, white powder inside.

My brain hesitates, refusing to accept what I'm seeing. No. No, no, no. It all connects—the mystery texts, his late-night disappearance, the quiet tension he always carried. Jace isn't just brooding and reckless. He's dealing drugs.

I must've gasped or shifted, because the paper bag in my hand drops to the ground with a loud crack. The sound echoes like a gunshot. Jace's head snaps toward me. Our eyes lock. His expression is blank—too blank. Panic takes over. I bend down, scoop up the food with shaking hands, and bolt in the opposite direction.

"Mila!" I hear him call, but I don't stop. I can't. I keep walking, faster and faster until I'm safely out of sight, heart pounding in my ears, the weight of what I just saw settling hard inside of me.

Jace is a drug dealer. And now he knows I know.

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How is Jace going to react?

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