Chapter Six

Alexander Carter

I knew something was going to change today. I could feel it in the air—one of those rare days when the world feels charged, like it’s holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable to happen. Maybe it was the crisp spring air that made everything feel a little more alive, a little more possible. The kind of day that makes you feel like anything could happen if you just reached out and grabbed it.

Of course, I wasn’t sure what exactly I was waiting for, but I knew something was coming.

Maybe it was because yesterday had been one of the strangest day of my life—awkward, tense, full of sarcastic jabs and moments of silence. But whatever it was, today felt different. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the project we were stuck with, or because something was changing between us that neither of us wanted to admit.

Whatever it was, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the day things would finally shift.

I arrived at the library early, my usual habit of getting to work before anyone else could get in my way. Not that I was worried about Julie. She didn’t seem like the type to need my help—or anyone else’s, for that matter. I just couldn’t stop thinking about how this project had gone from a simple nuisance to something that was... well, more complicated. There was something about her that kept me on edge. Not because she was hard to work with—she wasn’t—but because, for some reason, I couldn’t figure her out.

Julie Vaz wasn’t like the others. She didn’t play the same games everyone else did, and she wasn’t interested in fitting into the social mold I’d grown so used to. And that... that bothered me more than I cared to admit.

When she walked in, I didn’t bother looking away from the book I was pretending to read. There was no point in pretending I didn’t notice her. I always noticed her. But today, there was something different. Something in the way she carried herself, something in the air between us that made the space around us feel charged.

When she caught my eye, I saw it. Just for a moment. The briefest flicker of something in her gaze—maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was frustration, maybe it was something else entirely—but it was there.

“Vaz,” I said, my voice as casual as I could manage, trying to hide the strange tension I could feel between us.

“Carter,” she replied, her voice flat, the same cold indifference she always used to keep me at a distance.

I didn’t blame her. I’d made sure she stayed at a distance. And now, I was starting to realize that I didn’t quite know how to bridge the gap between us. Maybe it was the project, maybe it was something else, but something about the way we were interacting felt... off.

Julie sat down across from me, not bothering to make small talk. She opened her laptop, and I followed suit. We were here for the work, nothing else.

“Did you read the article I sent you?” she asked, her voice sharp, focused.

I shrugged, leaning back in my chair. “Not yet. But I glanced at it. I’m sure it’s fine.”

It was my typical response. The kind of laid-back attitude I always had. The one that made people think I didn’t care—because I didn’t. Or at least, I never let anyone see that I cared. But with Julie, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Fine?” she repeated, clearly unimpressed. “You can’t just look at it and say it’s fine. We need specifics for this paper, remember? This isn’t some history essay you can phone in.”

I smirked. Of course she was already overthinking it. That was Julie. Always focused, always precise. She was good at what she did. Too good. And that—her sharp focus, her drive—was one of the things that made me feel like I was... slipping.

I didn’t say anything. She was right, after all. We needed to take this seriously. But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like I didn’t know how to get things done.

“It’s fine. You’re overthinking it. It’s just a project. Not the end of the world.”

She opened her mouth, probably to argue again, but then the familiar ding of her phone cut her off. Her hands froze, and I watched her pick it up with a glance of something—anxiety? Excitement?—flashing across her face.

She read the screen, and the color drained from her face, quickly replaced by a mix of disbelief and joy. I wasn’t sure what was going through her head, but I knew one thing for sure: something big had just happened. And in that moment, I couldn’t look away.

I kept my gaze trained on her, noticing how her hands trembled slightly as she gripped her phone. She blinked, her eyes growing wide as she reread the message. I couldn’t hear her thoughts, but I didn’t need to. I could see it on her face.

And then she looked up at me, almost like she forgot I was there.

“You got in, didn’t you?” I asked, my voice low, almost hesitant. For some reason, it felt like the most natural question in the world. She had worked so hard for this.

Her lips parted as if she was about to say something, but then all she did was nod. Just once.

“I knew you would,” I said, surprising myself. I hadn’t meant to say it like that. It wasn’t supposed to sound genuine. It wasn’t supposed to feel... personal.

But it did. I meant it.

She didn’t say anything for a long moment, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she was going to thank me for the comment, or if she was just going to keep that distance she was so good at maintaining.

Instead, we sat in silence, the air between us thick with unspoken thoughts. I could feel the tension, but it was different this time. Not uncomfortable—just... different. Like something was shifting, something that neither of us had been prepared for.

“Do you want to celebrate?” I asked, almost before I could stop myself. The words were out, hanging in the air before I had time to second-guess them.

She blinked, obviously caught off guard. “What?”

I leaned back in my chair, trying to make it sound casual, but I could feel the oddness of the moment. “I said, do you want to celebrate? You know, now that you’re officially going to NYU. You’ll be too busy for this next year.”

It was a stupid offer. I knew that. We weren’t exactly friends, and it wasn’t like we had anything in common outside of this ridiculous project. But for some reason, I wanted to offer. I wanted her to know that, in that moment, I didn’t just see her as the girl I’d been forced to work with for this stupid project. I saw her as something else. Someone who deserved this—deserved the recognition.

She blinked at me, clearly processing what I’d said. For a long moment, I thought she might turn me down, make some sarcastic remark. But instead, she surprised me by smiling.

“Sure. I’d like that,” she said, her voice soft.

And for the first time in two weeks, it felt like something between us had finally shifted. Not just the project, not just the dynamic, but something real. Something that made me realize that maybe we weren’t so different after all.

Maybe this wasn’t going to be such a disaster after all.