Project Heartbreak

The world shrunk to the space between my locker and his chest. I could feel the cold metal of the locker door pressing into my back.

My glasses, always a little too big, chose that moment to slip down the bridge of my nose. I clutched my camera to my chest like a shield, my knuckles turning white.

“I… I wasn’t,” I stammered, my voice a thin, reedy thing that barely carried over the thumping of my own heart. “It’s a misunderstanding. I wasn’t taking pictures.”

Jax Ryder let out a short, derisive sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. He leaned in closer, one arm braced against the locker next to my head, caging me in. His blond hair fell perfectly over his forehead, and his green eyes, usually sparkling with arrogant amusement, were now hard and cold.

“Oh, for f*ck’s sake, stop squeaking,” he said, rubbing a finger in his own ear as if the very sound of my voice had caused him physical pain. “It’s like listening to a stepped-on mouse. Now, try again. And use real words this time.”

I flinched, my gaze dropping to the scuffed toes of his pristine white sneakers. Jax Ryder. The heartthrob of Northwood Academy. The ace of the soccer team, even though he was in a sophomore year. With his looks, his confidence, his everything, he had every reason to be this cocky, this sure of his place in the world.

“I saw you,” he stated, his voice flat and certain. “Don’t even try to deny it. I was coming out of the weight room and I saw you, clear as day, with that dorky camera pointed right at the door to our changing room. Asher was right there, changing after practice. What were you doing, you little creep?”

“The lens cap was on!” I blurted out, the words tripping over each other in their rush to escape. I fumbled with the camera, holding it out as proof. “See? It’s on. I couldn’t have taken a picture even if I wanted to.”

He barely glanced at it, his dismissive snarl telling me how little my evidence mattered. “So you’re admitting you were staring, then? Just getting an eyeful? What’s your deal, huh? You one of those… art fags?”

The slur hit me like a physical blow, and I felt the blood drain from my face. My mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

“Cat got your tongue?” he mocked, leaning in even closer. His voice dropped, becoming a low, threatening whisper. “Let me make this simple. I don’t know who you are. I don’t care. But I know what I saw. And what I saw was some nobody pervert spying on my captain. Asher’s a good guy, you know? A little too nice for his own good, maybe. Thinks the best of everyone. Thinks guys like you are just ‘misunderstood’ or some sh*t.” He said the last word with a roll of his eyes, a clear irritation for his captain’s perceived naivety.

“He… he doesn’t even know I exist,” I whispered, the confession torn from me in my desperation.

“Yeah, well, he’s about to find out,” Jax shot back, his eyes glinting. “He deserves to know what kind of… people are watching him. He thinks everyone’s as decent as he is. It’s annoying. Makes him blind to this sort of thing.”

The way he said “people” felt like a slap. He wasn’t just calling me a creep; he was putting me in a category he found disgusting.

“Please don’t tell him,” I begged, the words tearing out of me. The thought of Asher, looking at me with that same revulsion was a pain I couldn’t bear.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Jax took a step closer, invading my space completely. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t march into that locker room right now and let everyone know there’s a guy sneaking pictures.”

“There are no pictures!” I insisted, my voice cracking. “I swear. On anything. I was… I was taking pictures of the light. For a project. The way it hits the old lockers in that hall…” It was a weak excuse, and it sounded ridiculously flimsy.

He stared at me for a long, silent moment, his expression a mixture of contempt and something colder. “You’re a terrible liar. And you’re sick. You know that, right? Hiding in the shadows, staring at guys who would never, ever look twice at you. It’s wrong.”

Each word was a well-aimed dart. I felt the sting of tears and blinked rapidly.

“Asher’s a straight guy, as straight as arrow could get.” Jax continued, his voice low and intense. “He’s got a future. He doesn’t need some… some boy making him uncomfortable in his own locker room. He deserves to be able to change without worrying about some pervert’s camera.”

He straightened up, looking down at me from his full height. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to stay away from the team’s wing. You’re going to keep your camera and your… feelings… to yourself. If I see you near our locker room again, if I even think you’re looking at Asher for a second too long, I won’t just tell him. I’ll make sure everyone in this school knows. And trust me, they’ll all agree with me about what you are. Do you understand?”

I could only nod, my jaw clenched so tight it ached.

“Good.” He gave me one last, sweeping look of pure disgust, then turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing confidently down the empty corridor.

The bell above the door chimed, a soft, familiar sound that usually felt like a welcome. Today, it was just noise. I kept my head down, focusing on wiping down the same spot on the gleaming glass display case. The sweet, rich scent of coffee and sugar that usually comforted me now felt cloying, sticking in the back of my throat.

“Elliot, honey, if you polish that any harder, you’re going to wear a hole right through it.”

I jumped, nearly dropping the cloth. Mrs. Henderson stood there, her kind eyes crinkled with concern. She was a warm, round woman in her sixties, with flour often dusted on her apron and a perpetual smile for her customers and her “kids,” as she called her part-time staff.

“Sorry, Mrs. Henderson,” I mumbled, moving the cloth to a different, perfectly clean section of the case.

“Rough day at school?” she asked, her voice gentle.

I just nodded, not trusting myself to speak. How could I possibly explain? The most popular boy in scho