Inevitable

Lena Ward woke up late.

Not "oops-I-hit-snooze" late. The kind of late where you're staring at the clock, your heart racing, and you're considering how your alarm failed you so miserably.

"Lena!" her mom's voice yelled from downstairs, already in that shriek that told her she'd been yelling for several minutes already. "You'll miss first period!

Lena sat up suddenly, hair in a tangle, one leg halfway out of bed before she even realized what time it was. 7:48. She had twelve minutes to be in her seat at Silver Ridge High. Not yet dressed. Not yet out the door. In her seat.

She grabbed the first hoodie she saw—her old one with the worn-out cuffs—and yanked it on over her head. Her backpack sat beside the desk, her sneakers beside the door, and a half sock was duct-taped to the side of her pillow for no particular reason.

"Coming!" she yelled as she stuffed her math book into her bag with one hand and shoved her foot into a shoe with the other.

Downstairs, her mom was waiting in the kitchen, coat on, travel mug in hand, eyebrows raised.

“I swear,” she said, “you’ve been late every day since school started.”

Lena grabbed a banana off the counter. “This is technically still breakfast.”

Her mother gave her a look but did not say a word. The drive home was silent except for local radio chatter in the distance. Her mom sipped her coffee like it was her only determination to be. Lena gazed out the window, her chest tightly wound. Today felt heavier.

It'd been two entire weeks since she returned to Silver Ridge. Two weeks of awkward stares, terrible small talk, and pretending like she hadn't disappeared on half the school—including the one person she couldn't stop thinking about.

Tyler Jacobs.

He hadn’t looked at her the first day she walked into third-period Chemistry. Not once. But Lena had felt his presence like gravity. There was something about the way he carried himself now—like he’d grown out of his boyhood over summer and left the softness behind.

And now they were lab partners. Of course.

“Don’t forget,” her mom said as they pulled into the school lot, “I’m working late tonight.”

Lena nodded. "I'll walk."

She exited and picked up her bag, observing the throng of students. Some were familiar. Some shunned her eye. A few smiled politely, but their smiles fell short of their eyes.

And then there was Emily.

Her best friend sat off to the side by the flagpole, arms crossed, earbuds stuck in, auburn hair pulled into a messy knot. When she saw Lena, she pulled out one earbud and smiled.

"Thought you overslept again."

"I did. New record."

They walked towards the door together. Lena's head was lowered until Emily elbowed her.

"Tyler's here," she whispered.

Lena didn't have to look. She already knew. Still, she risked a glance.

He was there—leaning against his truck, the same rumpled flannel over a white T-shirt, talking to James Holt, his kindergarten friend. James was simple to get a laugh out of, quick with the sarcasm. But Tyler? Less decipherable now.

And when he turned his head and saw her staring, it was like the air had changed.

"Let's go," Lena said quickly.

Emily smiled like she knew exactly what Lena was running from.

At third period, Mr. Barnes was already handing out goggles and complaining about reaction times and staged explosions. Chemistry had never been Lena's best subject, but now it made her sweat for very different reasons.

Tyler already had their lab table, reading over the day's experiment sheet.

"Hey," he grunted without looking up at her.

"Hey," she said, sitting down on the stool.

They didn't talk as they started. He measured. She wrote. They moved like two creatures who'd danced together once and could no longer remember the dance steps.

Once, she stretched for a flask and his fingers brushed against hers.

They halted.

He didn't give a word of apology.

Neither did she.

By lunchtime, Lena was hungry for fresh air and fewer hormones. She saw Emily outside the gym, perched on the bleachers with her trademark giant iced coffee and a smirk.

"I saw that."

"You saw what?"

"Tyler. Chemistry. The tension."

"There is no tension."

"There's tension enough to power the grid."

Lena weakly smiled. "Can we talk about something else?"

Emily smiled. "Sure. Want to hear something interesting?"

"What?"

"James asked if I'm going to the bonfire."

Lena's eyes fluttered open. "And?"

"And I said yes. He kind of smiled, like, oh, and then he said, 'Maybe we could go together.'"

Lena's mouth dropped open.

"I know," Emily said, her cheeks rosy. "And he called me Em."

"That's a nickname."

"That's what I said!"

They both giggled.

After class, Lena crossed the field behind the gym and noticed Tyler standing alone by the bleachers, a sweat on his brow as he swiped it away. His backpack sat beside him. She almost turned back—but didn't.

She approached.

"Hi," she said.

He gave her a look of surprise. "Hey."

She sat down alongside him, creating a conscious space between them.

"I wanted to tell you. I'm sorry," she told him quietly. "For disappearing. I left fast, and I didn't say anything to you, and you didn't deserve it."

Tyler had nothing to say.

She continued a little farther on, "It wasn't for you. My mom. things weren't okay after the divorce. She had to get away, and I didn't know how to keep holding on."

He looked at her, his expression unreadable.

"I waited," he told her softly. "A whole summer."

Lena's throat closed up. "I know."

"I kept waiting for you to call. Or text. Or something."

"I couldn't. I didn't know how."

There was silence.

Then finally, Tyler said, "I was mad. I think some of me still is."

"I understand."

"But I missed you more."

Lena looked at him.

His eyes were tired. Honest.

Then, after a bit, he leaned forward and pressed his fingers against hers.

Just once.

And it was enough.

Lena didn't go straight home after school.

Instead, she strolled along Silver Ridge's quiet streets, letting her feet carry her by memory after memory—down Park Row, past the old church steps where she and Emily would play tag, across the bridge that stretched over the stream Tyler used to dare her to leap over.

There was a gentle snap to the wind, the kind that hinted at fall being just around the corner—sweater weather, bonfires, and leaves lazily drifting to the ground. She loved this time of day, the golden hour when everything felt softer.

She stopped in front of Claire's Bar.

It wasn't open yet—still dark, the "Closed" sign askew in the window—but it looked the same. She half expected to see the old-timers inside, hunched over beers, discussing whose boy wrecked what truck this week.

This place had seen too much of her. Too many bad choices. Too many maybes.

Her phone buzzed.

Emily: Are you alive?

Lena smiled.

Lena: Barely.