Chapter 3 — Paired Up

Bailey

English class was one of the few places where I could fade into the background, letting the words of long-dead poets and authors swirl around me like white noise. But today, that fragile bubble of invisibility burst with two dreaded words from Mrs. Callahan:

“Paired assignment.”

My knuckles turned white as I gripped the edge of my desk. Mrs. Callahan’s voice carried the same cheery authority that usually lulled the class into submission, but now it felt like a countdown to disaster. She outlined the project—an in-depth analysis of *The Great Gatsby’s* themes and symbolism—but I only caught fragments. Most of my brain was stuck replaying those two words, paired assignment, like a bad song I couldn’t shake.

“The pairs have already been pre-selected,” she added with a bright smile, as though announcing a surprise gift.

Pre-selected. Perfect. My stomach twisted. I fought the urge to glance at the clock, willing time to speed up so I wouldn’t have to hear my name.

Mrs. Callahan began calling out pairs, each name hitting like a pebble dropped into a still pond. Tamara with Logan. Sophie with Nate. And then—

“Bailey Rhodes and Charlie Adams.”

I froze. My head shot up so quickly that my glasses slipped, sliding halfway down my nose. Of all the people in this class—or the entire school, for that matter—why him? Charlie Adams, hockey captain, town golden boy, and the guy who’d picked up my sketchbook last night. My face burned just at the memory.

I chanced a glance across the room, immediately regretting it. There he was, leaning back in his chair with the easy confidence that followed him everywhere like a shadow. His hockey jacket hung off the back of his seat, bold letters and team colors demanding attention. When our eyes met, his lips quirked into what could only be described as a smirk. Or maybe it was a grimace. Hard to tell. Either way, it made my cheeks flame as I hastily shoved my glasses back up and hunched deeper into my oversized hoodie.

“This is amazing,” Sophie whispered from the desk in front of me, her hazel eyes sparkling with mischief as she twisted around.

“No, it’s not,” I whispered back, barely moving my lips. My heart hammered too loudly for me to think straight.

“Are you kidding? You and Charlie Adams? This is, like, cosmic alignment. Opposites attract and all that.”

I glared at her, my tone sharper than I intended. “It’s not cosmic anything. It’s awful.”

Sophie shrugged, unfazed. “Sure, sure. But, like, he’s cute, you’re cute—”

“Not now, Sophie,” I hissed, my voice a fierce whisper. I glanced around nervously, but no one seemed to have noticed us. My face felt like it was on fire.

Before she could say more, Mrs. Callahan clapped her hands. “All right, everyone, go ahead and sit with your partners to get started.”

I felt the weight of inevitability pressing down as Charlie stood, his movements casual, like this was no big deal. Of course it wasn’t a big deal to him. Nothing was. He strolled across the room with all the grace of someone who knew people were watching. Meanwhile, I fought the irrational hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d change his mind and sit with someone else.

No such luck.

“Hey.” His voice startled me as he dropped into the chair next to mine. He sounded so casual, so composed, like we’d spoken a hundred times before. We hadn’t.

“Hi,” I managed, my voice barely audible. I stared at my notebook, absently doodling in the margins, anything to avoid meeting his gaze.

“So,” he began, leaning back in his seat and stretching his legs out like the classroom was his personal lounge. “Thoughts on Gatsby?”

I paused, unsure if he was genuinely interested or just trying to break the awkward silence. “Uh… it’s… complicated?”

He smirked—definitely a smirk this time. “Yeah, no kidding. Rich people throwing parties and being miserable. Revolutionary.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “I mean… it’s more than that, right? The hollowness of the American Dream, how people chase this idea of happiness that’s… empty.”

That got his attention. He tilted his head, studying me like I’d surprised him. “Huh. That’s… actually a good point.”

“Thanks?” It came out more like a question. My grip on my pencil tightened, the buzz of nerves under his gaze making it hard to think.

“So, here’s the deal,” he said, leaning forward. His forearms rested on the desk, and his blue eyes locked onto mine with a focus that felt too direct, too much. “We’ll split this fifty-fifty. You take the themes, I’ll handle the symbolism. Fair?”

“Fair,” I said quickly, relieved that he wasn’t expecting me to carry the whole project—or, worse, planning to do it all himself.

“Cool.” He stood, brushing imaginary dust off his jeans. “Let’s meet after school to get started.”

“After school?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them.

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Unless you’d rather do this at lunch, but I’ve got practice later, so…”

“After school works,” I blurted. The thought of sitting in the cafeteria with him—and by extension, his fan club—made my stomach churn.

“Library at four. Don’t be late.” He offered a lopsided grin before walking away, leaving me staring at the empty chair he’d vacated.

Sophie spun around the second he was gone, practically vibrating with curiosity. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“How’d it go?” she pressed, her grin widening.

“It’s fine,” I muttered, snapping my notebook shut. “We’re splitting the work.”

“Right. Because that’s the important part.” Her knowing look made my cheeks heat again, but she didn’t stop. “You’re so bad at this, Bailey. The universe hands you an opportunity, and you act like it’s a burden.”

“It is a burden,” I whispered fiercely, my frustration bubbling up. “I don’t—” I exhaled sharply, lowering my voice. “I don’t fit into his world, Sophie. People like him don’t notice people like me.”

Her teasing softened into something quieter, more sincere. “Maybe he’s not ‘people like him.’ Maybe he’s just… Charlie. And maybe you should stop deciding who you are based on who you think he is.”

Her words lingered, chasing me all the way to the library after school.

---

When I arrived, Charlie was already there, sprawled in a chair like he owned the place. His hockey jacket hung off the back of his chair, and his notebook lay open on the table, a blank page staring back at him.

“Hey,” he said, sitting up straighter when he saw me. His expression was lighter than I expected, almost amused. “Didn’t think you’d actually show.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked, sliding into the seat across from him. My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I couldn’t help it. My nerves were all over the place.

He shrugged, leaning back again. “Most people avoid me unless they want something.”

The way he said it—so matter-of-fact, like it didn’t hurt—made me pause. For a second, I thought about saying something, but the words got stuck.

“Well,” I said softly, “I’m here.”

“Yeah,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You are.”

We worked mostly in silence, splitting the workload as planned. To my surprise, he actually seemed engaged, asking questions about the themes and tossing out ideas for the symbolism. His dry humor made me laugh once—an unguarded, startled sound that felt unfamiliar but… good.

When our hour was up, he leaned back, stretching his arms over his head. “Okay, not bad. We might actually pull this off.”

“Might,” I repeated, fighting the smile tugging at my lips.

“Don’t get cocky, Rhodes,” he teased, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving behind an odd fluttery feeling in my chest. As I packed up, my reflection in the library window caught my eye. For the first time, I didn’t look invisible. I looked… like someone who mattered.

Maybe Sophie was right. Maybe this wasn’t a burden. Maybe it was a beginning.