Chapter 2 — Hello, Chase and Zach

Marley

The cafeteria at Cross High is a symphony of chaos—shouted conversations, the clatter of trays, and bursts of laughter ricocheting off the walls like a badly timed drumbeat. I hover at the entrance, clutching a tray of limp pizza and a salad that looks like it’s spent one too many days contemplating its existence. My fingers instinctively find the compass pendant around my neck, the arrow spinning a quiet rhythm beneath my thumb. Gwen had promised to meet me here, but as I scan the sea of faces and crowded tables, she’s nowhere in sight.

The unease prickles up my spine, static electricity sparking beneath my skin. It’s like walking into a play mid-act, where everyone else already knows their lines and blocking while I fumble for a script that doesn’t exist. The hum of fluorescent lights overhead buzzes like a second layer of tension, itching at the edges of my nerves.

“Marley!”

Gwen’s voice slices through the din like a bright yellow flare, vibrant and unmistakable. Relief rushes through me as I spot her waving from a table near the windows, her yellow beanie standing out like a beacon in the haze of chaos. She’s practically bouncing in her seat, her energy impossible to miss or ignore.

I weave my way toward her, dodging backpacks and tangled legs, and collapse into the chair she’s saved for me.

“You’re a lifesaver,” I exhale, setting my tray down and letting my fingers fall from the pendant.

“I know,” she replies with a wide grin, leaning back in her chair like she owns this cafeteria table and possibly the entire school. Her charm bracelet jingles as she gestures toward the others seated with us. “Welcome to the crew.”

The table is a patchwork of personalities. There’s Emma, a quiet girl sketching intricate patterns in the margins of her notebook, who barely looks up as she mumbles a polite “hi.” Tyler, glued to his phone like it holds the secrets of the universe, offers a noncommittal grunt of acknowledgment. The twins—whose names I immediately forget—finish each other’s sentences with unnerving precision, leaving me wondering if they’ve rehearsed their dialogue in advance.

“You’ll fit in fine,” Gwen assures me, her grin widening as if she can sense the questions buzzing in my head. “But fair warning, lunchtime here is a battlefield. Stick with me, and you might just survive.”

The noise of the cafeteria fades slightly as I settle in, but there’s a tingling sensation along the back of my neck—a sense that I’m being watched. I glance up, my gaze sweeping the room until it lands on him.

Chase Hayden. He’s leaning casually against the wall by the vending machines, arms crossed like he’s posing for the cover of a magazine he doesn’t care about. His dark, messy hair falls just enough into his piercing blue eyes to make the smirk tugging at his lips all the more infuriating. His gaze locks onto mine, sharp and unrelenting, and for a moment, the rest of the cafeteria dissolves into static.

“Uh-oh,” Gwen mutters, her voice pulling me back to reality.

“What?” I ask, the word tumbling out before I fully process her tone.

“That,” she says, tilting her head toward Chase, “is trouble with a capital T.”

I glance at him again. He hasn’t moved, his smirk deepening as if he knows exactly what Gwen is saying and finds it amusing. Probably too amusing.

“He’s just standing there,” I point out, trying to sound unimpressed, though my heart does a weird little hiccup.

“For now,” Gwen replies, her lips curling into a knowing smirk of her own. “Chase Hayden doesn’t just stand anywhere without a reason. He’s like a shark, always circling.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You make him sound like he’s plotting world domination.”

“This school’s a bad teen drama, and you just walked into season three,” she says, her words laced with humor but holding just enough seriousness to make me wonder.

I let out a half-snort, half-laugh despite myself, but the tension in my stomach doesn’t unravel. Chase finally shifts his focus, turning to say something to the boy standing next to him—a tall blond with a clean-cut look and an easy smile.

“Okay, and who’s that?” I nod toward the blond, grateful for a new distraction.

Gwen’s grin softens slightly. “That’s Zach Miller. Resident golden boy, captain of the lacrosse team, and unofficial ambassador of all things nice.”

“And he’s friends with Chase?”

“Best friends. Or, at least, they were.”

Her tone sharpens on the last word, and I don’t miss the flicker of something heavier beneath it—curiosity, maybe, or quiet speculation.

“Word is, things are tense between them lately,” Gwen says, leaning in as if revealing a secret. “No one knows why, but you can tell. It’s like they’re trying too hard to act like everything’s fine.” She shrugs. "Spoiler: it’s not.”

I glance back at them. Zach is laughing at something Chase just said, but there’s a stiffness in his shoulders, the kind that doesn’t belong to someone who’s truly at ease. Chase, on the other hand, is the picture of effortless confidence—too effortless, like he’s performing a role he’s grown tired of but can’t stop playing.

“Interesting,” I murmur, the word slipping out before I can stop it.

“Careful,” Gwen warns, her voice dropping to a more serious note. “Zach’s the kind of guy who’ll help you carry your textbooks and walk you home if it’s raining. Chase? He’ll talk you into skipping class and then leave you to figure out how to explain it.”

“You don’t think I can handle a little charm?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.

“I think you could handle it,” Gwen says, smirking. “I just don’t think it’s worth the headache.”

She might be right. But something about Chase Hayden—his smirk, his sharp eyes, the way he seems to own the space around him—has already gotten under my skin. And I’m not sure I want it to stay—or leave.

---

The rest of the day passes in a blur of syllabi, introductions, and the faint smell of dry-erase markers. By the time the final bell rings, my brain feels like an overcooked noodle. I’m rummaging through my locker, trying to remember which pocket of my bag holds my phone, when a shadow falls over me.

“Hey, new girl.”

I don’t have to turn around to know who it is. His voice carries that same low hum, like an engine idling just out of sight.

“Do you make it a habit to sneak up on people, or am I just lucky?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder.

Chase leans against the locker beside mine, his smirk infuriatingly intact. Up close, his blue eyes are sharper, their intensity like a pair of headlights catching you mid-step.

“Definitely lucky,” he says, the teasing in his tone unmistakable.

I roll my eyes and turn back to my locker. “What do you want?”

“Just being friendly,” he replies, completely unbothered. “You looked like you could use some help.”

“With what, exactly? Finding my phone?” I finally locate it and hold it up with a triumphant flourish.

He shrugs, his smirk widening. “Or maybe I just wanted to say hi.”

“Well, hi,” I say, tucking the phone into my pocket. “Satisfied?”

“Not yet,” he says, and there’s an edge to his voice—a playful challenge, but also a flicker of something I can’t quite name. Curiosity? Sincerity? Both?

Before I can respond, another voice breaks in.

“Chase.”

We both turn to see Zach approaching, his hands shoved casually into his pockets. His stride is easy, his smile open and genuine, but his hazel eyes flick between Chase and me with a quiet intensity that feels out of place.

“Zach,” Chase replies, his tone cooling ever so slightly. The shift is subtle, but it’s enough to feel like a crack in a carefully constructed mask.

“Hey,” Zach says, turning to me. “Marley, right? We have English together.”

“Yeah,” I say, surprised he remembers.

“I was going to introduce myself earlier, but Gwen beat me to it,” he continues with a laugh. “She’s... thorough.”

“That’s one word for it,” I reply, earning another warm laugh.

Zach studies me for a moment, his gaze dipping to my necklace. “Nice compass,” he says, his tone genuinely curious. “Is it for luck or direction?”

“Both, maybe,” I say, my fingers brushing over the pendant. His attention feels different—steady, thoughtful, like he’s trying to understand rather than uncover.

Chase watches the exchange silently, his expression unreadable but his jaw tightening enough to notice.

“Well,” Zach says after a beat, glancing between us, “I should get going. Practice starts soon. See you around?”

“Sure,” I say, feeling oddly caught between them.

Zach gives me a small wave before heading off, leaving behind a faint sense of calm in his wake.

“He’s a nice guy,” I say, mostly to fill the silence.

“Yeah,” Chase replies, his voice tight. “Real nice.”

Before I can ask what that means, he pushes off the locker and starts walking away.

“See you around, Marley Davidson,” he calls over his shoulder, the smirk firmly back in place.

And just like that, he’s gone. I stand there for a moment, my fingers finding the compass pendant once again. The arrow spins beneath my thumb, its movement steady even as my thoughts spiral.

What is it about these two? And why do I feel like I’m standing at the edge of something I can’t see but already feel pulling me in?