Jax's P.O.V

The bell for break was a release of pressure. The first period after the cafeteria showdown had been a special kind of hell. History with Mr. Greeley, who droned on about the The American Dream while the real war played out in silent glances and passed notes across the room. I’d spent fifty minutes feeling the weight of everyone’s stares, my spine rigid, my fists clenched under the desk. Every whisper felt like it was about us. About her.

Val had looked so small walking into ...