JACKSON HARVEY X YN

(small chapter)
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CHAPTER 2 – Forced Partners

If there’s one thing worse than Jackson Harvey’s smirk, it’s being forced to spend actual time with him.
Which, of course, is exactly what happened in English class on Monday.

“Alright, everyone,” Ms. Carter said, clapping her hands. “For your next project, you’ll be working in pairs. I’ll assign them.”

I prayed—literally prayed—that I’d get paired with someone who didn’t think being irritating was a personality trait.
But fate hates me.

“Jackson Harvey and… Y/N.”

My head shot up. “Wait, what? No. Nope. Absolutely not.”
The entire class snickered. Jackson, of course, was already grinning at me like he’d just won the lottery.

“Problem, Y/N?” Ms. Carter asked, raising an eyebrow.
I forced a smile. “No, ma’am.”
Inside, I was screaming.

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“Looks like we’re stuck together,” Jackson said when class ended, leaning against my desk like he belonged there.
“Stuck is the right word,” I muttered, shoving my notebook into my bag.
He laughed. “You’re cute when you’re mad, you know that?”
“Not cute. Just annoyed.”
“Same thing.”

I groaned. “We are meeting at the library after school. No excuses. And you better actually show up.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, mock saluting me. “You’re bossy. I like it.”

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The Library Disaster.

He was late. Of course he was late.

I was halfway through rereading the first chapter of To Kill a Mockingbird when he strolled in, hands in his hoodie pockets, looking like he had all the time in the world.
“You’re 15 minutes late,” I snapped.
“Relax, I brought snacks.” He dropped a bag of chips and a soda on the table.
“Wow, amazing. Should I give you a medal?”
“You can if you want.”

We sat in silence for about two minutes before he started.
“Okay, real talk. Are you always this grumpy, or is it just me?”
“It’s just you.”
“Cool. So I’m special.”
I gave him a blank stare. “Special is not the word I’d use.”
“Hot?” he suggested, smirking.
I threw a pencil at him.

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A Weird Moment.

We were brainstorming ideas for the project when I leaned over to grab a pen, and my hand brushed his.
I froze.
He froze.

For some reason, the air between us felt… different. His smirk was gone, replaced with something I couldn’t read. His eyes flickered to mine, just for a second too long.

I quickly pulled my hand back. “Can you not?”
“Not what?” he asked, his voice low, almost amused.
“Whatever… that was.”
He smirked again, but this time softer. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

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Walking Home.

The library closed earlier than we expected, so we walked outside together. The late afternoon sky was turning orange, and for a moment, it was quiet—no teasing, no banter.

“You don’t actually hate me, do you?” Jackson asked suddenly.
I blinked at him. “I don’t like you.”
He laughed. “That’s not the same thing.”
“I just think you’re… a lot.”
“A lot of what?”
“Annoying. Loud. Overconfident.”
He grinned. “And yet, you’re still here walking with me.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help the tiniest smile tugging at my lips.

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That night, I couldn’t stop thinking about that moment in the library.
The way his smirk had softened.
The way his voice sounded when he wasn’t joking.

This was bad. This was really, really bad.

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TO BE CONTINUED…

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