Jack stood frozen in the doorway. Wide-eyed at the sight of Grace and I mid-argument in the flower shop, surrounded by roses.

"Good morning," Grace said to him, already cheery. "You... what was your name again?"

Silence.

"Jack," I said. "What are you doing here?"

He stared at the ground, looking like he regretted even stepping in. His shoulders slumped in on themselves. I remembered reading that selective mutism—what he had—was caused by severe social anxiety. I couldn't imagine a more awkward, anxiety-inducing situation than this.

Still, he pulled out his phone.

From Jackass:

you said i could work here again if i went with you to the race.

I had completely forgotten about my promise.

"Um, shouldn't you be in school right now?" I asked.

From Jackass:

i didn't see you there.

Had he skipped school to come here? To look for me? Something in my chest lurched, unfamiliar. Except here was Grace beside me, basically breathing down my neck. 

"Romy here spent the night in jail," Grace said. I noticed she was looking over my shoulder to see his text. I moved my phone away.

Jack finally met my eyes. He looked as worried as I was last night, going after him in the grass field, frantically asking what was wrong.

Grace continued: "Anyway, Jack, I'm glad you're back. I've been needing a hand, and Romy is no longer welcome here. Can you start by sweeping the floor while I finish these bouquets?"

She'd taken my place. And now thought she had the right to give him orders. 

"You're okay with him being here but not me?" I asked. "He's a terrible worker. Comes in late, hates flowers, even broke Talia's radio one time, he—"

Jack was now scowling at me.

"No offense," I said.

Which only made the real reason I'd wanted him to work here again very obvious.

"I can be the judge of how good of a worker he is," Grace said. "I believe in second chances."

The heat drained from my face. "Second chances?" I repeated, too shaky for my liking. "But not for me?"

"You haven't earned it."

I felt like puking over her precious bouquets. "I can't believe you're still playing the same mind games."

Had part of me hoped she would be different? Say sorry? Do better like she promised? I'd pushed her away, dismissed her, knowing for a fact she hadn't changed. For the first time, nausea outweighed my chronic, grating emptiness. Like I was seasick. Swaying back and forth in the middle of the ocean. Lost.

I couldn't take it. I stepped away from Grace. Stepped past Jack and out the door. Noise overwhelmed me from all sides—cars, birds, and the soft autumn rain.

How had I let myself become a carbon copy of my mother? Cold, manipulative, workaholic Grace. Chasing the next thrill, detaching herself from everyone. An empty shell of a person. I didn't know her beyond that. Didn't know her beyond my own contempt.

I looked toward the flower shop. Our perfect new location. Everything about it tainted.

And then Jack walked out the door.

He approached me. My eyes were watering. I wanted to turn around. I did not cry. Romy N. Pereira did not cry, especially not over something like this. Not in front of him.

His face softened as he saw my expression. 

"You're not going to work?" I asked him.

He shook his head. I shrugged, almost walking away until we locked eyes. The space between us, endless in our silence. And I felt his unspoken words. Couldn't hear them, couldn't know them, but I felt them. The desperation in his features—furrowed brows and parted lips—like he wanted so badly to speak.

I thought of him yesterday, kneeling on that grass field, panicking and silent. Now it was me, his helpless eyes asking me, what's wrong?

There was so much to say. So much I wanted to ask. But when I opened my mouth to articulate my thoughts, tell him he didn't need to worry about me, I couldn't, either.

Nausea. I was twelve-years-old again, my annual trip back to O'ahu tainted by the looming dread of visiting Grace in prison. Grandpa Tetsuo always took me to get shaved ice before and after to cheer me up.

I was six-years-old again, beach days on the weekends, Grace lounging on the sand and leaving me to swim alone. Too brave, I'd drifted from the shore. Caught in an ocean current, perfect waves crashing over my head, endless darkness below.

Jack grabbed my hands, snapping me out of my memory. He held them like it was the only thing he knew how to do. It must've looked so dramatic to any passerby on the street, but I stepped closer to him. Let his hands trail up my arms, holding me steady.

And for the first time, the silence between us wasn't enough.

I was tempted to give in. Wrap my arms around him. Rest my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat because I needed a sound that wasn't the memory of crashing waves.

But then I noticed Grace watching us from the flower shop window.

"Can we please get out of here?" I asked.

My mind was a blur. Seasick. Somehow knowing exactly where we were going, Jack held my hand as we walked down the street.

Eventually, we came across a park. Unassuming upon first glance with nothing but a sign and a trail in the greenery. But when we went in, it was like a forest. Trees towered above us, blocking out the clouded sun. The ground was damp and muddy. A few people walked with their dogs.

I hated how much Jack's footsteps, his heavy breaths once we got to an incline on the trail, turned the dial down on my nausea. I wished I could telepathically read him, confirm whether he felt the same, but he was lost on him like I was lost on him.

We reached a bridge. A man-made artifact shielded by trees, high above us. Jack let go of my hand and walked in front of me.

"I..." he said once we stopped underneath the bridge, and I froze. "I come here sometimes."

That dumb race yesterday hadn't given me nearly as much of an adrenaline rush as hearing him talk. Something I'd never admit to anyone.

He was not drunk this time. He was not angry, telling me to go to hell through gritted teeth. He was just... him. What did it take for him to speak? What did it mean? I wanted everything before now to cease to exist.

But Jack looked away. His posture tensed like yesterday.

"You don't need to talk anymore," I said, stopping myself from grabbing his hand again. "Not if you don't want to. It's okay."

His shoulders relaxed. He leaned against one of the pillars of the bridge and closed his eyes.

"I see why you like this place," I said. "It feels so isolated."

Eyes still closed, he fumbled for something in his pocket. He grabbed my wrist. Held it for a second. Then put something in my palm.

I looked at the thing in my hands. It wasn't a note or anything like that.

It was a rock. A crystal.

It was pink, its surface shiny. It was small. I put it in my pocket. Why did he give this to me?

"So, I'm guessing this isn't the dark and negative black onyx you consider me as?" I asked.

Jack shook his head, smiling slightly.

"I take it this means you forgive me for the mess that was yesterday night?"

He pulled out his phone.

From Jackass:

there's nothing to forgive you for.

"What? I dragged you to an unfamiliar place with Eli and Seth of all people, then ignored you to talk to Penelope, then got you involved in an illegal street race you probably wanted nothing to do with."

His eyes flickered open. His little smile widened.

From Jackass:

is the sociopath finally feeling guilt?

I playfully pushed his arm. "Not guilt. More like I realized what I did was wrong."

From Jackass:

i wanted to come.

"But then you had that... you were really upset."

His smile faded. I almost regretted mentioning it, wondering if he'd freak out again and I'd have yet another thing to apologize for. We stood in silence for a while. Listening to the birds chirping in the trees surrounding us. The light crunch of gravel underneath our shoes.

My phone buzzed.

From Jackass:

you make me feel like i can do anything. but then i can't keep up.

❀     ❀     ❀

That afternoon when I got home, narrowly avoiding another talk with Dad and Greta, I took out the rock Jack gave me and put it on my computer table. I searched up "pink crystals" on my laptop and soon found that what he'd given me was something called rose quartz. Like a normal quartz—like the one I'd given him that day in the park and he'd returned to me—except pink. I scrolled down the links until something caught my eye.

Spiritual Meaning of Rose Quartz

I clicked on it, and it took me to a website with bad formatting and messy text that was hard to read. 

Rose quartz is commonly considered as the "love" stone, as it opens up and heals the heart chakra, and attracts love to the user's life. Even though it's more commonly associated with romantic love, it also can represent strong platonic love. It's a very calming, kind stone, and it can-

I had read enough. I didn't know what a heart chakra was, but my heart itself beat rapidly. How could a stone have any of these properties? Did Jack actually believe in this new age hippie stuff?

This was just a coincidence. He had just given me a random rock for a random reason, maybe even for no reason at all. I was reading too much into it. The rock itself could have many different meanings, it didn't only have to be what I read on one badly formatted site. It was a freaking rock.

"From black onyx to rose quartz," I said to myself. "Huh."

❀     ❀     ❀

A/N: 

✿ rocks mentioned in this chapter ✿

✿ rose quartz ✿

Also, I'm just curious, which character do you relate to the most? Even though Seth is my favorite character from this story, I can relate most to Jack. What about you guys?

This chapter is dedicated to TurtleShmurtleT 💖  Thank you for all the kind comments 🌸