If Only (GxG)

Chapter 12 Navigation

He jerks his chin at something past my shoulder. "Looks like someone's about to have a really rough afternoon."

I glance over and spot Blake striding down the hallway with the air of someone who's ready to snap.

Her coat flares behind her like a cape, and I notice how students practically dive out of her path. Whispers pass between them—the entire school knows she's in a foul mood.

I press my lips together, fighting a laugh. Even in her darkest temper, I can't help but feel a rush of warmth. I gather my notes and stuff them into my bag, standing up. "I'll be back," I say softly.

Ross looks at me like I'm nuts. "Where are you going?"

"I need to ask Miss Bradley something." My heart thuds a little harder, torn between excitement and concern for her obvious tension.

Ross shakes his head in disbelief. "Are you crazy? She looks ready to bite off someone's head."

"She's just having a tough day, Rossy," I answer, shrugging. "I'll see you later."

I can almost feel his skeptical gaze boring into the back of my head as I head out. Ahead, Blake has vanished around a corner, presumably heading to her classroom. My palms feel clammy, and I tug at the sleeves of my jumper—a nervous habit that only heightens my realization that she's often my solace. Now she's the one who's upset.

Eventually, I reach her classroom door, the hallway quieter here than the bustling corridors behind me. I rap on the door softly. Her voice, clipped and cold, slices through the silence: "Come in."

Steadying myself, I open the door. She's seated behind her desk, arms crossed, a stack of papers splayed out in front of her. One look at her stormy expression confirms the rumors: she is not in a good place. The moment she sees me, her gaze sharpens, but there's no softening, no flicker of the warmth I've grown to expect.

"Hi," I manage, my voice gentler than usual. "I was hoping to catch you before you left."

She remains rigid, posture unyielding. "What do you need, Alison?" Her tone is all business.

I pause in mid-step, the chill in her voice stinging more than I'd like. This is so unlike our usual dynamic that it momentarily throws me off. "Blake?" I say, brows pinching together. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Her lips tighten. "Nothing is wrong, Alison," she says tersely, eyes flicking back to her papers. "Tell me what you want—I'm busy."

A pang of hurt lances my chest. I also sense something deeper beneath the surface—like anger or frustration she can't shake.

But I don't want to push too hard if she's not ready. "I can see something's bothering you," I say softly, taking a careful step forward.

She exhales, the tension all but radiating off her. "I said I'm fine," she insists, not meeting my gaze. "If you have a question, just ask it."

My heart clenches. She's always been my safe space; now, I want nothing more than to return that favor.

Hoping to break through her defenses, I walk fully into the room and, with one smooth motion, twist the door's lock.