He Deleted My Number After 972 Messages of Love Chapter 08

He Deleted My Number After 972 Messages of Love Chapter 08

When I got to school on Monday morning, I placed the unopened bag of medicine squarely on Jesse’s desk.

The new seating chart was already taped up at the front of the room.

I sorted out all my things for my assigned new seat, then carried them over little by little while hardly anyone was in the classroom yet.

Everyone had finished switching desks by the time homeroom started.

Our homeroom teacher walked in and stepped up to the podium.

“We have a new student joining our senior class today. Come on up, Ezra Mercer.”

When the boy walked into the classroom, a low buzz of surprised chatter rippled through the room.

“Whoa, he’s insanely good-looking…”

“He’s even better-looking than the photo I snuck a peek at in the office the other day.”

The teacher scanned the room, then pointed at the empty chair beside mine. “You can take that seat for now. You can go to your desk partner if you run into any questions or trouble settling in.”

I stared at Ezra’s face for two full seconds. There was something oddly familiar about him…

I didn’t exchange a single word with Ezra for the entire morning. There was a tired, cold sharpness to his features, and he came off as someone who preferred keeping others at arm’s length.

Our last period before lunch was PE. Luke invited Ezra to join their basketball game.

I sat on the concrete steps a short distance away, my gaze drifting toward Ezra the whole time, growing more certain I recognized him.

I paid no attention to how smoothly and instinctively he and Jesse worked together while playing basketball.

In an instant, the memory suddenly came back to me.

It was the same evening I’d made that final phone call to Jesse.

I left school after finishing my end-of-day classroom cleanup duty, and the menstrual cramps had barely eased up, making me feel weak and exhausted all over.

I’d boarded the bus, and an abrupt hard brake almost made me lose my footing. A hand caught me just in time to steady me.

The boy stood up from his seat. “Over here. You can sit down.”

“Thank you.”

I sank into the seat, lightheaded and too dizzy to get a clear look at his face.

A middle-aged man got on at the next stop and planted himself directly in front of me. His stomach bulged so much it stretched his button-down shirt taut, straining the seams. I had to press myself flat against the window to avoid touching him.

Seeing this, the same boy walked over and quietly positioned himself between the man and me. The overpowering stench of cigarette smoke and liquor faded, replaced by his fresh, light natural scent.

I tugged gently at his sleeve. He tilted his head down to meet my eyes. I mouthed a proper, sincere thank-you a second time.

He turned back around to stare ahead, kept scrolling his phone, and let out a quiet, indifferent “Mm-hmm.”

It dawned on me now that this boy had been Ezra all along.

As more passengers piled onto the bus later on, my eyelids grew heavy, and I leaned my head against the window, drifting in and out of sleep.

The bus pulled up to a stop, and Ezra straightened up. I thought he was about to get off—but he just glanced at me, then bent his head back down over his phone.

I forced myself a little more awake. ” You look tired. You can have your seat back. Thanks for letting me stay here.”

I started to stand up, but he pushed me gently back down. “Don’t worry about it. Just sleep.”

I stirred awake a few times, and every time, Ezra was still there.

By the final few stops, most riders had gotten off. When I woke up once more, Ezra was already gone.