

After We Collide

 

Chapter Three

Jay’s POV

There are exactly three things in life I know I’m good at:

1. Eating instant ramen without burning my tongue.

2. Memorizing textbook chapters like my life depends on it.

3. Being a nerd.

So imagine my shock when Mr. Cool himself — Lamia Robert — is staring at his notes like they’re written in ancient Greek.

I blink. “Wait. Don’t tell me—”

He groans, dragging his hand down his perfect face. “I suck at math, okay?”

…Oh. Oh my God.

I slap a hand over my mouth, but the laugh escapes anyway. “You? Mr. Tall, Dark, and Effortlessly Cool can’t do… algebra?”

“Shut up,” he mutters, ears turning slightly pink.

Oh, this is gold. Years of being the clumsy idiot in every room and finally — finally — the universe hands me a win.

“Say it,” I push, leaning across the table, grinning like an idiot.

His jaw tightens. “Say what?”

“That you need my help.”

His dark eyes lock on mine, a challenge sparking there. For a second, I swear the air between us shifts. Then, in the quietest voice, he says—

“…Fine. Help me.”

Victory tastes sweet.

“Thought you’d never ask,” I say, smirking.

---

Lamia’s POV

He’s enjoying this way too much. Hazel eyes shining, smug little smile tugging at his lips, acting like he’s just won the lottery because I admitted one weakness.

But the worst part? He’s actually good at explaining. He doesn’t talk down to me, doesn’t make me feel dumb. Just sits there, patiently walking me through every step, tapping his pen against the page like a little drumbeat.

And the more he talks, the more I find myself… listening. Not just to the words, but to him. His voice. His expressions. The way he gets this spark when he’s in his element.

It’s infuriating. And distracting.

“Are you even paying attention?” he snaps when he catches me staring again.

“Nope,” I say honestly.

His mouth falls open. “You— You’re impossible.”

“And you’re bossy,” I shoot back, leaning back in my chair.

For a second, it’s just us, glaring at each other like cats ready to pounce. Then, unexpectedly… he laughs.

A real laugh. Bright, unguarded, and stupidly cute.

And just like that, I know I’m screwed.

Turns out math isn’t the hardest problem I’ll have to solve this year.

———

Jay’s POV

It’s official: I am a saint.

Because if anyone else had been in my shoes, they’d have shoved Lamia Robert out the door after the fifth time he pretended not to understand a problem just so I’d explain it again.

“Seriously,” I sigh, scribbling numbers in my notebook, “it’s not rocket science. If x equals 3, then—”

“Then why can’t I just write 3x?” he interrupts, leaning on his elbow, his dark eyes boring into me like this is my fault.

I fling my pencil down. “Because that’s not how algebra works, you moron.”

His lips twitch, like he’s holding back a laugh, and I know — I know — he’s doing this just to watch me get riled up.

“You’re enjoying this,” I accuse.

“Maybe,” he says, smirking.

I groan, dragging my hands down my face. Why me? Why did the universe send me the world’s most distracting lab partner?

Before I can lecture him again, a loud knock knock knock rattles the door.

“Jaybird!”

Oh no.

“Oh YES,” Amy’s voice sings like she heard my thoughts. “I know you’re in there with Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome, open up before I kick the door in.”

My soul leaves my body. “No, no, no—”

But of course, my mom swings the door open before I can stop her.

And in marches Amy.

She takes one look at me and Lamia sitting at the table surrounded by books, and her grin is wicked. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Lamia leans back in his chair, calm as ever. “A hostage situation,” he deadpans.

Amy cackles like the unholy gremlin she is. “Oh, I like you.”

I slam my notebook shut. “Amy, don’t you have somewhere else to be? Like, literally anywhere else?”

“Nope,” she chirps, plopping herself into the chair right next to Lamia. “My schedule’s wide open.”

Kill me now.

---

Amy proceeds to spend the next thirty minutes tormenting me. Every time Lamia so much as breathes in my direction, she nudges me under the table. Every time I explain something, she gasps dramatically and whispers, “You’re such a good teacher, Jaybird. So smart. So nerdy. I bet Lamia’s just swooning inside.”

I want to melt into the floor.

“Do you always let her talk this much?” Lamia asks me at one point, smirk tugging at his lips.

“Let her?” I snap. “You think I let her?”

Amy claps her hands. “See, he pretends to be annoyed, but deep down he loves me.”

“Deep, deep, deep down,” I mutter.

“Aw, Jay,” she coos, leaning her head on my shoulder. “You’re my soulmate.”

I shove her off. “Stop saying that in front of people.”

Lamia’s eyebrow arches, and for a terrifying second, I think he looks… amused. Like he’s enjoying this mess.

“Don’t worry,” Amy tells him with mock seriousness, “Jay only belongs to me platonically. The rest of him is up for grabs.”

My jaw drops. “AMY!”

She just grins innocently.

---

Lamia’s POV

I didn’t think I’d enjoy this, but watching Jay panic is easily the highlight of my week.

His friend Amy is… loud. Chaotic. Borderline insane. But she knows exactly how to push his buttons, and the way he reacts? Absolutely priceless.

Red face. Wide eyes. Huffing like an old man.

And the more he tries to shut her up, the more obvious it becomes: she knows him better than anyone.

When she leans in and whispers something that makes him bury his face in his hands, I can’t hold back the laugh. A real one. Not the cool, detached chuckle I usually give people. An actual laugh.

Jay peeks through his fingers, glaring at me. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m just here for the show,” I admit, smirking.

Amy gasps. “Oh my God, he smiles! He laughs! Jay, look — you broke the ice prince!”

Jay groans again, but his ears are pink.

---

By the time Amy finally gets bored and announces she’s leaving, Jay looks like he’s aged ten years.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” she calls as she skips out the door.

Jay yells after her, “That’s literally EVERYTHING!”

The door shuts, and silence falls.

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his messy brown hair. “Sorry about her. She’s… a lot.”

I shrug, leaning back. “She’s funny.”

“You’re not supposed to encourage her,” he grumbles.