Things are really beginning to pick up in the story, so I hope you guys enjoy :) Shoutout to Canva for helping with the design of the attached cover! If anyone would like to submit a cover for me to attach to the future chapters, feel free to DM me on Instagram! Just please only use photos that you have the rights to :)

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"These woods are lovely, dark, and deep. But I have promises to keep." - Robert Frost

Memory Lane: Chapter Nine

Since Jesse's uncharacteristically kind gesture helped me get to class early, Kendall and Quinn haven't arrived yet. When they do, they both pause in the doorway and blink at me. Look at each other. Blink again. And then their faces break out into cheerful smiles as they rush across the room towards me, laughing as they trip over a rogue backpack.

"You made it today!" Kendall gushes.

"Not even just made it, but you got here early!" Quinn adds as she plops into her seat, scooting her entire desk closer to me.

My chest spreads with warmth at their excitement of having five extra minutes to talk to me and I share their smiles.

"New day, new me."

"What made you finally roll out of bed with enough time to get here?" Quinn teases.

"Oh, I didn't wake up any earlier."

"No?" Kendall asks, brows raised in surprise. "How did you manage to get here so soon?"

Sharing the fact that Jesse made a point to apologize to me and showed me the quicker path to school would only have Kendall nodding and saying "I told you so! He's not a bad guy." I don't need to let her boast, especially when I'm still not convinced she's entirely right. One nice gesture doesn't take back the words and accusations he's thwarted my way, but it does help. My smile falters and I look behind her towards Jesse. He's continuing to write in his notebook, so it doesn't seem like he's listening to us.

"I found a new path," it's only a partial lie, "you left earlier than me, though. How was I able to get to class before you?"

Kendall smiles sheepishly and she unconsciously reaches her hands up to comb through her hair. "Allen and I took a, eh, detour before class-"

I cringe and stick my hand out to stop her. "That's my cousin. Save me from any more details, please."

Quinn gives us a puzzled look. "Detour? Is there roadwork happening somewhere?"

Kendall and I look at one another and break out into quiet laughter while Quinn looks between us with a frown.

"What?" She whines, tugging on our arms.

"Not that kind of detour," Kendall admits with a massive blush.

"What does that even- oh."

Our quiet laughter continues as Quinn's eyes widen with her realization. Then, they narrow and she lightly hits Kendall.

"You picked me up after that! Kendall!"

Kendall and I start laughing even harder while Quinn gags, shaking her head to rid whatever image she suddenly thought of.

Once our laughter subsides, I recall a moment during my walk with Jesse. "Oh, and his name was Charles Greeson Jones by the way,"

"Uh, who?" Kendall asks.

"The Titanic guy."

"You mean The Olympic," Quinn quickly interrupts.

I ignore Quinn's remark, as I'm learning we have to do sometimes, to clarify. "The guy that no one could remember the name of at lunch on Sunday."

Both of their eyes light up in recognition and they nod, murmuring their agreement.

"How'd you find that out? Did you decide to take a stroll through the Cemetery?" Kendall asks with a light laugh.

"Jesse and I were talking about it, actually."

I instantly bite my tongue when I realize I admitted to talking to Jesse.

"See? I told you he would know! He's like a walking museum," Kendall says with a pleased grin. Then her grin disappears and she looks at me through a puzzled gaze.

"Wait- Jesse told you?"

"You two actually talked? Instead of arguing?" Quinn asks, sapphire eyes widening.

"You make it sound like I'm incapable of having a conversation," I mutter.

"Well so far with him, your conversations have been..." Quinn trails off, trying to find the right word.

"Tense. Uncomfortable. Argumentative."

I press my lips together at Kendall's list.

"When did you two talk?" She asks.

I look past both of them and focus on Jesse who has the faintest smirk on his lips. My face tightens into a scowl at my friends' lack of discretion in a clear whispering moment, allowing him to hear that he's our topic of conversation. I eye the clock at the front of the room, begging the neon red digits to shift from 8:29 to 8:30 so that Mrs. Hyde can begin her lecture and save me from answering. Instead, the red numbers remain for what feels like longer than a minute.

"He showed me a quicker path to school. We happened to pass the Cemetery and I remembered that you said he may know the name of the Titanic victim. So I asked him. No big deal."

Kendall and Quinn continue to stare at me warily.

"He just...randomly offered to show you how to get to school?"

"And you voluntarily followed him?" Quinn adds.

"You both said he was a nice enough guy, didn't you? Don't act so surprised," I mutter, checking to see if he's still listening. When I still see the remnants of a smirk on his face, I know he has ears like a damn hawk.

The clock finally turns to 8:30 and I internally let out a big sigh of relief, but it was premature. Mrs. Hyde stays seated at her desk and Kendall and Quinn continue to stare at me, waiting for a real answer.

"Okay, fine. He stopped by Allen's house and apologized for snapping at me yesterday and then showed me a faster path to school to make up for it. Can you two stop staring at me like that now?"

"Sorry, it's just..." Kendall starts, pursing her lips, "Jesse isn't the type to really apologize all that often. Not recently, anyway."

I give her a dry look. "And yet you always say he's a nice guy."

I vaguely notice Jesse's face drop back into the passive expression I'm used to and his attention seems to go fully back to his notebook.

"He is a nice guy," Kendall frowns. "He's just changed-"

"Since his dad passed away. Yeah, you've said that a few times," I mumble quietly as Mrs. Hyde stands from her leather chair and makes her way to the front of the class.

Kendall is saved before having to find a way to respond when Mrs. Hyde claps her hands once to get everyone's attention as she begins today's lecture.

---

The next day, I find myself once again trailing behind Jesse on my way to school.

As I tie my shoes on the top of the front porch steps, each of the Stallard's already out of the house and on the road, I hear Jesse's truck roar to life next door. The engine sputters, pops, and turns into a purr as it does every morning. Instead of continuing down the road and passing me, Jesse stops in front of the Stallard's house. The bright red paint on his truck contrasts the pristine grass covering the front lawn, looking like a scene straight from a movie as he opens the door and gets out, filling my sight with his commanding presence.

I wait for him to make another sly comment about my decision to walk and stay rooted to my spot on the porch, but the comment never comes. Jesse disappears back into the truck for a moment, grabbing his backpack before slamming the door shut and walking across the road. As I stare dumbly after him, instead of continuing on his way Jesse pauses just shy of the tree line. He turns to face me with his dark brows slightly raised as if to ask if I'm coming.

Glancing between my path and his, I grumble a string of incoherent words to myself and stand from the porch, reluctantly heading in his direction.

"I didn't know I'd be lucky enough to get to walk with you two days in a row." I say sarcastically as I reach his side.

We walk into the forest, the sunlight now only reaching us when it finds a path through the scattered canopy of leaves. It casts a few shadows on Jesse's face, cascading over his lips as he responds.

"I didn't think you'd remember the way on your own."

I scowl, "I easily could have."

He stops and turns to me with a hint of amusement on his features that makes my stomach flip, and then in turn irritates me for having any reaction to him. It's no secret that Jesse is incredibly attractive; it's the first thing I noticed about him. But, his insistent mockery of my choice to walk instead of ride with others has overridden his striking looks.

He leans his shoulder against the tree to his left, leaving his challenge unspoken as he looks at me expectantly.

I lift my chin to convey confidence that I don't really have in the moment. "Fine. I'll lead the way."

I take a confident step forward. Then, as I glance around the woods surrounding us, I take a hesitant step back into my original spot. Gnawing on my bottom lip, I glance at each tree and try to find a familiar sign of which way to walk. Had we gone straight the day before? I was so focused on trying not to lose sight of him behind some random tree yesterday that I hadn't really paid attention to when he turned right or veered left.

"Something wrong?" Jesse asks and I can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

I shake away my hesitancy and straighten my posture, answering him by walking confidently off to the right. When I hear Jesse's heavy steps behind me, crunching on the twigs and leaves covering the ground, I let out a silent breath of relief. I must've chosen the right direction.

I glance at him over my shoulder with a smug grin, "See? I'm fine on my own. I know the way."

Jesse shrugs as he steps over a massive root without even looking down. His boots land on a pile of crispy leaves with a loud crunch that nearly drowns out his response.

"You're right."

"Damn right I am," I say to myself as I turn back to face front.

"If you're planning on attending English class in the Bennington Monument."

My feet instantly halt and my grin disappears as I bite the inside of my cheek. Ahead of me, so large it peaks over the trees, stands the bleak Bennington Monument. I squint up at it, unable to appreciate the way it blocks the sun so that only a few rays peer around the structure since it proves my nonexistent sense of direction.

My ears are filled with the sound of the rustling leaves underneath my feet as I slowly turn and face Jesse standing a few yards away. His navy blue Henley-shirt hugs his muscular arms as he crosses them over his chest, my smug grin stolen and now on his face. It makes me almost wish he'd go back to consistently glowering at me.

"I guess I didn't see that's the direction I was headed," I say with a dismissive smile. "Simple mistake."

"It's the tallest manmade structure in Vermont. Kind of hard to miss."

"It's a lame attempt at making a replica of the Washington Monument is what it is." I mumble as I peer up at it.

Jesse snorts at my lack of knowledge. "It was built to commemorate the Battle of Bennington."

I furrow my brow and think back to all of the history lessons I've had, but the Battle of Bennington doesn't ring a bell. "Civil War?"

"Revolutionary."

I eye him. There's a chance he's only making this up to keep up with the façade of being a history genius. His horribly hidden smirk during class yesterday when Kendall boasted about his history knowledge was a telltale sign that he enjoys people knowing about it. But knowing the name of one Titanic victim hardly constitutes being called a "walking museum."

"I never learned about that battle," I say skeptically.

"No one did. It actually took place in New York, so it's not in our history books."

"Seems oddly convenient."

Jesse sends me a flat look. "Meaning what?"

"You sure you aren't just making this up?"

His attention shifts to the large monument. The rays of sunshine peeking around the tall, pencil-like structure shine on his face, illuminating his strong features. With the sunlight, the pale blue ring around his iris brings color to his otherwise gray eyes as it did yesterday morning. He has a ghost of a smile on his face that looks almost nostalgic as he lifts his hand to block out a portion of the sun. Then he dives into the history lesson I didn't really ask for to prove he didn't make it up.

"During the war, under the control of General Burgoyne, the British army found themselves depleted of battle supplies, horses, and food. It was known that the Americans had a massive storehouse here in Bennington, so Burgoyne ordered General Baum and nearly 400 of his men to attack the supply depot that he thought was undermanned. Along the way, Baum picked up loyalists, Native Americans, and other soldiers to assist him and grew his fleet to roughly 600 men. It looked bleak for us. But American General John Stark caught wind of his plan and raised over 1,500 men in less than a week. They then began moving towards the British army, and with both moving toward one another, they made contact in New York ten miles away from the actual storehouse. The battle was held in Walloomsac, not Bennington."

While I've never been one for history, something about the way Jesse is explaining this battle has me paying full attention. Normally his voice remains steady, rarely raising or changing tone to reveal his emotions. As he talks about this historic event, however, he takes on the tone of a storyteller. It's odd, really. To hear him speak so passionately about something.

"Okay. I believe you," I admit with a small eye roll. But I surprise myself by wanting to hear more. "Sounds like a big battle, but why build a whole monument for it?"

"The Battle of Bennington was the precursor to Burgoyne's defeat two months later at Saratoga; the turning point in the Revolutionary War."

I nod and twist my head to glance at the structure again, squinting at it. "Then if it weren't for that monument, I would be sipping tea right now? Seems like something the history books should have mentioned. Especially if the monument is in this state."

Jesse's gaze becomes curious and flickers to me. "You've learned about other state battles, so you're from Vermont?"

Surprisingly, since moving here this is the first time anyone has asked me a question that didn't pertain to the present. My hands instantly become clammy despite the innocent question. It's the curious look in his eye and the way I know more questions are on the horizon that makes me uneasy.

Understanding that not answering will only make Jesse more skeptical, I keep my answer brief and quickly move past this topic.

"Yes, but we're going to be late if we keep standing here. We should start going in the actual direction of school, which is..." I pause and glance around, finally recognizing a stump that we passed the day before, "this way!"

Jesse keeps his unwavering gaze on me just long enough for me to see that my dismissive answer didn't dismiss his curiosity, but he doesn't question me further. Instead, he lifts off of the tree and begins walking in the direction opposite of the monument and past the stump.

I am able to keep his brisk pace through the woods, across the street, past the Walloomsac Inn and Cemetery, but as we approach the hill before our last leg through the woods, I'm unable to keep up. My legs have started to flare up underneath my jeans from sweat, even with the brisk autumn chill in the air. My scarred skin is starting to sting and burn, and every step irritates it more. To make matters worse, I can hardly cover up the physical exhaustion of trying to match Jesse's stride and each breath is becoming harder to take. Since the accident and my surgery, I don't have the same physical stamina I used to. I'm not supposed to push myself.

"Can we..." I say, pausing for a moment to catch my breath, "please slow down?"

Jesse doesn't slow down. He doesn't even react to my request with a shrug or shake of his head. Frustrated, I flop down on the nearest bench before we reach our next stretch of woods to catch my breath. I put a hand on my chest and feel my heart work extra hard to try and pump blood through my body and down to my legs, and panic works its way up my spine. I shouldn't be pushing myself this hard.

To any normal person, keeping up with Jesse may mean working up a small sweat and slightly heavy breathing, but my reaction is hard to explain without revealing what caused me to be this way. Thankfully, I'm able to catch my breath back to somewhat normal levels by the time Jesse notices I'm no longer walking with him. He turns, glancing around momentarily before his eyes find me and narrow.

"What are you doing?"

He starts to walk back to me and I let out an annoyed breath through my nose. "Sitting."

"Obviously," he says, failing to hide his own frustration.

"You asked."

Jesse rolls his eyes. "Why are you sitting?"

"Because you walk faster than any normal person and it's impossible to keep up," I snap, the irritation on my legs seeping into my attitude.

Jesse presses his lips together. Any inkling of the emotion he had earlier when explaining the monument is now long gone.

I try to adjust my jeans to give me some sort of relief from the stinging and burning pain, but it only scratches my skin more. The sudden scratch causes me to flinch and I press my eyes and lips shut tight to avoid letting out a pathetic whimper.

"What's wrong?"

I peel my eyes open at his sudden interest and see him stepping closer, looking me up and down with a somewhat gentler gaze as he tries to pinpoint why I'm sitting here clearly in pain. I quickly mask my distorted expression and trade it for a reassuring smile, but I think it comes across as more of a grimace.

"Nothing. You walk fast, I'm clearly out of shape, and Aunt June likes to buy decaf coffee, so no energy boost for me this morning."

Jesse eyes me skeptically before backing off. "This wouldn't be an issue if you would just catch a ride to school."

I throw my head back and nearly groan. "Are we back to that?"

"I don't think you ever said why you don't."

Rather than panic, I force my nerves down and offer him a sickly sweet grin. "I'm a control freak, remember?"

He doesn't even bother to respond and shifts his attention to the cars whizzing past on the street in front of us.

Another wave of pain passes over my legs, preventing me from speaking as I focus hard on not letting my reaction show on my face. When the wave passes I let out a small sigh of relief and swallow.

"So, why history?" I ask. Talking helps keep my mind away from the burning happening across my skin.

Jesse looks down at me and remains silent. I scan his face, but he seems to be an expert at hiding his emotions when he wants. Which is pretty much all the time. Eventually, he lets out a quiet sigh and sits down on the bench next to me, resting his forearms on the tops of his thighs.

"It was kind of like my dad and I's thing."

My brows instantly shoot up when he openly mentions his dad. Curiosity nips at my brain.

"Was he some sort of historian?"

Jesse doesn't smile, but his expression relaxes if only slightly as he looks down at his hands. He plays with a dark maroon leaf that drifted down and landed on the bench next to us as he responds.