Heartthrobs Don’t Date Wallflowers (Texting the Boyband)

Chapter 11

eleven

The hallway buzzed with the usual morning chaos—lockers slamming shut, bursts of laughter, the shuffle of textbooks being stuffed into backpacks. I was somewhere in the middle of it, trying to figure out how to fit my binder into the already overstuffed depths of my locker. How did people manage to keep these things organized? My system—if you could even call it that—was mostly just shoving things in and hoping for the best.

I fumbled with my English notes, the corner of one paper getting caught on the metal shelf. “Come on,” I muttered, yanking it free, though half the page tore in the process. Great. Another set of notes that would be impossible to decipher.

Just as I was about to reach for my math book, I heard some loud, booming laughter from down the hall. Take Five. Of course. I didn’t even have to look to know it was them, though I snuck a glance out of curiosity .

The boys walked down the hall like they owned the place, which, to be fair, they kind of did. It wasn’t like they tried to stand out—it just happened. Hudson was laughing his arm slung over Jude’s shoulder, while Neil and Finn were looking at something on Finn’s phone. Zach was walking alongside them, but he wasn’t talking. His gaze was trained on the floor in front of him, like he was lost in their own world.

I went back to my locker, pulling out my calculator just as a group of girls nearby giggled loudly, probably trying to get the band’s attention. They were practically buzzing with excitement, tossing their hair and pretending not to notice when Neil smiled their way.

I tried to tune it all out, but suddenly there was a loud thud—someone crashing into something—and I barely had time to register what happened before I felt a sharp pain shoot through my hand.

“Ow!” I yelped, jerking back. My locker door had slammed shut… on my fingers.

“Whoa, sorry!” A voice said quickly, and I turned to see Zach standing right there, looking genuinely concerned. He was close—like, close enough that I could feel the warmth coming off him—and I froze for a second, completely thrown off. My heart did that weird little flip again, like it couldn’t decide whether to stop entirely or race ahead. Someone must’ve shoved into him, which is why he ended up crashing into me, but all I could focus on was the fact that Zach was standing here. This was the first time I’d been so close to him since that day at Starbucks and the look on his face—brows etched together, bitting his lip, and just generally looking like he actually cared —was so similar to when he’d shoved me out the door that day.

“I-I’m fine,” I stammered, but my voice wobbled, betraying me. My fingers felt like they were on fire, definitely not fine, but I didn’t want to sound pathetic in front of him.

Zach’s frown deepened, his gaze shifting from my hand back to my face, like he wasn’t buying it for a second. “You don’t look fine.”

“No, seriously,” I said, trying to laugh it off even though I was on the verge of tears. “It’s just a… minor locker injury.”

I cringed the second I said it. A minor locker injury? I was an idiot.

The guys had all stopped, watching the scene unfold, and even some of the girls nearby had their eyes on us now. Great. Just what I needed—an audience. I could already hear them whispering, probably wondering why Zach was talking to me, of all people.

“Let me see,” Zach said, his voice calm but firm, and before I could react, he gently took my hand in his. His fingers barely brushed against mine, but it was enough to send a little shiver up my arm. He was so careful, like he was handling something fragile, and it caught me off guard. I’d always figured him to be the tough, silent type, but there was a softness in the way he held my hand that made my cheeks heat up.

I instinctively tried to pull my hand back, embarrassed by how much attention I was suddenly getting. Zach didn’t let go. He just held on, his grip firm but gentle, like he was quietly refusing to listen to my stubbornness.

“It’s really not a big deal,” I mumbled, though even to me, it sounded weak. I wanted to act like I had it all together, but I couldn’t ignore the sharp sting pulsing through my hand.

“You should go to the nurse,” he insisted, his eyes locking onto mine. His voice was low but unwavering, and there was this intensity in his gaze that made my stomach flip. “That looks like it hurts.”

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but before I could get a word out, I heard a voice from nearby.

“She’s fine, Zach,” a girl said, her tone dismissive. I didn’t recognize her, but she looked like she might have a been a senior, probably in some of Zach’s classes. “It’s just a little bruise.”

Zach didn’t even blink. He didn’t spare her so much as a glance.

“We’re going to the nurse,” he said, his tone final, like the discussion was over before it even started. It surprised me how determined he sounded. He wasn’t asking; he was ordering. And before I could find my voice, he’d already started steering me down the hallway.

His spare hand found its way to my back, lightly guiding me through the crowded hall like it was no big deal. But to me, it felt like a very big deal. I was painfully aware of the looks we were getting as we passed by groups of students, and my heart was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with my hand. The girls who had been hovering nearby exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of disbelief and irritation, as if they were jealous—of me .

I could feel their eyes burning into my back as we walked away, but Zach didn’t seem to care at all. He just kept moving forward, like it was the most natural thing in the world, only stopping for long enough to make some sort of hand motion at his bandmates. Some sort of I’m taking this girl to the nurse signal.

“Really, you don’t have to do this,” I mumbled, glancing up at him. “I’m sure you have better things to do than babysit me.”

Zach raised an eyebrow, looking a bit amused but also serious. “It’s not babysitting. You’re hurt.”

I opened my mouth to argue but paused. What was up with him? I mean, we’d barely talked before, and here he was acting all concerned. Part of me wondered if he was just being nice because he felt sorry for me, like maybe I was some charity case he’d decided to help out for the day. I could totally see it—him showing off to his fans how he was rescuing the awkward new girl.

I was suddenly hyper-aware of how I must look—hair a bit messy, cheeks flushed, and Zach still holding onto my injured arm, like he was scared to let go.

Still, every time I shifted my fingers, sharp pain would shoot through them, and as much as I wanted to brush it off, a trip to the nurse was starting to sound like the right course of action.

“Okay, maybe I could use a little help,” I admitted, trying to keep my tone casual. I hated that he was seeing me like this. Hurt. Vulnerable. Embarrassed. But the way he was looking at me—so serious, yet so… kind—made it hard to keep my guard up.

“See? Was that so hard?” he said, his lips twitching into a half-smile that made my stomach do a little flip.

“This is not how I imagined my day going,” I babbled nervously. “I mean, first week at Summerfield, I’ve already embarrassed myself multiple times, and somehow, I’m being escorted to the nurse by Zach from Take Five.” He didn’t laugh, but I could see the faintest hint of amusement in his dark eyes. I took that as a win and a sign to keep going, “So, um, any chance you have a secret identity as a superhero? Because you’re definitely coming to my rescue right now.”

Zach ran a finger of my hand, seeming lost in thought, like he didn’t even know he was doing it. I tried not to hiss in pain because I didn’t really want to stop him.

“Okay, bad joke,” I said. “I’ll just stop talking before I embarrass myself further.”

“Too late for that,” he said, his tone dry but not unkind.

Great, now I was turning into a giggling mess. We passed a few more students and if I had a dollar for every pair of eyes on us, I think I’d be rich by now. Not Take Five rich, but maybe fifty dollars richer.

By the time we reached the nurse’s office, my hand had started to swell, and I was pretty sure at least one of my fingers had turned a lovely shade of purple. The pain was throbbing, but having his warm hand over mine somehow made it bearable. As we reached the door, he held it open for me, and I stepped inside, feeling weirdly out of place. The small room was painted a calming shade of blue, but my nerves were anything but calm.

The nurse looked up from her desk, her eyes widening when she saw my hand. “Oh dear, what happened here?”

“Minor locker injury,” Zach said to the nurse before I could even think of a response. I tried not to snort at how he used my line while the nurse’s brows pinched.

“Pardon me?” she asked.

“The locker slammed closed on my hands,” I clarified.

The nurse tutted sympathetically and motioned for me to sit down. “Let me take a look, honey.”

I perched on the red padded chair beside her desk as she examined my hand. Its leather seat felt foreign, too soft compared to our plastic chairs in class and the antiseptic smell of the room stung my nostrils.

Zach leaned on the door frame, his tall body blocking the entrance entirely like a “no way in” sign as he watched quietly. I expected him to slip out once we got here, abandon me like he was passing the beacon off to the nurse, and his chivalrous act for the day would be done. But he stayed, and even as strange as it was, his presence was somehow calming.

“Just some bruising,” the nurse said after a moment, wrapping an ice pack in a towel and handing it to me. “You’ll be fine. Keep the ice on it for a while, and if it’s still hurting tomorrow, let me know.”

I nodded, muttering a quiet, “Thanks.”

As I stood up, I caught Zach’s gaze, and my heart fluttered. He stepped forward again, glancing at the nurse.

“She good to go?” His tone was businesslike, as if he was making sure I wouldn’t collapse from my tragic accident.

The nurse smiled reassuringly. “Yep, she’s all set.”

We walked out of the office, and I shifted awkwardly, unsure of what to say. My mind was still racing with the fact that Zach had basically just rescued me in front of half the school.

“Thanks,” I finally said, glancing over at him as we started down the hall to the main area of the school again. “You didn’t have to stay here with me.”

Zach shrugged, his hands tucked back into his pockets. “It’s not a big deal.”.

“Right, but I mean, you’re a busy guy, and here you are, helping me out. I feel like I should repay you or something,” I rambled, my nervousness bubbling to the surface. “Maybe I can get you a smoothie from the café or, um, I could… I don’t know, make you cookies? Everyone loves cookies, right?”

He didn’t respond right away, his expression unreadable as we walked. “You bake?”

“No,” I admitted with a sigh. “But my mom actually?—”

I snapped my mouth shut mid-sentence as I realized what I was about to admit to him: that my mom had suggested I bake the boys brownies and go by their house to introduce myself when we first moved in. I told her it was supposed to be the other way around, with the people who already lived in the neighborhood welcoming the newcomers.

“Never mind,” I mumbled.

“You don’t need to make me cookies,” Zach said when I didn’t speak again. His eyes were set on the double doors at the end of the hall, like walking in a straight line to them was taking intense concentration. “I’m the one who pushed you, remember?”

“Yeah, but I was the one in the way.” I was trying to crack a joke but the delivery came out all awkward and based on the way he was frowning at me, he didn’t think it was very funny.

The bell rang, reminding where we were—and more importantly, where we were supposed to be. From my calculation I’d have to sprint across the school to make it to math and I had no idea where Zach is meant to be, but I was sure it wasn’t here.

“And now I’ve made you late for class,” I said, letting my head fall back with a groan. “Gosh, I’m so sorry. Really. I didn’t?—”

“Don’t do that.”

I frowned and tipped my head back to look at him. “Don’t do what?”

“Don’t apologize for things that aren’t your fault.”

I stared at him with my mouth agape, wanting to say something but not sure what. Really, my first instinct was to apologize again but I wasn’t sure how he’d take that.

In the end, I didn’t need to. He stepped back, almost walking into the doors to the stairwell.

“Take care of yourself, Ivy Wade,” he said.

He pushed the door open and disappeared before I even had the chance to ask him how on earth he knew my full name.