CHAPTER TWELVE
The race became a memory the way storms do—
not gone, but distant, carried in the bones rather than the air.
Evalon High moved on.
Faster than Noel expected.
Posters were torn down.
Engines quieted.
Names stopped being spoken with reverence and began being spoken with boredom.
The race faded into something people would one day exaggerate, then misremember, then argue about online.
And Noel Madison let it.
He didn't return as a victor.
He didn't return as a ghost either.
He returned as something far more unsettling.
Normal.
Already recovering..
His body healed unevenly.
The doctors cleared him to walk first, then jog. Running came later—not fast, not long, but possible.
Pain lingered in quiet places: the bend of his ribs, the dull echo in his shoulder when the weather changed.
But Noel didn't chase recovery.
He observed and even slowly respected it.
Every morning he stretched slowly, listening to his body like it might lie to him if rushed.
Every evening he iced what still ached, even when pride told him he didn't need to.
Mrs. Riley watched without comment.
Mr. Madison Moore watched without interruption.
And one Saturday evening, without ceremony, his father handed him a key.
It waited in the driveway like a held breath.
Black!.
Not glossy.
Not loud.
A deep, consuming black that swallowed sunlight whole.
Two blue stripes cut through the hood—clean, deliberate, unmistakable.
Not electric.
Not bright.
A dark cobalt that shifted when the light hit it right.
Noel stared longer than he meant to.
"It's the same model," Mr. Madison said.
"Updated internals. ..Reinforced frame."
Noel nodded slowly.
"And the color?" he asked.
His father's expression didn't change.
"You've clung to black and blue since you were twelve," he said.
"Even when you didn't have to."
Noel ran a hand along the hood.
It was cool.
Solid.
Real.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Mr. Madison placed a hand on his shoulder—not firm, not soft.
"Drive when you're ready," he said.
"Not when they expect you to."
That mattered more than the car.
The following Monday, the school noticed.
Not the car at first.
Him...his glow.
Noel stepped out dressed simply—black jacket, blue undershirt, dark jeans.
No brace.
No limp.
His movements were careful but confident, like someone who knew exactly where his limits were and refused to apologize for them.
Whispers followed.
They always did.
But they were different now.
Less hunger.
More curiosity.
Then the doors opened.
And everything shifted.
Amara Ivathon.
She stood near the administrative hallway, speaking to a counselor Noel didn't recognize.
And the world....for the briefest, quietest moment...lost its sound.
Amara Ivathon didn't glow.
She didn't smile.
She didn't perform.
She existed.
Her hair fell long and dark, not styled, not careless—just heavy, like it belonged exactly where it was.
Her skin carried a muted warmth, untouched by the light around her, as if brightness avoided her out of respect.
Her eyes were the first thing that undid him.
Dry.
Not tired.
Not sad.
Drained.
As if whatever once softened them had been taken gently but permanently, leaving behind something colder—and infinitely more dangerous.
They didn't ask to be understood.
They dared you to misunderstand them.
Her nose was sharp in a way that felt intentional, curves too precise, too sculpted for softness.
Her lips rested naturally parted, not inviting, not defensive—simply unconcerned with being perceived.
She didn't look fragile.
She looked finished.
Like something the world had already tried to break and failed.
Noel stopped walking.
Didn't realize it.
Didn't care.
It then got him" that first Impact.!.
He felt it then.
Not attraction.
Recognition.
The kind that arrives without permission.
Without reason.
Without escape.
Oh, something in him said quietly.
There you are.
She turned her head slightly.
And looked directly at him.
Not through him.
Not past him.
At him.
Her gaze didn't linger—but it didn't flinch either.
Just a measured assessment.
Then she turned back to the counselor, conversation resuming as if Noel Madison had not just been undone in the middle of a school hallway.
His heartbeat took too long to recover.
Queensley appeared at his side seconds later, already talking.
"You're late—again—and don't think I didn't see the car because—"
She stopped.
Followed his line of sight.
"Oh,ooooooooooh" she said. With an evil smile .
Noel didn't respond.
"That's Amara Ivathon," Queensley continued, quieter now.
"Transfer. Came in this morning."
Noel swallowed.
"Why does it feel," he said slowly, "like I've met her before?". She's too familiar. I think.
Queensley frowned.
"You haven't."
He nodded.
"I know."
"Mhmmm" hehe" Queensley chucked .
"Stoppppppp...I was just checking something .".
"Yeaah definitely checking her out you mean".. she kept laughing but louder this time enough to make amara look towards their direction .
"Oopps"she murmured
Amara didn't try to fit in.
She didn't sit where she was told to sit—she chose.
Didn't speak unless spoken to.
Didn't laugh when others laughed.
And yet—
Every room adjusted around her.
Teachers paused slightly longer when calling her name.
Students glanced twice without realizing they'd done it.
Even Alex Wilson—loud, restless, hungry for attention—fell quiet when she passed.
She was untouched by the school's history.
By its races.
Its rivalries.
Its noise.
That alone made her seem dangerous.
Love at First Sight.
Noel hated the phrase.
Found it lazy.
Unearned.
But standing at his locker, watching her cross the courtyard alone, he understood that sometimes language failed because the truth arrived too quickly.
This wasn't longing.
This was gravity.
He didn't imagine touching her.
Didn't fantasize.
Didn't project.
He wanted to know her.
Wanted to understand what had drained the light from her eyes and left something sharper behind.
For the first time since the crash—
since the hospital—
since the race—
his chest felt tight for a reason that wasn't pain.
Movement seemed impossible.
After school, he drove.
Not fast.
Not far.
Just enough to feel the car respond to him—steady, obedient, patient.
The blue stripes reflected faintly in storefront windows as he passed.
Black and blue.
Always had been.
Always would be.
And somewhere behind him, walking through Evalon High with dry eyes and quiet steps, was a girl who felt like a beginning disguised as an ending.
Noel smiled to himself.
Not because he was happy
.
But because—for the first time in a long while—
Something had reached him.