The week leading up to Friday's movie night buzzed with a mix of anticipation and unresolved tension at Eastwood High. Snow flurries dusted the parking lot by mid-December, turning the air crisp and the hallways into a whirlwind of winter formal posters and early holiday chatter. Lydia found herself checking her phone more often than usual, half-expecting updates from Thomas on his "operation." Cynthia, true to their renewed pact, stuck close—lunchtime gossip sessions, after-school walks to the car, even a quick mall trip for matching ugly Christmas sweaters. It felt like old times, but better, with the honesty they'd rebuilt.
Jack, meanwhile, seemed his usual self on the surface: smiles in the halls, jokes at lunch, flawless free-kicks during soccer practice. But Lydia noticed subtle shifts since that free period in the library. His laughs came a beat too late sometimes; his eyes would drift during conversations, like he was somewhere else. She hadn't pushed—everyone had off days—but when he caught her looking in history class on Wednesday, he flashed a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"You good?" she'd whispered.
"Always," he'd replied, but his hand had fidgeted with his pen the rest of the period.
Friday arrived with a light snowfall, blanketing the town in quiet white. Lydia's house was the designated spot for movie night—her mom's out of town for a work conference, leaving the living room free for their chaos. By 7 p.m., the group had trickled in: Cynthia first, arms loaded with snacks and a playlist of holiday tunes; Thomas next, with a massive bowl of popcorn and a mischievous wink at Lydia; Julius, quieter than usual but nodding hello; Raymond, carrying a cooler of sodas and looking slightly less stern than he had all week; and Jack last, shaking snow from his blond hair and handing over a bag of candy with his trademark dimpled smile.
"Reporting for duty," Jack said, saluting dramatically. "What's the lineup? Holiday classics or horror to freak everyone out?"
Cynthia laughed, pulling him into the room. "Mix of both. Lydia's pick first— The Princess Bride, because she's obsessed."
"Classic," Jack approved, dropping onto the couch beside Lydia. "Westley's got nothing on my dramatic entrances."
The evening started easy—lights dimmed, blankets piled high, everyone sprawled across couches and floor pillows. Laughter filled the gaps between movie lines, with Thomas quoting every scene wrong on purpose. Julius even cracked a rare joke about the Rodents of Unusual Size. Raymond sat on the floor near Lydia's end of the couch, close enough that she could smell his clean, woodsy cologne. Thomas caught her eye once and mouthed "You're welcome," nodding subtly toward Raymond.
But as the movie hit its midpoint, Jack shifted restlessly. He excused himself to the kitchen for a drink, staying gone longer than necessary. Lydia noticed first, pausing the film during a quiet scene.
"I'll check on him," she said, slipping away.
In the kitchen, Jack stood by the window, staring out at the falling snow. His shoulders were tense, hands gripping the counter like he needed the support. He didn't hear her approach at first.
"Hey," Lydia said softly. "Everything okay?"
He startled, turning with a forced smile. "Yeah. Just... snow's pretty. Reminds me of home."
"Old home?" she asked, leaning against the doorway. "You don't talk about it much."
Jack hesitated, eyes flickering to the living room where muffled laughter echoed. "Not much to say. Small town, boring life. Moved here for a fresh start."
But his voice wavered slightly, and Lydia saw the same glassiness from the library. "Jack... if something's bothering you, you can tell me. We're friends, right?"
He looked at her then—really looked, without the charm shield. His blue eyes were rimmed red, and he blinked hard. "It's stupid. Family crap."
"Not stupid," she said gently. "Want to talk about it?"
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "My parents... they're getting divorced. Officially. Dad called last night to 'update' me. Like it's a status report."
Lydia's heart sank. "I'm sorry. That sucks."
"Yeah." He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms like a barrier. "It's been building for years. Mom's always working—corporate job, travels constantly. Dad's... well, he's got his own stuff. Affairs, I think. They fight all the time when she's home. Yelling, doors slamming. I used to hide in my room with headphones, pretending it wasn't happening."
Lydia moved closer, hopping onto the counter beside him. "How long?"
"Since I was like, ten? But it got worse last year. Mom found out about Dad's 'friend'—some woman from his office. They tried counseling, but it was pointless. Dad moved out over the summer, right before we transferred here. Mom thought a new town would 'reset' everything for me. Like changing schools fixes a broken family."
He laughed bitterly, but it turned into a shaky breath. Lydia reached over, squeezing his arm. "That's a lot to carry alone."
Jack nodded, staring at the floor. "I act like it's fine. The charm, the jokes—it's easier than admitting I'm pissed. At both of them. Dad for being a selfish jerk, Mom for prioritizing work over... us. I mean, she loves me, I know that. But she's absent. Always has been. Dinners alone, birthdays with nannies when I was younger. Now it's just empty houses and takeout."
Lydia thought of her own family—stable, if not perfect. Mom worked hard but was always there for the big moments. "Have you talked to them about how you feel?"
"Tried once. Dad brushed it off—'Life's tough, kid.' Mom cried and promised to do better, but then she booked another trip." He wiped at his eyes quickly. "Sorry. Didn't mean to dump this on you."
"Don't apologize," Lydia said firmly. "I'm glad you did. Holding it in... that's what messes you up."
Jack met her gaze, vulnerability raw. "Yeah. Explains why I'm such a mess sometimes. Flirting with everyone, needing the attention. It's dumb, but it makes me feel... wanted, I guess. Like if people like me here, it fills the gap at home."
Lydia's mind flashed to the synopsis whispers—the playboy reputation from his old school. Maybe this was the root. Not malice, but hurt. "You're not a mess. You're dealing with real stuff. And you're not alone now. We've got you."
He smiled faintly, genuine this time. "Thanks, Lyd. Means a lot."
From the living room, Thomas called out, "Yo, movie's paused! You two plotting world domination?"
Jack chuckled, composing himself. "Something like that."
They returned together, Jack lighter somehow. The group resumed the movie, but Lydia caught Raymond watching Jack with a thoughtful expression—not stern, just curious.
Later, after the first film ended and they switched to a holiday comedy, the snow picked up outside. Power flickered once, then steadied. Conversation turned personal during a lull—Thomas sharing a funny family holiday disaster, Cynthia admitting her fear of post-graduation changes.
Jack stayed quiet at first, then spoke up softly. "My family's... not great right now."
The room hushed. Julius looked up from his phone; Raymond leaned forward.
"Parents splitting," Jack continued, voice steady but honest. "It's why we moved. Dad's gone, Mom's barely around. Financial stuff's tight too—divorce lawyers aren't cheap. I've been stressing about college apps, wondering if I can even afford it without loans piling up."
Thomas whistled low. "Dude, that's heavy. Why didn't you say?"
"Didn't want pity," Jack admitted. "Or to be the new guy with baggage."
Cynthia reached over, patting his knee. "Not pity. Support. We're here."
Julius, surprisingly, nodded. "My folks divorced when I was twelve. It sucks, but it gets better. If you need to talk... I'm around."
Jack blinked, surprised. "Thanks, man."
Raymond cleared his throat. "If money's an issue for apps or whatever... there are scholarships. I can help look into them."
The offer hung sincere. Jack nodded gratefully. "Appreciate it."
The night deepened into shared stories—vulnerabilities exchanged like gifts. Lydia opened up about her own insecurities with change; Cynthia confessed her pressure to always be the "fun" one. Even Raymond shared a rare glimpse: his fear of letting people close after a bad middle-school betrayal.
By midnight, as everyone bundled up to leave, the group felt tighter. Hugs replaced waves; promises of check-ins lingered.
Jack pulled Lydia aside on the porch. "Thanks for listening earlier. You're a good friend."
"So are you," she said. "Call if you need anything. Seriously."
He smiled, dimples back. "Will do."
As cars pulled away into the snowy night, Lydia watched from the door. Thomas had "accidentally" maneuvered so Raymond walked her to her car last—wait, no, everyone had left together. But earlier, during a snack run, Thomas had whispered to her: "Space created. Talk to him."
It happened organically: Raymond lingered, helping clean up wrappers.
"Fun night," he said, that stern mask gone, replaced by a soft smile.
"Yeah," Lydia agreed, heart racing. "Jack's stuff... eye-opening."
Raymond nodded. "Makes you appreciate what you have."
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air hummed with unspoken words. But the moment passed—Thomas honked from the driveway.
"See you Monday," Raymond said, heading out.
Lydia closed the door, mind swirling. Jack's revelations had peeled back layers, humanizing the golden boy. His family issues—divorce, neglect, financial strain—explained the charisma as a shield, the playfulness as a Band-Aid over deeper wounds.
But it also shifted the group: empathy bridging gaps, Julius softening his distance, Raymond opening up.
The web wasn't untangling yet—but threads were loosening.
And for Lydia, hope with Raymond flickered brighter.