Act Like You Love Me (Jessica) novel Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Jessica’s POV

20 Voter

I sat in the exam hall, where the low, continuous shhh of dozens of pencils moving across paper created a tense, almost mechanical background noise.

Rows of desks stretched out, filled with fellow students hunched over their papers, brows furrowed in concentration.

The air was thick with that familiar mix of stale coffee, nervous sweat, and the faint metallic tang of sharpened pencils.

I was scribbling away at my answers, analysing a case study on journalistic ethics, my pen flying across the page as I argued about source verification and the pitfalls of sensationalism.

It felt good, like all those late nights were finally paying off. But then, mid-sentence, my mind wandered, pulling me into a vortex of thoughts that had nothing to do with the test.

The cruise trip was just two days away-we were leaving on Sunday.

My heart raced at the idea, a wild mix of excitement and dread.

On one hand, I couldn’t wait to explore: a massive ship, the open sea, exotic ports, and the freedom of being unanchored from reality.

But on the other? Aaron’s family would be there, a minefield of judgmental glances and unspoken tensions.

The last two hours of intense focus dissolved into a thick, buzzing fear.

“Twenty minutes remaining.” The robotic voice of the automated timer boomed through the speakers, yanking me back to reality.

I blinked, staring at my half-finished paragraph, my pen hovering on my last inscribed words.

Shit, focus, Jess. You can’t bomb this now.

“You heard that, people,” our professor, Mr. Davies, drawled from the front desk. He was a man with a penchant for brightly colored bowties and unnecessarily cruel deadlines.

“Time to stop writing your memoirs and start focusing on your final answers. You wouldn’t want to finish your final year with a regrettable C, would you?”

A collective groan and eye-roll rippled through the hall.

Mr. Davies was the most annoying prof on campus-always with the dad jokes and pop quizzes that felt like personal attacks……but he was our favorite too.

He pushed us hard because he cared, slipping in real-world tips between the barbs, like how to spot a biased source or navigate a hostile interview.

We buckled down for the final push, the hall filling with frantic scribbling. My hand cramped, but I powered through, wrapping up my essay with ease just as the buzzer sounded.

“Time’s up! Pencils down, or I’ll haunt your transcripts,” he barked, but there was a grin under his mustache.

Papers rustled as we passed them forward, and the moment Mr. Davies collected the last one, the room erupted into cheer, whoops, and high-fives. We were done.

This was our last paper, propelling us into the next level, our final year before the real world swallowed us. And summer

13:14 Mon, Jan 12

Chapter 11

holidays? Bliss. No more all-nighters, just freedom.. well, except for that looming cruise.

Mr. Davies held up a hand, quieting the chaos.

“Before you all bolt like rats from a sinking ship, a word of advice.” We settled, knowing resisting this session was futile.

“Journalism isn’t just about the scoop-it’s about integrity. Out there, you’ll face temptations: clickbait, fake news, sources with agendas. Stay true to the facts, question everything, and for god’s sake, fact-check before you hit publish. You’ve got potential, kids. Don’t squander it on shortcuts.”

His speech was the stuff no young person wanted to hear mid-celebration-preachy, parental-but we listened, nodding along.

Mr. Davies was a man who had seen the worst of the industry; his scars from real scandals made his warnings resonate.

It was a beautiful contradiction: he wanted nothing more than to see his students surpass him, rising above the dirty games he himself had played.

The second he dismissed us, the scramble began-bags slung over shoulders, chatter exploding as everyone bolted for the doors.

I grabbed my backpack from the front row where I’d stashed it and dashed out, weaving through the throng.

My heart pounded-not from the exam, but the clock. I had an interview at Red Column, the local press hub that churned out newspapers and delivered gritty community news.

Quitting the diner was merely step one into preparing for the future.

Landing this internship meant immediately getting hands-on experience and starting to build a credible portfolio before my final semester in college. No more greasy aprons-I was ready for bylines, beats, and a real career.

I was leaving the school gates in a hasty, distracted rush when the sudden, jarring sound of a loud horn had me jumping violently like a startled cat, and my worn backpack slipped from my shoulder to thud hard on the pavement.

“Damn it!” I cursed under my breath, and bent over quickly to pick up my scattered notebook.

The car didn’t move, just sat there idling, obnoxiously blocking the path. I straightened up, ready to flip the person off for their reckless driving, when I saw who it was.

“Aaron?” He was smirking from behind the tinted wheel of his black sports car, looking far too relaxed for someone who had just nearly caused a pedestrian casualty. I glared at him.

“Not funny, Aaron,” I mumbled, slinging my bag back on, cheeks burning as a few passersby glanced our way.

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13:14 Mon, Jan 12