warnings: Alcohol consumption, drunkenness, sexual content, sexual activity, trauma response, PTSD/trauma flashbacks, childhood sexual abuse references, sexual shame, religious guilt surrounding sexuality, panic/distress, illness/fever, vomiting/nausea references.
word count: 8.6k words.
chapter 10<<
masterlist
We head to a frat house filled with football players, somewhere I’ve never been before.
The mood is buzzing. Everyone is still riding the high of the game, and the entire crowd seems determined to keep celebrating.
By the time we arrive, people are already packed inside.
Allie and I hold hands as we walk in, while Jules is already taking pictures and videos of everything.
I’ll probably end up on their page tomorrow.
I don’t care.
The moment we get inside, a group of people spots Beau. “BEAU! BEAU! BEAU!”
Before he can even react, they grab him and start carrying him through the crowd.
Dean is one of them, laughing as he helps lift him. I stand there watching, laughing at the ridiculousness of it.
Then Dean turns around. His eyes land on me.
I immediately take a step back. “No.”
He grins. “Come here!”
“Absolutely not.”
Too late. They grab me too.
“Dean!” I burst out laughing as they lift me alongside Beau. “Put me down!”
Nobody listens. They start throwing us up into the air, shouting and celebrating.
I yelp, then start laughing so hard I can barely breathe. “THIS IS INSANE!”
Dean is laughing just as hard.
Eventually, Logan and Garrett manage to pull me out of the chaos.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Garrett says, grabbing me.
Logan catches me as Garrett lets go.
For a second, I’m completely in Logan’s arms, still laughing with my eyes squeezed shut. I can barely catch my breath.
“You guys are insane,” I manage between laughs.
Logan laughs and lowers me carefully back onto my feet. My legs wobble slightly when I land.
I look up at him, still smiling. “Never doing that again.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re smiling.”
“I can be traumatized and entertained at the same time.”
He laughs.
Behind us, the crowd erupts again as Beau gets lifted into the air.
I turn toward them. “Apparently I’m not the only one who hasn’t learned my lesson.”
Tucker comes back with a tray of shots. “Everyone gets one.”
I take the first one with Allie and Hannah, the three of us linking our arms before throwing them back. We immediately make faces.
“Never again,” Hannah says.
“Absolutely again,” Allie replies.
I laugh.
The next one is with Beau and Dean.
Dean raises his glass. “To the win!”
“To the win!” Beau echoes.
We take it together.
The third one ends up being with Tucker.
By then, everyone around us is doing shots. Even Logan. He’s standing somewhere in the middle of the crowd, shouting along with the frat guys, completely unrestrained. It’s the loud, carefree version of him I’m used to seeing from afar. The version I never really knew how to approach.
I smile watching him.
It’s weird.
A year ago, I would’ve rather eaten glass than willingly put myself in the middle of a crowd like this, the idea of being friends with hockey players would’ve sounded ridiculous. Football players too, and apparently, somehow, I’m friends with the person who runs the biggest Briar gossip page.
I don’t even know when that happened.
The music suddenly changes. The opening beat of Beauty and a Beat starts playing.
The crowd immediately recognizes it. Everyone screams.
I barely have time to react before somehow I’m standing between Beau and Dean. Dean starts performing Nicki’s part with absolutely no shame. Beau takes Justin Bieber’s part, pointing dramatically toward the crowd like he’s performing at an actual concert.
I burst out laughing. “You’re both ridiculous!”
They don’t hear me. Nobody can hear anything. Everyone is singing.
People are packed together, jumping and dancing, hands in the air.
Dean points at me while singing, and I point back at him, laughing.
I look over the crowd. Logan is dancing with Garrett, both of them completely losing it.
I shake my head, smiling.
Then I spot Jessica and Mike. They’re making their way through the crowd toward me.
Jessica sees me and immediately screams. “This is the last place I expected you to be!”
“ME TOO!”
She grabs my hands and starts laughing. Mike is laughing behind her.
I barely have time to say anything before the crowd shifts again and separates us.
I turn around.
Carmen is nearby, eyes closed, screaming every word of the song like her life depends on it. I laugh. She doesn’t even notice me.
For a moment, I just stand there taking everything in. The music. The shouting. The people I’ve somehow gotten attached to. The ridiculousness of all of it.
Then I feel someone bump into me. I turn.
Logan.
He finds my eyes almost immediately. He grins. I grin back.
Neither of us says anything. There’s no point. The song is too loud.
He starts singing again, loudly and completely off-key. I laugh before joining him. We’re almost chest to chest because there’s barely any space between anyone anymore. His hair is sticking up slightly from all the movement, some strands falling toward his forehead.
I realize mine probably looks just as bad.
We keep singing. Neither of us seems to care how ridiculous we look. For once, I’m not thinking about whether I’m standing too close to someone. I’m not wondering what everyone thinks of me. I’m not calculating when I should leave.
I’m just here. Singing with him. Laughing with everyone, and somewhere between the chorus and Dean screaming Nicki’s verse behind us, I realize something.
I don’t feel like an outsider anymore.
He leans down slightly, forced closer by the cramped space, and I suddenly feel the warmth of his breath against my neck.
Then his nose brushes against my skin. My entire body goes still.
It’s probably the alcohol. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
My heartbeat immediately speeds up, so fast I can feel it against my ribs. Goosebumps spread across my arms despite how warm the room is.
I swallow.
“I’m sweating like a pig,” I blurt out.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. There’s a grin on his face. “Are you?”
I nod quickly, trying to laugh it off. “Yeah. It’s ridiculously hot in here.”
His eyes flick briefly toward my arms.
He notices the goosebumps. “You’re cold?”
“No.” I shake my head too quickly. “I’m fine.”
He gives me a suspicious look, like he doesn’t quite believe me. Before he can say anything, the song ends.
The crowd erupts again as everyone cheers for the next song.
Logan finally leans back, giving me some space.
I breathe out. Only then do I realize I’d been holding my breath the entire time. I take a slow breath in, trying to steady myself.
My heart is still pounding.
Logan watches me for another second. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
He smiles faintly. “Good.”
Then the next song starts, and the crowd immediately swallows us back into the noise.
I look away, hoping he doesn’t notice how warm my face feels.
Style by Taylor Swift starts playing.
Dean and Allie are immediately the loudest people in the room. Of course they are.
Dean starts singing along dramatically, pointing at himself during his part while Allie laughs and tries to pretend she isn’t enjoying the attention.
“You got that long hair, slicked back, white T-shirt. And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt.”
I look between them. The longing stares are almost painful to watch. Apparently, I’m the only person who notices.
Hannah probably would’ve noticed too, but she’s currently too busy sharing the exact same kind of look with Garrett.
Allie rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide her smile. Dean keeps staring at her like the rest of the room doesn’t exist.
She catches him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m listening.”
“With your eyes?”
He grins. She shakes her head, laughing.
I take another sip of my drink and watch them. They keep singing, but neither of them is really paying attention to the song anymore.
Every few seconds, they find each other’s eyes Then look away. Then look back. It’s almost impressive how obvious they are.
The song moves into the chorus.
Dean sings louder. Allie sings along, but her attention keeps drifting toward him.
I look around.
Nobody else seems to notice. Garrett and Hannah are in their own little world. Tucker is talking to someone nearby. Jules is still filming. Beau has disappeared into another part of the house.
And Logan is nowhere to be seen.
I glance around again. Nothing.
For some reason, I notice.
Dean and Allie start moving toward the edge of the room. Not together. At least, not obviously. Allie walks first, stopping near the hallway. Dean waits a few seconds before following.
I narrow my eyes. Really? They think they’re being subtle?
Allie looks back toward the crowd. Then toward Dean. He gives her the smallest nod.
I bite back a laugh.
They disappear around the corner. I look around again. Nobody reacts. Nobody noticed.
I shake my head to myself. “Smooth.”
The chorus starts again. I turn my attention back to the crowd, pretending I didn’t just witness an entire secret operation.
A few minutes later, Dean’s voice is nowhere to be heard.
Neither is Allie’s, and somehow, absolutely nobody notices they’re gone.
Except me. I smile to myself. Good for them.
Make You Mine by Madison Beer starts playing.
I feel the shots I took earlier settling into my system.
Not enough to make me lose control, but enough that everything feels a little softer around the edges.
The room isn’t as loud as it was before. People are still talking over the music, but I can actually hear conversations now.
I sway with the music, letting myself move without thinking about it. The beat picks up. I start dancing properly, my shoulders moving with the rhythm.
Then I feel unfamiliar hands settle on my hips.
I turn around. I don’t recognize him. He’s taller than me, with dark eyes and dark hair, and he’s smiling down at me.
I smile back.
“Hi. I’m Jason.”
“I’m Insaf.”
“Are you from Briar?”
“Yeah. What about you?”
“No. I’m from the losing team.”
I wince. “Sorry.”
He laughs. “But at least the party is fun.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that.”
“Are you?”
I smile. “No. Not really.”
He laughs again.
The song continues, and he starts dancing with me. His hands stay on my hips, and he gradually moves closer.
I don’t mind.
I just smile and keep moving with the music. The chorus comes in, and the room seems to move with it.
Jason leans closer so he can talk over the music. “So, do you come to these parties often?”
I laugh. “No.”
“First one?”
“Not exactly.”
“But you look like you’re having fun.”
“I am.”
“Good.” He smiles.
The lights shift across the room as someone changes the colors near the speakers. I catch flashes of people dancing, laughing, shouting over each other. Jason spins me around once.
I laugh when I come back toward him.
“Okay.”
“What?”
“You’re surprisingly good at this.”
“At what?”
“Dancing.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’ve had practice.”
“Apparently.”
The music swells again. I lose myself in it for a moment. My thoughts aren’t racing. I’m not thinking about Dr. Carter. I’m not thinking about Thanksgiving. I’m not thinking about what I’m supposed to do or who I’m supposed to be.
I’m just dancing.
Jason’s hands move slightly higher on my waist. I don’t react.
He leans closer. “You’re really pretty.”
I smile. “You’re drunk.”
“So are you.”
“Fair.”
He laughs.
Across the room, I don’t notice someone watching us.
Logan.
He’s standing near the edge of the crowd, his expression difficult to read. His eyes stay on me for a moment longer than they should. Then a girl approaches him. She says something I can’t hear.
He looks at her then back toward me.
I don’t see it.
Jason says something that makes me laugh, and I turn my attention back to him.
The song reaches the final chorus. Everyone around us is singing along. Jason and I are still dancing, moving with the beat.
For a few seconds, we’re almost completely surrounded by strangers.
Then the song starts fading. The crowd cheers as the next song loads.
I step back slightly. “I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
Jason nods. “Okay.”
I turn toward the room.
Hannah and Garrett are nowhere to be seen. Dean and Allie are still missing. Tucker is making out with a girl against one of the walls. Beau is surrounded by his football teammates, still celebrating the win.
I scan the room again. No Logan.
I shrug. Maybe he went outside.
I start making my way toward the hallway, weaving through the crowd.
I have no idea that he already left the room with a girl beside him, and I don’t notice.
Once I make my way upstairs, I don’t find a line for the bathroom.
Perfect.
I walk toward the door and reach for the handle when I suddenly hear loud moaning from inside.
“Oh, Logan… it feels so good.”
I freeze. My hand remains suspended near the door.
Then I hear muffled grunting, almost drowned out by the loud music downstairs.
“I’m close.” A girl screams, her voice breaking into another moan.
Then the door shakes slightly.
...
He is fucking her against the door.
My heartbeat accelerates. I shouldn’t be here. I step away from the door, my stomach twisting.
I feel strangely guilty for standing there frozen for so long, even though I hadn’t meant to hear any of it.
Something uncomfortable creeps up into my throat. I swallow it down. Don’t think about it.
I turn around and head back downstairs.
My thoughts are racing, made even more chaotic by the alcohol still in my system.
I find Jason standing alone against a wall. I walk straight toward him. Before I can think too much about it, I rise onto my toes and kiss him. Hard. Hungrily. I push him further against the wall, letting the noise and the alcohol drown everything else out.
When I finally pull back, I catch sight of Beau.
He’s staring at me, completely stunned. I blink at him. He raises his eyebrows like he’s trying to figure out what just happened.
Jason looks at me. “Do you want to go somewhere quieter?”
I nod.
He laces his fingers through mine and pulls me toward an empty room.
As soon as the door closes behind us, he pushes me gently against it and kisses me deeply, one hand resting against my neck as he guides the kiss.
Then he holds me by the waist and guides me toward the bed, still kissing me.
I break the kiss. “I only do casual.”
He smiles. “Okay.”
Then he captures my lips again, making me slowly lean back onto the bed as his hand absentmindedly traces my waist.
He gets down on his knees, his hands brushing the hem of my jeans.
He looks up at me, a hungry look in his eyes. “Your lips taste so sweet. I’m curious about how all of you tastes.”
I gulp, waiting for my own answer. I’ve never given anyone control over anything sexual. I was always the one in control.
But I want to do this. Just for tonight.
As he waits for my answer, he adds, “That’s me telling you that I’d like to eat you out.”
I giggle. “Okay.”
“Okay?” he asks again.
“Okay.” I nod.
He takes off my pants, leaving me in only my underwear.
For tonight, I need to allow myself to receive pleasure.
He kisses my legs slowly, moving upward toward my inner thighs. I start panting. I don’t know if it’s because I’m into it or because of the nerves of allowing someone to do this for the first time. Maybe both.
He holds my gaze throughout. He’s pretty handsome, and his large frame makes it obvious that he’s a football player.
He gently separates my legs further.
I can hear my own heartbeat.
His touches are gentle, while his kisses grow rougher and hungrier. He takes off his hoodie, revealing his broad frame.
Then he reaches for my underwear and takes it off.
I grip the bedsheets as I feel the air against my skin.
“Relax,” he says. He looks between my legs. “You’re beautiful.”
Something in my stomach twists at that. I ignore it. His fingertips feel almost burning against my skin. I try to relax, breathing in and out.
That’s when I feel his lips against me, his grip tightening slightly around my thighs.
He’s gentle, making quiet, satisfied noises. It feels good, but I’m so tense. I close my eyes, trying to focus.
Then my brain reminds me of the sound I heard earlier. “Oh, Logan… it feels so good.”
I shut my eyes harder, trying to push the memory away. This is disgusting. My stomach twists more violently.
This was stupid of me.
Just because I talked to Dr. Carter about how I’m not capable of receiving pleasure doesn’t mean I can suddenly do it within twenty-four hours.
I look down at Jason. He’s completely focused on me, but I feel detached.
I stare at the ceiling instead, my skin feeling like it’s on fire. My brain is all mushy, and i feel i'm a shell of the person i was half an hour ego.
Everything can echo right through me.
I whisper, “Stop.”
He’s too caught up in what he’s doing to hear me.
I repeat it, a little louder. “Stop.”
He finally pauses. The embarrassment is written all over my face.
“Is everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
He immediately stands up.
I quickly pull my clothes back on.
He looks at me, dumbfounded, while I keep repeating myself.
“Sorry. I’m drunk. I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
I leave the room without taking my jacket or looking back at him.
I walk.
I don’t even realize where I’m going. I just need to get outside.
My skin feels like it’s on fire.
Everywhere I look, there are people laughing, drinking, dancing. The music follows me through the hallway, but it sounds distant now, almost underwater.
I keep walking. My breathing is too fast. I tell myself to calm down.
It was nothing. I stopped it. He stopped. I left.
So why does my body feel like something terrible just happened?
I push through another group of people.
The moment I see the door leading outside, I move faster.
I need air. Cold air. Anything.
But my brain won’t let me have silence.
Instead, memories start pushing their way up. Not clear memories. Fragments.
A room. A door. Someone’s voice.
The feeling of being too young to understand what was happening and old enough to understand that something was wrong.
My stomach turns.
I shake my head. No Not now.
Another memory comes. A hand. A voice telling me not to make a big deal out of something. A feeling I haven’t allowed myself to think about in years.
I swallow hard. Keep walking.
Then the guilt comes.
Not because I believe it anymore. I don’t. At least, I don’t think I do. I’m not religious anymore. I haven’t been for years, but some things don’t disappear just because you stop believing them. The old words are still somewhere inside me.
Girls are supposed to be modest. Your body is something you have to protect.
Sex is wrong. Good girls don’t do that.
You shouldn’t want that. You shouldn’t let anyone see you like that. You shouldn’t enjoy it.
You shouldn’t—
I squeeze my eyes shut while walking. “Stop.”
I don’t even know whether I’m talking to myself or to the voices in my head.
I know what I believe now. I know sex isn’t something that makes me dirty. I know what happened to me wasn’t my fault. I know I didn’t cause it.
I know being sexual doesn’t make me less worthy of anything. I know all of that.
So why does my body still react like I’ve done something unforgivable?
Another fragment surfaces. Being afraid. Being confused. Feeling like my body had betrayed me.
The shame afterward.
The questions I never knew how to answer.
The years of trying to separate what happened from what I thought it said about me.
My throat tightens. I walk faster. I need to get outside. I finally reach the porch and push the door open.
Cold air hits my face.
I stop.
My lungs pull in a deep breath before I can even think about it.
Another, and another.
The cold burns against my skin. Good. I need something real. Something physical. Something that isn’t inside my head.
I wrap my arms around myself and stare into the darkness.
Behind me, the music continues. People are still laughing. The party is still happening.
Nothing has changed. Except me.
I look down at my hands. They’re trembling. I clench them into fists.
I didn’t do anything wrong.
The sentence feels strange. Like I’m trying to convince a much younger version of myself.
I didn’t do anything wrong.
What happened to me wasn’t my fault. Wanting pleasure doesn’t make me dirty. Stopping when I wanted to stop doesn’t make me difficult, and hearing something that brought all of that back doesn’t mean I’m back there.
I’m here. I’m outside. I’m nineteen. I’m safe.
I breathe again.
The words don’t magically fix anything. The memories don’t disappear. But slowly, my skin stops feeling quite so much like it’s burning.
I close my eyes.
For a moment, I just let the cold air touch me.
No religion. No guilt. No explanations.
Just me, standing outside, trying to convince my body that the past is not happening again.
It starts to pour. Not a drizzle. Heavy, relentless rain.
I step into it.
I let the cold soak through my clothes, letting it distract me from the desperate urge to scrub myself clean of everything I’ve ever done. Everything I’ve ever lived through.
The rain hits my face, my arms, my hair.
I don’t care.
My heartbeat slowly starts to settle. The frantic thoughts become quieter. At least now, when I shake, I can blame it on something physical. The cold. The rain. Not everything happening inside my head.
I close my eyes and breathe.
Then I feel someone approach. They stop beside me.
I don’t look. I’m too busy trying to calm myself down.
The rain has completely soaked my hair, my clothes, everything.
My teeth almost start chattering. Good. Something simple. Something I can understand.
Cold makes you shake. That’s it.
I finally open my eyes and look beside me.
Beau.
I stare at him, confused. He’s looking straight ahead, completely soaked.
I look forward again. “You should get inside. You’ll get sick.”
He shrugs. “Nah. I’m fine.”
His hoodie is dripping. Literally dripping.
I look at him. “Are you stupid?”
Which is ironic, considering he’s standing in the rain because he noticed I was out here.
“No.” He pauses. “I’m a water sign.”
I stare at him. “What?”
He finally looks at me. “I love rain because I’m a water sign.”
I press my lips together, trying desperately not to laugh. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”
He shrugs again, completely serious. “Works for me.”
I shake my head.
He looks back toward the rain. “Are you a water sign?”
“No.”
“What are you?”
“Earth sign.”
He nods slowly, as if I’ve just given him a piece of information he already knows exactly how to interpret.
“That makes sense.”
I turn toward him. “How?”
He looks at me. “I don’t know.”
I stare at him. He stares back. Then I laugh. A real laugh. Small, but real.
Beau smiles.
And for the first time since I stepped outside, my chest doesn’t feel quite so tight.
The rain keeps getting heavier.
Eventually, Beau looks down at himself. “Okay.” He pulls at his soaked hoodie. “This was a terrible idea.”
I laugh quietly. “I told you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He looks toward the house. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”
“I’m fine.”
He gives me a look. “Insaf.”
“I’m literally standing in the rain.”
“Exactly.”
I hesitate.
He adds, “You can either get in my car voluntarily or I can carry you there.”
I stare at him. “You wouldn’t.”
He grins. “Try me.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine.”
We head back toward the house. The moment we’re under the roof, I realize how cold I actually am.
Beau looks at me. “You’re freezing.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
“You’re also shaking.”
“Yeah, but I’m a water sign.”
I laugh despite myself. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”
“No.”
We make our way through the house. The party is still going, but everything feels strangely distant now. Beau doesn’t ask me what happened. He doesn’t ask why I was outside. He just walks beside me.
When we reach the front door, he grabs his keys. “Where’s your jacket?”
I look down. I don’t have it. “I left it upstairs.”
He looks at me. “You want to go get it?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Okay.”
No questions.
We walk to his car. The rain is still pouring, so we run. I climb into the passenger seat, completely soaked. Beau gets in beside me, dripping all over the driver’s seat.
He looks at me.
I look at him. “We’re going to ruin your car.”
He starts the engine. “My car has survived worse.”
“Like what?”
“Me.”
I laugh. “Fair.”
He turns the heater on full blast. Warm air starts blowing through the car. I lean back against the seat and watch the rain blur the windows.
My mind is still messy, but I don’t feel like I have to explain it. I don’t have to turn what happened into something bigger than it is.
I had a good night.
I laughed until my stomach hurt. I danced. I watched my friends celebrate. I got thrown into the air with Beau. I sang until my voice hurt, and then something happened that I wasn’t ready for.
That’s all.
I don’t need to pretend the entire night was ruined because of one moment.
Beau drives quietly for a while. Then, without looking at me, he says, “You don’t have to tell me what happened.”
I glance at him. “I wasn’t going to.”
“I know.” He keeps his eyes on the road. “I just wanted you to know you don’t have to.”
I look back out the window. “Okay.”
A few seconds pass.
Then he adds, “And if you ever need someone to stand in the rain with you again, I’m available.”
I turn toward him. “Even though you almost froze to death?”
“I didn’t almost freeze to death.”
“You were shaking.”
“I’m dramatic.”
I smile. “Clearly.”
He grins.
The rest of the drive is quiet. When we reach my apartment, he pulls over.
I unbuckle my seatbelt. “Thank you.”
He shrugs. “Anytime.”
I open the door. “Go dry yourself before you catch pneumonia.”
“Yes, Mom.”
I roll my eyes. “Goodnight, Beau.”
“Night, Earth Sign.”
I laugh as I close the door.
I walk inside still thinking about the party. Not the bad part. The good parts too.
-----
By the time I get inside, the apartment is completely quiet. Everyone is still at the party.
I close the door behind me and stand there for a moment, listening to the rain hitting the windows.
Then I sneeze. I wince. “Great.”
I already know that feeling.
My nose feels slightly irritated, my throat is beginning to feel scratchy, and there’s that familiar heaviness settling behind my eyes.
I’m getting sick. Probably from standing outside in the rain like an idiot. I sigh and head straight to my room.
First, I change out of my wet clothes and put on the warmest pajamas I can find. I towel-dry my hair until it’s mostly dry, then wrap it up and head to the kitchen.
I put the kettle on.
While I’m waiting, I take out everything I’ll probably need tomorrow: tissues, water, my usual medicine, and a bottle of water for beside my bed.
I’m annoyingly good at this. I’ve been sick enough times to know exactly what happens next.
Tonight: scratchy throat.
Tomorrow: congestion, exhaustion, and probably a headache.
I make myself a cup of tea with honey and carry it back to my room. I sit on the edge of my bed and take a sip.
Warm. Comforting.
I check my phone. A few messages have come through from the group chat. Pictures from the party.
Beau being carried around. Dean and Allie caught in the background of one picture. Hannah and Garrett laughing. Jules has apparently documented half the night.
I smile.
Despite everything that happened later, the first part of tonight was genuinely fun.
I don’t regret going. I don’t regret laughing. I don’t regret dancing with everyone.
I just wish my body would stop reacting to things before my brain has time to catch up.
I put my phone down. Another sneeze comes. “Yep.” Definitely sick.
I finish my tea and take one last drink of water before getting under the blankets.
My body feels heavy now. The kind of tiredness that isn’t just from staying up late.
I stare at the ceiling. Tomorrow is going to be annoying. I already know it.
I’ll wake up feeling worse, complain about it for five minutes, then get up anyway.
Maybe I’ll make soup. Maybe I’ll stay in bed. Maybe both.
My eyelids start getting heavier.
The rain is still falling outside, steady against the window. I pull the blanket higher around myself.
For once, I don’t try to fight sleep. I close my eyes.
Tomorrow can deal with tomorrow. Tonight, I’m just tired, and within minutes, I fall asleep
-------
I wake up with a headache. Not the kind that makes me want to panic. Just the familiar, dull pressure behind my eyes that tells me I’m definitely sick.
I groan and pull the blanket over my head.
A few seconds later, there’s a knock on my door. “Insaf?”
Hannah.
I sit up just enough to call out. “Don’t come in.”
The door cracks open anyway. “I just wanted to—”
“Stay there.”
She stops.
I rub my eyes. “I’m sick. I don’t want you getting sick too.”
She looks at me from the doorway. “Oh.”
“I’m serious. Go away.”
She laughs quietly. “Okay, okay.”
“I told Della I can’t cover my weekend shifts. Can you make sure she knows?”
“Yeah, I’ll tell her.”
I sink back into my pillows. “Thanks.”
She hesitates for a moment. “I’ll be with Logan and Garrett for their photoshoots ”
I hum in response. I’m not sure she even hears me.
She closes the door. The room becomes quiet again.
I close my eyes. I sleep. Then wake up. Then sleep again. The entire day becomes a blur of half-consciousness.
Every time I wake up, I don’t know what time it is.
Sometimes the rain is tapping against the window. Sometimes the room is completely silent.
I drink some water when I remember. Take what I need when I feel like I should.
Then I fall asleep again.
The dreams are strange. Vivid. Too vivid.
Sometimes I’m home. I’m walking through familiar streets, seeing places I haven’t seen in over a year. Sometimes I’m sitting at the kitchen table with my family, except everything is slightly wrong. The walls are the wrong color. Someone is speaking, but I can’t understand what they’re saying. Then suddenly I’m somewhere completely different. Back on campus. At Malone’s. At the football game. At the party.
Sometimes the dreams don’t even make sense.
I’m walking through a library that somehow has the ocean outside the windows. I’m trying to find a classroom that keeps moving. I’m talking to someone whose face I can’t remember.
Then I wake up. Stare at the ceiling.
Close my eyes. And fall asleep again. The day disappears like that. In and out.
Half awake. Half dreaming.
My body feels heavy, my head still aching, but eventually I stop fighting it.
I let myself sleep.
-------
The next day, Allie and Hannah try to wake me up.
I hear knocking before the door opens. “Insaf?”
I groan and pull the blanket over my head. “Go away.”
Hannah laughs softly. “You need to eat something.”
“I will once I can.”
“You’ve been sleeping all morning.”
“Exactly. So let me sleep.”
Allie appears behind her. “We’re just checking on you.”
“I don’t want you to get sick. Get out.”
They exchange a look.
“Fine,” Hannah says. “But we’re coming back.”
“No.”
She laughs. “I’ll tell Della you can’t cover your weekend shifts.”
“Thank you.”
She pauses at the door. “I’ll be with Logan and Garrett for their photoshoots anyway.”
I hum in response, barely conscious enough to process what she says. I’m not even sure she hears me. The door closes.
I pull the blanket higher and fall back asleep.
-----------
I’m half awake and half asleep when I hear a familiar voice approaching me.
“Insaf?”
I recognize it immediately. Logan.
I pull the blanket over my face. “Johnny?”
He goes quiet for a few seconds. “You should eat something.”
“And you shouldn’t be here,” I mumble. “I’ll get you sick.”
“Look at me.” His voice is gentle.
I slowly lower the blanket. My cheeks are flushed from the fever, and I’m still frowning.
He looks at me for a moment. “You should eat.”
“I know. I will.” I pull the blanket back over my face. “Now get out before you get sick.”
I hear him sigh.
Then, suddenly, the mattress shifts. Before I can figure out what’s happening, I feel myself being lifted off the bed.
I yelp, my voice coming out hoarse and sick. “John Logan, get me down!”
“You’re staying at our house.”
“What?”
He carries me toward the bedroom door.
I pull the blanket around myself like some kind of cape. “Why am I going to your house?”
“Because you’re sick.”
“I can be sick here.”
“You can be sick there.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
Once we get through the bedroom door, I find Hannah, Garrett, and Allie waiting outside.
Allie throws her hands up. “Operation worked!”
I stare at her. “You planned this?”
She smiles innocently. “Maybe.”
Garrett shakes his head. “I’ll drive.”
I look between all of them. “Why am I going to your house? I can eat in my house.”
“It’ll be easier to take care of you both at the same time,” Garrett says.
I frown. “Both?”
He looks at me. “Beau is sick too.”
I go quiet. The guilt immediately sinks into my stomach. “Beau got sick?”
Garrett nods. “Yeah. Woke up this morning feeling awful.”
I look down at myself. “I got him sick.”
“You don’t know that,” Hannah says.
“I stood in the rain with him for, like, twenty minutes.”
Garrett raises his eyebrows. “Okay, that’s actually pretty convincing evidence.”
“Garrett,” Hannah scolds.
“What? I’m just saying.”
I groan and pull the blanket over my face. “I’m a terrible person.”
“You’re not a terrible person,” Allie says. “You’re just stubborn.”
I peek out from underneath the blanket. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“It wasn’t supposed to.”
Garrett laughs as he opens the front door.
Logan adjusts his grip on me. “Ready?”
“No.”
“Too bad.”
I sigh. “This is kidnapping.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll report you.”
“To who?”
“The authorities.”
“Okay.” He starts walking.
I bury my face against his shoulder, mostly because I’m too tired to keep my head up.
“I’m still sick,” I mumble.
“I know.”
“You’re going to get sick.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. “Because you’re sick.”
I lift my head slightly. “That doesn’t explain anything.”
“It explains enough.”
I stare at him for a second before giving up and hiding my face again.
The others follow us toward Garrett’s car. I hear Allie whispering something to Hannah behind us. “Operation worked perfectly.”
“I can hear you,” I mumble.
She laughs.
Garrett opens the back door. Logan finally sets me down carefully.
I immediately pull my blanket tighter around myself. “I’m walking.”
“You were being carried five seconds ago,” Logan says.
“I’ve regained my dignity.”
“Good for you.”
I climb into the back seat.
Allie sits beside me, while Logan gets in on my other side. Garrett takes the driver’s seat and Hannah sits in the passenger seat.
I immediately turn toward the window. A sneeze comes. I grab a tissue just in time.
“Bless you,” Hannah says.
“Thank you.” I sniffle. “This is humiliating.”
Allie pats my shoulder. “It’s really not.”
“It is.”
“You’re sick. Everyone gets sick.”
“I know. I just hate being taken care of.”
Logan glances at me. “Why?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
He doesn’t push.
The car starts moving. Garrett turns the heater up.
I glance at him. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
I lean my head against the headseat. My eyelids already feel heavy again.
The guilt is still sitting in my stomach. I don’t know if Beau actually got sick because of me, but I can’t stop thinking about standing in that rain with him.
I close my eyes.
Maybe I should’ve listened to him, or maybe he should’ve listened to me.
Either way, we’re both sick now; and apparently, we’re both being kidnapped to the same house.
-----
I fall asleep on the way home.
When I wake up again, I’m lying on the couch. For a second, I don’t remember how I got there.
Then I notice the blanket over me.
I turn my head.
Beau is lying on the other side of the couch, looking just as miserable as I feel. There’s a pile of tissues sitting on his chest, like he couldn’t even be bothered to put them on the table.
I stare at him. “You idiot.”
His eyes open halfway. “You wound me.”
“You look terrible.”
“So do you.”
I gasp quietly. “Rude.”
He smiles weakly. “I love rain.”
“Well, look at what that got you.”
He shrugs beneath his blanket. “Worth it.”
I roll my eyes. I reach over and put the back of my hand against his forehead. No fever. “Lucky.”
“I told you I’m fine.”
“You’re sick.”
“There’s a difference.”
I pull his blanket higher over him. “Go back to sleep.”
He looks at me. “You sound like my mom.”
“Your mom is probably smarter than you.”
“Probably.”
I settle back into the couch.
A few minutes later, I hear footsteps coming from the kitchen. Tucker appears carrying two bowls. The smell reaches me before he does. Soup.
I sit up slightly. “You made soup?”
He looks at me like the answer should be obvious. “Yeah.”
I look at the bowl. Then at him. “Tucker, you actually know how to cook.”
He gives me an offended look. “I’ve been cooking for myself since I was a teenager.”
“I know. That’s why I’m asking if you made this.”
He laughs. “Who else would make it?”
He hands one bowl to Beau and another to me.
I take mine carefully, warming my hands against the bowl. The smell alone makes my stomach feel better.
Beau looks down at his. “What’s in it?”
“Chicken, vegetables, noodles, ginger, garlic. Nothing too heavy.”
I look at Tucker. “You made it specifically because we’re sick?”
“Obviously.”
I take a small spoonful. It’s warm and savory, with just enough ginger to make my throat feel less irritated.
I close my eyes for a second. “This is so good.”
Tucker smiles. “I know.”
I open my eyes. “Don’t let that go to your head.”
“Too late.”
Beau takes a spoonful and nods. “Okay. This is actually really good.”
Tucker points at him. “See? He appreciates me.”
“I appreciate you too.” I look between them. “I’m starting to think getting sick was worth it.”
Beau coughs. “Don’t say that.”
I laugh, which immediately turns into another cough.
Tucker sighs. “Both of you. Eat. Then sleep.”
“Yes, chef.”
He points at me. “Don’t call me that.”
I smile and take another spoonful.
For once, nobody is asking me to do anything. No work. No studying. No explaining.
Just soup, blankets, and people making sure we don’t make ourselves worse.
I glance at Beau. He’s already sinking lower into his blanket, looking half-asleep.
I pull mine tighter around myself too. Maybe being taken care of isn’t so terrible. At least when Tucker is cooking.
-----
I wake up to Hannah playing with my hair, a worried look on her face.
When I open my eyes, she immediately smiles.
I slowly sit up. I actually feel better. Not completely fine, but definitely better than yesterday.
“I’m doing better,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “Don’t worry.”
“Good.” She stays quiet for a second. Then she adds, “Your sister called me.”
My eyes widen slightly “Ihsane or Ines?”
“Ines.”
I wince. “Oh, no.”
“She knows you’re sick. She’s expecting you to call her back.”
I groan and reach for my phone. “Okay, okay.”
Logan is sitting beside us, watching quietly.
I find Ines’s number and press call.
Before she answers, I close my eyes. It rings once. She picks up, and immediately starts cussing me out in Tarifit.
I pull the phone away from my ear.
“No translation needed,” Beau says from the other side of the room.
I glare at him. They all know exactly what is happening.
Ines keeps going for another few seconds before switching to English.
She starts talking to Hannah. “She is the most stubborn person I know. Once, when we were kids, she was dying from pain because she had an ear infection and didn’t tell anyone. We only found out by accident because she had a really high fever.”
“Oh my God, I was five.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
I roll my eyes.
She continues. “She used to come home with bloody legs and wouldn’t tell anyone anything. I had to check her every once in a while and clean her bruises.”
“That wasn’t that bad.”
“Yeah? The scar you have on your knee would disagree.”
I look down at my knee. “That was one time.”
“One time that left a scar.”
Hannah laughs quietly.
I sigh. “Okay, fine.”
Ines pauses. “Did you eat?”
“I did.”
“What did you eat?”
I hesitate. “Soup.”
“Who made it?”
“Tucker.”
She goes quiet. “Was it good?”
“Very.”
“Okay. At least you’re eating.”
I lean back against the couch. There is another pause.
Then her voice softens. “You aren’t here anymore.”
I don’t say anything.
“I know you know how to take care of yourself,” she continues. “You’ve always known how. Probably too well.”
I look down at my hands.
“But I worry about you.”
My throat tightens slightly. “I’m fine.”
“I know.” She says it so simply that it catches me off guard. “I know you’re fine. I’m not saying you can’t take care of yourself.” She sighs. “I’m saying you’re my little sister. I’m allowed to worry.”
I smile faintly. “You’re not that much older than me.”
“I don’t care.”
I hear Hannah laugh beside me.
Ines continues, “Just promise me you’ll rest today.”
“I promise.”
“And drink water.”
“I am.”
“And don’t go to work.”
“I already told Della I can’t cover my shifts.”
“Good, and don’t pretend you’re better just because your fever is gone.”
I make a face. “I wasn’t going to.”
“You were absolutely going to.”
I smile. “Maybe.”
“Insaf.”
“Okay, okay.”
She laughs quietly. Then she asks, “Are you coming home for the break?”
I glance toward Hannah and Logan before looking down again. “I don’t know yet.”
“Let me know.”
“I will.”
Another silence settles between us.
Then she says, much more quietly, “I love you, you know.”
My expression softens. “I love you too.”
“Good.” She clears her throat, almost as if she doesn’t want the moment to become too sentimental. “Now go back to sleep.”
“I just woke up.”
“You’re sick. That’s basically your job.”
I laugh. “Okay.”
“And Insaf?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t make me call you again just to make sure you’re alive.”
“You’d do it anyway.”
“Absolutely.”
I smile. “Bye, Ines.”
“Bye, stubborn girl.”
The call ends.
I lower my phone and stare at the screen for a moment.
Hannah gently squeezes my shoulder. “She really loves you.”
I nod “Yeah.” I lean back against the couch.
-----
After a while, I get up to go to the bathroom.
The moment I stand, everyone looks at me.
I stop. “I’ll be fine.”
Nobody says anything. I roll my eyes and walk away.
I make it to the bathroom, wash my hands, splash some water on my face, and take a few minutes before heading back.
When I open the door, I find Logan waiting in the hallway.
He looks at me. “You called me Johnny.”
I blink. “When?”
He doesn’t answer the question. “Only my family calls me that.”
I stare at him for a second. “Oh.” I look away. “Sorry.”
“No.” I look back at him. “I like it.”
I hold his gaze for a moment before a small smile appears on my face. “Okay. Good to know.”
I turn to walk back toward the living room.
I barely make it two steps before my feet leave the floor. “Oh my God.” Logan has picked me up again. “Stop making this a habit.”
“You were about to pretend you’re already okay just because your fever is gone.”
I open my mouth to argue. Then close it. He’s right.
I cross my arms. “I was just walking.”
“You were also swaying.”
“I was not.”
“You were.”
I sigh. “Everyone is treating me like I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re sick.”
I mumble something under my breath.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He carries me back toward the couch. I look over his shoulder at everyone watching us. “I can walk.”
Allie smiles. “We know.”
“Then why is nobody helping me?”
“Because Logan apparently enjoys carrying you around.”
I glare at her. “Don’t encourage him.”
Logan sets me down carefully on the couch. I immediately pull the blanket back over myself.
“There.” He nods. “Stay there.”
I give him an unimpressed look. “You’re bossy.”
“So are you.”
I settle back against the cushions.
After a moment, I mumble, “Johnny.”
He looks at me. I smile faintly. “Just making sure I know how to use it.”
He shakes his head, smiling, and walks back toward the kitchen. I pull the blanket higher and close my eyes.
----
It’s the middle of the night when Beau wakes me up. “Hey!”
I blink awake. “What?”
He points toward Dean, who’s sleeping half-sitting on the other end of the couch.
I stare at him. “What?”
“Watch Dean.”
I give him a confused look. “Why?”
“Just watch.”
I look at Dean again.
For a few seconds, nothing happens.
Then Beau suddenly says, loudly enough to wake him: “Dean.”
Dean’s eyes open immediately. “What!”
Beau sits up, completely serious. “I need guacamole.”
Dean stares at him. “What?”
“Guacamole.”
“Why?”
“It’s good for a fever.”
Dean’s sleepy brain seems to accept this without question. “Okay.”
He slowly gets up. I clamp my hand over my mouth. Dean shuffles toward the kitchen.
I look at Beau. His lips are pressed together, trying not to smile.
“This is cruel,” I whisper.
He whispers back, “He’s too tired to know.”
Dean opens the refrigerator. “Where’s the avocado?”
Beau answers immediately. “Bottom shelf.”
Dean looks. “There’s no avocado.”
I glance at Beau.
He shrugs “Use something else.”
Dean turns around. “Like what?”
Beau thinks for a second. “Cucumber.”
Dean nods seriously. “Okay.”
I bury my face in my blanket.
Dean takes out a cucumber and starts cutting it.
Beau leans toward me. “Ask him for something.”
I shake my head, already smiling. “No.”
“Come on.”
I whisper, “Dean?”
He looks over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Can you make mine spicy?”
“Yeah.”
I bite my lip. “Really spicy.”
“Okay.”
Beau is practically vibrating with silent laughter.
Dean continues making his completely imaginary guacamole.
Then Beau suddenly says, “Actually, Dean?”
Dean stops. “What?”
“Can you make me a sandwich too?”
Dean stares at him for a long moment. “Okay.”
I turn away because I’m about to laugh.
He opens the bread. “What do you want on it?”
Beau looks at me. I look back at him.
He says, “Pickles.”
Dean nods. “Anything else?”
“Cheese.”
“Okay.”
“Mustard.”
“Okay.”
“And peanut butter.”
Dean finally pauses. I look at Beau. Beau looks completely serious. Dean looks down at the sandwich. Then at Beau. “Peanut butter?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Beau doesn’t even hesitate. “Protein.”
Dean nods. “Okay.”
I make a strangled noise.
Dean looks at me. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“You’re laughing.”
“I’m not.”
Beau is staring at the ceiling now, trying desperately not to laugh.
Dean finishes the sandwich and brings it over. “There.”
Beau takes it. “Thank you.”
Dean sits back down. I stare at the sandwich. Peanut butter. Cheese. Pickles. Mustard.
I can’t hold it anymore. I start laughing. Beau immediately starts laughing too.
Dean looks between us. “What?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Why are you laughing?”
Beau tries to answer. “It’s just—” He breaks into laughter again.
Dean looks genuinely offended. “You asked for the sandwich!”
“I know!”
“Then why are you laughing?”
I cover my face. “Because you actually made it.”
Dean stares at us. “You told me to.”
That makes it worse. Beau doubles over laughing. I start wheezing.
Dean looks completely lost. “You two are weird.”
Beau points at him. “Dean, you made me a peanut butter, cheese, pickle and mustard sandwich.”
“You asked for it!”
“And you didn’t question it!”
Dean thinks about this. He looks down at the sandwich. Then back at us. “I was tired.”
I immediately lose it again. Beau starts coughing from laughing I try to breathe normally, but my chest is already hurting from laughing.
Dean looks increasingly annoyed. “I’m going back to sleep.”
He gets up.
Beau calls after him. “Wait!”
Dean turns around. “What?”
“Can you bring me a glass of water?”
Dean sighs. “Fine.” He walks toward the kitchen.
I whisper to Beau, “You’re evil.”
“You’re laughing.”
“Because you’re evil.”
Dean comes back with the water.
Beau takes it. “Thanks.”
Dean starts walking away.
I suddenly say, “Dean?”
He turns around. “What now?”
“Can you tell me if I’m getting a fever?”
He stares at me. “How?”
I put the back of my hand against my forehead dramatically. “Touch my forehead.”
Dean walks over. He puts his hand against my forehead.
He looks at Beau. “She feels warm.”
Beau nods solemnly. “She’s dying.”
Dean’s eyes widen. “What?”
I immediately start laughing. Beau joins in.
Dean stares at both of us for a second. Then his expression slowly changes. “You’re both assholes.” He walks away.
We try to stay quiet. We really do, but the second Dean collapses back onto the couch, Beau looks at me. I look at him, and we both start laughing again.
It’s completely silent at first. Then my laugh turns into a wheeze. Beau starts coughing. I cover my mouth, which somehow makes me laugh harder. Beau is bent over, coughing and laughing at the same time.
Dean opens one eye. “If you wake me up again, I’m killing both of you.”
That makes us completely lose it.
Dean groans and pulls the blanket over his head. “Idiots.”
Beau wipes his eyes. “I think he likes us.”
I can barely breathe. “Definitely.”
From underneath the blanket, Dean mutters, “I hate you.”
Author's note: i would like to thank Taylor Swift, thanks to her i know some football terms i hope i didnt butcher it and if i did just ignore it <33 you can comment if you want to be added to my taglist
word count: 7.7k words.
chapter 9<< >>chapter 11
masterlist
"You can talk." I say.
“You’re full of surprises,” he says. “I honestly didn’t think you’d be the casual type.”
I smile at that. “I don’t know what I am. But I do casual things for the other person so they won’t get attached to someone who’s not available.”
He goes quiet for a moment. “That’s probably why I didn’t think you were the casual type.”
I look at him. “Because?”
“Because you overthink everything.”
I give him a look. “That’s not exactly a secret.”
He laughs. “And you actually care about whether the other person gets attached. Most people I hook up with don’t want that kind of conversation.”
I nod slowly. “So you don’t?”
“Not really.” He shrugs. “I mean, I’m not looking for a relationship every time I hook up with someone. That’s kind of the point.”
“Fair.”
“But what you’re describing sounds different.”
“How?”
“You’re making sure they don’t get attached because you already know you’re not available.”
I look down at my hands. “Yeah.”
He pauses. “That sounds like a lot of work.”
I laugh quietly. “Maybe.”
“And you don’t have to figure out what that makes you.”
I look at him. “You don’t?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You can just… be you. You don’t need to decide whether you’re the casual type or the relationship type or whatever.”
I smile faintly. “That’s surprisingly reasonable.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
I laugh.
Then he glances at my laptop. “And about tomorrow…”
I look at him. “Dr. Carter?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “If she says something that gets stuck in your head, tell her. You don’t have to sit there and let it ruin the next two weeks.”
I stare at him for a moment. “You’re making that sound very simple.”
“I didn’t say it was simple.” He looks back at the screen. “Just that you don’t have to do it alone.”
I smile slightly. “Okay.”
He nods toward the laptop. “Now press play. I want to see Michael embarrass himself again.”
I laugh and press play.
After a while, my eyelids start growing heavier.
Logan notices. “Do you want to sleep?”
“Yeah. You can keep watching. You can sleep in the bed.”
He gives me a look.
I roll my eyes. “I’m not kicking you out.”
He doesn’t argue.
I turn around and lie down, my back facing him.
For a while, I stare at the floor, thinking about what I’m going to tell Dr. Carter tomorrow.
I’m so deep in thought that I barely notice the faint touch against my hair.
I tense immediately.
He stops.
The first thing that comes to mind is what Dr. Carter said.
Next time someone does something for you, notice how your first thought is how to repay them.
“Did I make you uncomfortable?” he asks quietly.
I turn toward him. “No. I’m just surprised.”
He looks at me for a moment.
“Your hair looks soft,” he says simply.
I stare at him.
Then, without really thinking about it, I put my head on his thigh.
I take his hand and place it on top of my head, silently asking him to do it again.
He understands.
His fingers gently move through my hair, occasionally playing with a strand before smoothing it back down.
I feel myself slowly relax.
“I’ve never allowed anyone to play with my hair,” I say with my eyes closed. “It feels… nice.”
“Not even your parents?” he asks.
“Especially not my parents.”
I say it simply, without elaborating.
His hand continues moving through my hair.
My eyelids grow heavier.
His touch becomes slower and softer, gradually calming every tense part of me.
I don’t even realize when I finally fall asleep.
------
I wake up slowly, the first thing I notice being that I’m on a soft surface.
No longer on the floor.
Sunlight attacks my eyes, and I close them instinctively.
Then I notice the warmth behind my back.
A face against my neck, and an arm wrapped around me, with my hand resting over it.
I look down at the hand, still trying to remember where I am.
Then it comes back to me.
John.
I become hyperaware of how close we are and how intimate the position feels.
His breathing is quiet against my neck, slow and warm.
I turn around carefully, trying not to wake him.
His face is close to mine.
Long eyelashes. Lips slightly parted. A faint frown still settled between his brows even while he’s asleep.
He looks completely different like this.
Peaceful. Almost younger.
I barely move before he shifts in his sleep.
His arm instinctively tightens around me, pulling me closer again. His face settles against my neck, and he lets out a quiet breath.
My heartbeat immediately picks up.
I freeze, staring at the ceiling.
Okay. This is… new.
My brain short-circuits when I feel him sniff me and sigh in relief.
Am I creepy for staying in this position?
Would I be mean if I woke him up?
Which one do I want?
I feel his nose against the sensitive part of my neck—the same place where Dean gave him that stupid dare to give me a hickey.
I try not to think about that right now.
I close my eyes and breathe in and out.
I accidentally catch his scent. His hair brushes against my cheekbones.
He has a distinct smell. I don’t know if it’s his cologne or if it’s just… him.
This isn’t helping.
It’s just because of the physical proximity. That’s it.
I slowly remove myself from his grasp without waking him, and somehow, I succeed.
I stand there for a moment, staring at him.
The sunlight falls across his face, making him look almost peaceful. His huge frame takes up most of my bed.
He shifts slightly, plants his face into my pillow, and stops moving again.
I smile to myself.
It’s still too early to wake him.
So I quietly leave the room and head to the kitchen to make breakfast.
I make pancakes and start making coffee for him while preparing my tea.
I’m still pouring the hot water when I hear my bedroom door open.
Logan walks out, ruffling his hair as he tries to wake himself up.
“Hey.” His voice is sleepy and hoarse.
“Hi.” I give him a quiet smile. “I made you coffee.”
I push the cup toward him, along with a plate of pancakes.
He looks at the food, then at me. “You are a lifesaver.”
I smile.
I sit beside him, and we eat in silence.
Neither of us says anything about the fact that we woke up tangled together in my bed.
I glance at him.
He’s avoiding my gaze too.
I look back at my pancakes.
Does he know? Does he remember how close we were?
Or is he pretending not to notice because he’s just as awkward about it as I am?
I take a sip of my tea and decide not to ask.
Not yet.
“You move a lot when you sleep,” he finally says.
“Yeah, I forgot to warn you. Once, I kicked my brother in the balls.”
He spits out his coffee, laughing. “Is he okay?”
“He is alive,” I joke, making the awkwardness disappear.
“Are your balls okay?” I ask.
“They’re perfect.”
I laugh at that.
Now I know it was me who got us all tangled up in our sleep.
God, that’s embarrassing.
“I have a shift this morning.”
“I can drive you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know,” he says simply.
“When do you have your Dr. Carter appointment?” he asks.
“At two.”
He nods.
He gets up and starts cleaning the dishes.
I stare at his broad shoulders for a moment. What is wrong with me?
“I gotta get ready.”
He simply nods. “Okay.”
I wear a turtleneck to hide the hickeys from the previous night, along with black oversized pants and a jacket.
When I get out, I find Logan already dressed and waiting. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
We walk to his truck in silence.
Once we’re both inside, he starts the engine but doesn’t pull away immediately.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.”
“What soap do you use?”
I stare at him.
“I don’t have a specific one. I just use whatever is on sale.”
Then I add, “Sometimes I do an herb mask, though. Why?”
“Just asking.” He glances at me. “You… smell good.”
I blush at that and quickly look away before he can notice. “I can give you the mask.”
He smiles. “Sure.”
He starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot.
----
He drives me to Malone’s and leaves, telling me he has morning practice.
We say our goodbyes, and I watch his truck disappear down the street before heading inside.
I spend the first part of my shift on autopilot.
Refill coffee.
Clear tables.
Take orders.
Smile.
Repeat.
My mind, however, is nowhere near Malone’s.
It’s stuck on my appointment with Dr. Carter.
Every few minutes, I catch myself thinking about what I’m going to tell her.
I had sex.
That sounds simple enough. Except it isn’t.
I don’t even know what part I’m supposed to talk about.
The fact that I’ve never had an orgasm? The fact that I keep people at a distance? The fact that I sometimes use sex to make sure the other person doesn’t get attached? Or the fact that I woke up in Logan’s arms this morning and spent way too much time thinking about it?
I shake my head and focus on the coffee machine.
One thing at a time.
Lunch break arrives, and I sit in my usual corner with my food. I eat while scrolling aimlessly through my phone.
A few minutes later, Justin walks past with his guitar case. “Hey.”
I look up. “Hey.”
“How are you?”
“Good.”
He studies me for a second. “You look distracted.”
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s dangerous.”
I laugh. “Very.”
He smiles and keeps walking.
I finish my lunch and go back to work.
The afternoon passes slowly.
A student complains that their coffee is cold. Someone asks for an extra napkin. A regular customer tells me the same story I’ve heard three times this week.
I laugh at the appropriate moments.
Eventually, I look at the clock.
Twenty minutes.
My stomach tightens.
I finish wiping down the counter and check the time again.
Ten minutes.
I untie my apron and hand it over to the person taking over for me. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you.”
I grab my bag and step outside. The air is colder than I expected.
I start walking toward Dr. Carter’s office.
With every block, my thoughts get louder.
Maybe I shouldn’t tell her. Maybe I should tell her everything. Maybe I should tell her nothing.
I take a deep breath.
It’s just a session.
I keep walking.
And try to convince myself that I don’t have to know exactly what I’m going to say until I sit down.
------
I stop outside Dr. Carter’s office and take a breath before knocking.
“Come in.”
I open the door.
Dr. Carter looks up from her notes and gives me a small smile. “Hi, Insaf.”
“Hi.”
I sit in the same chair as always, placing my bag on the floor beside me.
She closes the folder in front of her. “How have you been since we last spoke?”
“Fine.”
She waits.
I sigh. “Okay. Not fine.”
A small smile appears on her face. “That’s a little more honest.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Busy enough that you don’t have time to think?”
I look at her. “That’s usually the goal.”
“Has it been working?”
I think about it. “Not really.”
She nods. “What’s been on your mind?”
I stare at my hands. “I had sex.”
She doesn’t react dramatically. “Okay.”
I look up. “That’s it?”
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know. Something.”
“Like what?”
“A reaction.”
“Why?”
“Because I just walked into your office and announced that.”
“You don’t need to shock me to make something important.”
I look away. “Fair.”
She waits for a moment. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“Not really.”
“Okay.”
She doesn’t ask again.
Somehow, that makes me want to talk about it. “It wasn’t bad.”
“Okay.”
“I liked it.”
She nods.
“But I didn’t…” I stop.
“You didn’t what?”
I sigh. “I didn’t finish.”
She remains quiet.
“I’ve never had an orgasm.”
She doesn’t look surprised. “How do you feel about that?”
“Fine.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
I shrug. “I’ve never experienced it, so I don’t know what I’m missing.”
“People talk about it like it’s this life-changing thing.”
“And you don’t feel like you’re missing something?”
“Not really.” I pause. “Maybe a little.”
“What makes you wonder about it?”
I think for a while. “Because I can enjoy sex. I just don’t get… that.”
“The release?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you ever been able to relax enough to let someone else take control?”
I immediately shake my head. “No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t like it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
She waits.
I sigh. “Okay. I do know.”
“Go ahead.”
“I like knowing what’s happening.”
“Control?”
“Yes.”
“Does that apply outside of sex?”
I laugh quietly. “Unfortunately.”
“Give me an example.”
“Everything.”
“That’s broad.”
“I like knowing what people want. What they expect. What I owe them.”
Her expression changes slightly. “What you owe them?”
I nod. “That’s another thing.”
“What thing?”
I hesitate. “I told Logan something about it.”
“John Logan?”
I nod.
“What did you tell him?”
“About the sex.”
“And?”
“I told him I’ve never had an orgasm.”
“How did that feel?”
“Terrifying.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve never told anyone.”
“What did you expect him to do?”
“Judge me.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“What did he do?”
“He just… listened.” I smile slightly. “He didn’t make it weird.”
“And how did that make you feel?”
“Relieved.” I pause. “Also uncomfortable.”
“Why?”
“Because it was nice.”
She waits.
I look down at my hands. “It felt good to tell someone.”
“That’s not something you need to apologize for.”
“I’m not.”
“You sound like you’re about to.”
I smile faintly. “Maybe.”
She lets the silence sit for a few seconds.
Then she asks, “Why do you think being listened to felt uncomfortable?”
“Because I wasn’t doing anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t helping him. I wasn’t giving him anything. I was just talking.”
“And you think you need to give something back when someone gives you their attention?”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
“Insaf.”
I look up.
“Do you remember what we talked about last time?”
“Unfortunately.”
She smiles. “We talked about how quickly you move toward repayment when someone does something kind for you.”
“I remember.”
“Have you noticed yourself doing it?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“All the time.”
“Can you give me an example?”
I think. “When someone helps me, I immediately start thinking about how I can return the favor.”
“Why?”
“So I don’t owe them.”
“And why is owing someone so uncomfortable?”
I shrug. “Because then they have something over me.”
“Do you think kindness automatically creates a debt?”
“No.”
She waits.
I correct myself. “I know it doesn’t, but it feels like it does.”
“Yeah.” She nods slowly. “Where do you think you learned that?”
I immediately look away. “I don’t know.”
“Take your time.”
I stare at the carpet. “I don’t like this question.”
“I know.”
I laugh under my breath. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I’m really not.”
“You’re a therapist. You probably enjoy making people uncomfortable.”
“That’s not why I became one.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
She smiles.
Then she becomes serious again. “Think about your childhood.”
I tense slightly. “What about it?”
“What did you learn about love?”
I don’t answer immediately.
“That it was conditional.”
She waits.
I look at the floor. “If I was good enough, things were good.”
“Good enough how?”
“Good grades. Good behavior. Making my parents proud. Not causing problems.” I shrug. “It wasn’t like anyone sat me down and said, ‘We’ll only love you if you do this.’”
“Of course, but you learned it anyway.”
“Yeah.” I swallow. “Especially with my mother.”
“How so?”
“She was religious. Very conservative.”
I pause.
“And the city I grew up in was the same way. Everyone knew everyone. There were expectations about how you were supposed to behave, what kind of daughter you were supposed to be.”
I pick at the edge of my sleeve. “If I did everything right, things were good. If I disappointed them…”
I trail off.
“What happened?”
“Things changed.”
She waits.
“The atmosphere changed. Affection changed. Sometimes nobody had to say anything. I could just tell.”
Dr. Carter nods. “So you learned to monitor yourself.”
“Yeah.”
“And other people’s reactions.”
“Yeah.”
“To make sure things stayed good.”
I nod.
“And when you couldn’t guarantee that someone would continue loving you…”
I finish the thought quietly. “I tried to become useful.”
She looks at me. “Useful?”
“If I couldn’t make someone love me, I could at least make myself worth keeping around.”
I immediately regret saying it.
Dr. Carter doesn’t react with pity. “That’s a painful lesson for a child to learn.”
I shrug. “It worked.”
“Did it?”
I look at her. “It kept things peaceful.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
I don’t answer.
She lets the silence settle.
Then she asks, “Do you think that could be connected to the way you handle relationships now?”
I stare at her. “Probably.”
“How?”
“If someone does something for me, I want to give something back.” I count the examples off mentally. “If someone helps me, I help them. If someone gives me something, I give them something. If someone gets close to me, I make sure I don’t become too dependent.”
“And intimacy?”
I know where she’s going.
“Same thing.”
“How?”
“If I stay in control, I don’t have to wonder whether they’ll stay.”
She nods. “And if you make sure the other person is satisfied?”
I look away. “Then they have no reason to want anything more from me.”
There is a long silence.
I finally look back at her. “That sounds terrible when you say it like that.”
“It sounds like something that made sense once.”
I stare at her. “Once?”
“When you were younger. When you were trying to figure out how to keep relationships safe.”
I look down. “And now?”
“Now you may not need the same strategy.”
I don’t respond.
She continues gently. “You’ve grown up. You’re in a different country. You have more control over your life. You’re meeting people who aren’t your family, who aren’t necessarily operating by the same rules you grew up with.”
I nod.
“But your nervous system doesn’t automatically know that.”
I smile faintly. “That’s a very therapist sentence.”
She laughs. “It is.”
I look at my hands. “So what am I supposed to do?”
“Notice.”
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
I give her a skeptical look. “Notice what?”
“Notice when you start thinking about what you owe someone.”
I nod.
“Notice when you’re trying to earn affection.”
I look away.
“Notice when you’re giving more than you’re comfortable giving because you’re afraid someone will leave.”
I swallow.
“And notice when someone gives you something without asking for anything in return.”
I already know where this is going. “Because that’s the part I hate.”
She smiles slightly. “Yes. Receiving.”
“Receiving.” I sigh. “Great.”
She laughs. “You’re allowed to dislike it.”
“Can I refuse?”
“You can.”
I look at her.
“But then you’ll never learn whether receiving can feel safe.”
I sit quietly for a moment.
Then I say, “Okay.”
She nods. “Let’s talk about what happened with Logan.”
I immediately look at her. “What?”
“You said telling him something vulnerable felt terrifying.”
“Yeah.”
“And he didn’t judge you.”
“No.”
“What did he do?”
“He listened.”
“And did you feel like you owed him something afterward?”
I think about it. “No.”
She waits.
I correct myself. “I wanted to do something for him.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Maybe. What was the difference?”
I think. “I wanted to.”
“Not because you were afraid he’d stop caring?”
“No.”
“Not because you thought you had to earn his kindness?”
“No.”
She nods. “That’s worth noticing.”
I sit with that. “That’s… weird.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know what to do with kindness when it doesn’t come with a price.”
She gives me a gentle smile. “Maybe that’s something you can learn.”
I look down.
After a moment, I say, “I’m also scared that you’ll say something today that I’ll obsess over for the next two weeks.”
She smiles. “That’s something we can work on too.”
“How?”
“Before you leave, we’re going to separate what I actually said from what your mind thinks I meant.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That sounds complicated.”
“It might be.” She glances at the clock. “We have about ten minutes.”
“Already?”
“Yes.”
I sit back.
She asks, “What do you think you need from today’s session?”
I think about it. “Permission.”
“For what?”
“To not know.”
She nods. “About sex?”
“About sex. Relationships. Intimacy. What I want.” I pause. “Who I am.”
She looks at me. “You don’t need permission to not know.”
I smile faintly. “Still nice to hear.”
“Then hear it.”
I nod.
She closes her notebook. “And I want you to try something this week.”
“What?”
“When someone does something kind for you, don’t immediately think about how to repay them.”
I stare at her. “That’s cruel.”
She laughs softly. “It’s an experiment.”
“I hate experiments.”
“I know.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Say thank you.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“What if they expect something?”
“Then you’ll find out.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then you will have allowed someone to be kind to you without turning it into a transaction.”
I look down. “That sounds terrifying.”
“It might.” She pauses. “But you don’t have to solve your entire relationship with intimacy this week.”
I nod.
“And you don’t have to decide what kind of person you are because of one night.”
I look at her. “Even if I don’t know what kind of person I am?”
“Especially then.”
I smile.
She checks the clock. “That’s our time.”
I stand and pick up my bag. “See you next week.”
“See you, Insaf.”
I reach the door, then pause. “Dr. Carter?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
She smiles. “You’re welcome.”
I leave the office.
And for once, I don’t immediately start trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do with everything she just said.
I just walk.
-----
I make it halfway to the stairs before I hear footsteps behind me.
“Hey.”
I turn around. Logan.
I look at him, confused. “Hi.”
He holds out a cup.
I stare at it. Tea.
I look back at him. “You’re here for me?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I remembered you had your appointment today.”
I take the cup from him. “It’s tea.”
“Good observation.”
I give him a look.
He smiles. “You said you were anxious about it.”
I stare at the cup for a moment. “I was.”
“And?”
I take a small sip. “It’s over.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
I glance at him. “You remembered.”
“Yeah.”
I look down again. “Thank you.”
He nods. Then he studies my face. “So?”
“So what?”
“Do you feel better?”
I think about it. “Actually… a little.”
“Good.”
We start walking together.
After a few steps, I look at him. “I feel like you appear whenever Dr. Carter asks me to notice something.”
He laughs. “Maybe she’s secretly sending me.”
I smile.
“What did she ask you to notice this time?”
I hesitate. “She asked me to stop thinking about how to repay people whenever they’re kind to me.”
He looks at the tea in my hand.
He grins. “Oh, that’s awkward.”
I roll my eyes. “Exactly.”
“Then I guess you can’t repay me.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.” He pauses. “Because I don’t want anything.”
I look at him. “Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
I take another sip. “Okay.”
We keep walking.
For a while, neither of us says anything.
Then he glances at me. “Did she say anything that made you spiral?”
I smile faintly. “She specifically told me not to do that.”
“Sounds like she’s getting to know you.”
“Unfortunately.”
He laughs.
I look at the tea again. “You really remembered?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “Because you told me you were nervous.”
As if that’s enough of an explanation. Maybe it is.
I don’t know what to say to that, so I take another sip instead.
He doesn’t push me to talk. He just walks beside me.
And somehow, that makes the tea taste a little better.
----
Logan’s phone buzzes.
He pulls it out and looks at the screen.
“Dean.”
I glance at him. “What does he want?”
“He says he, Garrett, and Hannah are at the cafeteria.”
I nod. “Do you want to go?”
“Yeah. I’m hungry.”
We start walking toward the cafeteria together.
Neither of us says much on the way there. I’m still holding the tea he brought me, and every now and then I catch myself thinking about what Dr. Carter said.
When we reach the cafeteria, I spot them almost immediately.
Dean is sitting with his legs stretched out under the table, while Garrett is eating something that looks suspiciously like it came from the vending machines.
Hannah is sitting beside him, scrolling through her phone.
Dean notices us first. “There they are.”
Garrett looks up. “Finally.”
Logan pulls out a chair. “What?”
“You disappeared.”
“I had stuff to do.”
Dean looks at me. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
He glances at the tea in my hand. “Did you just get here?”
“Dr. Carter’s office.”
His eyebrows rise. “Oh.”
Hannah looks at me. “How was it?”
I sit down beside Logan. “Fine.”
Dean squints at me. “That’s your suspicious version of fine.”
I smile. “I’m actually fine.”
Garrett looks between us. “Did Logan kidnap you?”
“No.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Dean says.
Logan rolls his eyes. “I brought her tea.”
Dean looks at him. “You brought her tea?”
“She had an appointment.”
Dean nods slowly. “Okay, that’s actually kind of wholesome.”
Logan points at him. “Don’t.”
I laugh quietly.
Hannah smiles at me. “Do you want anything to eat?”
I shake my head. “I’ll get something.”
“I’ll come with you.”
I look at Logan. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
I pause.
Then I smile. “Okay.”
We get up and head toward the counter.
Behind us, I hear Dean mutter, “He’s getting soft.”
Logan turns around. “I heard that.”
Dean grins. “Good.”
I laugh as we walk away.
When we come back to the table, we find Dean and Garrett discussing their Thanksgiving plans.
Dean is leaving for New York, while Hannah is spending Thanksgiving with Garrett. His dad invited them.
They’re holding hands under the table.
I notice it. So does Logan.
I look at him, but his expression is unreadable.
Then he turns to Garrett. “It would be good if you asked him about sending a signed T-shirt for the charity.”
Garrett slowly nods. “Yeah. I was thinking about it.”
Hannah looks between them. “You guys do charity?”
“Yeah,” Logan answers. “It’s for little kids who can’t afford hockey equipment and training.”
Dean pushes a few strands of hair away from his face. “Logan here was a little Cain.”
Logan shakes his head dramatically, smiling.
I giggle at that, and he turns toward me with a smile.
Hannah looks surprised. “You were part of a charity?”
“Yeah. That’s how I got scouted.”
“That’s adorable.”
He smiles at that.
“But wait, why do you need a signed shirt from Garrett’s dad?”
“Well, he’s a famous retired hockey player,” Logan explains. “Having something signed by him would probably help with donations.”
Garrett nods. “Yeah, but there’s also the whole thing with ads, interviews, photoshoots…”
Hannah looks between them. “Well, you don’t need your dad for that. You guys are already famous.” She points between Garrett and Logan. “You two could do that yourselves.”
“Actually, that’s a great idea,” I say.
“Right?” Hannah says.
Garrett looks thoughtful. “That could actually work.”
Dean leans back in his chair. “Look at us. Solving problems before Thanksgiving.”
“Don’t get too excited,” Logan says.
Dean grins. “Too late.”
Then Hannah looks at me apologetically. “I’m sorry I won’t be here for Thanksgiving.”
I smile. “I never celebrated it anyway. Plus, Tucker invited me to Friendsgiving.”
“You never celebrated Thanksgiving?” Dean asks.
“Yeah. It’s a Christian holiday, and I’m from a Muslim country. We have our own traditions around being grateful and celebrating the harvest, but it’s not at this time of year.”
Dean nods, seeming surprised. “So you’ve been here for a year and a half and never celebrated it?”
“Pretty much.”
Hannah gives me an apologetic smile. “Well, at least you’ll have Friendsgiving.”
“Yeah. Tucker invited a bunch of people.”
Dean leans back in his chair. “Who else is going?”
I shrug. “I don’t know everyone who’s coming.”
“Sounds like Tucker,” Garrett says. “He probably invited half the campus.”
I laugh. “Probably.”
Hannah smiles. “I’m glad you’ll have something to do.”
“Me too.”
Dean looks around the table. “So everyone’s going somewhere for Thanksgiving?”
“I’ll be with my family,” Garrett says.
Hannah nods. “And I’ll be with him.”
She squeezes Garrett’s hand under the table.
Dean points at himself. “New York.”
Then he looks at Logan. “What about you?”
Logan shrugs. “Still figuring that out.”
I glance at him. “You could come to Friendsgiving.”
He looks at me. “I thought Tucker already invited me.”
“He did.”
“Then I guess I have plans.”
I smile. “Apparently.”
Dean looks between us. “Well, look at that. Everyone has Thanksgiving plans.”
I take another sip of my tea. “Except maybe you.”
He grins. “I have New York.”
“That’s not a plan. That’s a location.”
“Same thing.”
-----
The conversation slowly moves on to other things.
I listen more than I talk.
Dean starts complaining about his flight to New York, Garrett argues with him about how early he needs to leave for the airport, and Hannah occasionally joins in just to make fun of both of them.
Logan doesn’t say much.
Neither do I.
Eventually, my tea is finished.
I look at the empty cup and realize I haven’t thought about Dr. Carter for several minutes.
That’s probably progress.
We stay at the cafeteria for a little longer before everyone starts going their separate ways.
Dean leaves first, saying he has things to pack.
Garrett and Hannah leave shortly after.
Logan stays behind for a few minutes, but eventually he gets up too. “See you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.”
He gives me a small smile before leaving.
I sit there for a moment after he’s gone.
Tomorrow. Beau’s football game.
I almost forgot. I check my phone.
There are a few messages from people talking about the game, mostly about what time everyone is meeting and where they’re sitting.
I don’t answer immediately.
Instead, I put my phone away. I don’t really feel like talking. Not because I’m upset. I just feel full of thoughts. Full of things I’ve learned about myself in the last twenty-four hours.
I leave the cafeteria and walk back toward the apartment.
The campus is quieter than usual.
Most people seem to have plans for the break already. Some are leaving town, some are going home, and others are making arrangements for Thanksgiving.
I wonder what it would feel like to have somewhere to go for Thanksgiving.
Not because I want to celebrate it. Just because everyone seems to have somewhere they’re expected to be.
I don’t really have that. I have my apartment. My research. My classes. My job. My routines.
And now, apparently, friends.
I smile faintly at that. Friends. That’s still a strange word sometimes.
I make it back to the apartment and find it quiet.
Perfect.
I change into something comfortable and put my laptop on my desk.
I should work. I open my research paper. I stare at the same paragraph for several minutes.
Nothing.
I close the laptop. Maybe later.
Instead, I make myself some tea and sit on my bed with a book. I read a few pages. Then I realize I’ve been staring at the same sentence for the past five minutes.
My mind keeps wandering to Dr. Carter. To what she said about conditional love. To the way I learned to measure whether things were “good” based on whether I was good.
Good daughter. Good student. Good person. Someone worth being proud of.
I never really thought about how much of my life had been built around that.
Maybe that’s why being useful feels safer than being loved.
If I’m useful, I know what I’m doing. If I’m loved… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.
I think about Logan bringing me tea.
He didn’t ask for anything. He didn’t even make a big deal out of it. He just remembered.
I frown at the thought.
Maybe that is exactly what Dr. Carter was talking about.
I take another sip of tea. I’m getting annoyed at myself.
I put the cup down. “Stop thinking.”
My own voice sounds ridiculous in the empty room.
I pick up my phone. I scroll for a while without really looking at anything.
Eventually, I check the time. It’s getting late. Tomorrow is the game.
Beau will be playing.
Dean, Garrett, Logan, and Tucker will be watching from the stands instead of playing.
I wonder if I’ll actually understand anything about football.
Probably not.
I know enough to know that Beau is going to be running around while everyone screams.
That’s about it. I smile. Maybe I’ll just enjoy watching everyone else lose their minds.
I set my phone aside. I get ready for bed earlier than usual. The apartment is still quiet.
No voices. No music. No one arguing in the living room.
Just the faint sound of cars outside and the occasional footsteps in the hallway.
I turn off the light and get under the covers.
For once, my mind doesn’t immediately start running through everything that happened.
Maybe I’m too tired. Maybe I’m finally learning how to let a day end without dissecting it. I close my eyes.
Tomorrow will be busy.
The game. Beau. The hockey guys in the stands. Hannah and Garrett. Tucker.
Logan.
I feel a small smile tug at my lips.
Then, before I can think about what that smile means, I fall asleep.
--------
I wake up and spend the morning working on my research paper.
I have a shift at two at Malone’s with Allie and Hannah.
It’s been a while since we’ve shared a shift, and I realize how much I’ve missed it.
The afternoon is noticeably less tense than usual. It’s the last day before Thanksgiving break, and everyone seems to have mentally checked out already.
Students come in for coffee, but instead of complaining about assignments, they’re talking about the football game.
Beau’s game.
And, of course, the frat party afterward, regardless of the outcome.
Hannah is wiping down the counter when she looks at me. “Are you going to the game tonight?”
“Yeah.”
She smiles. “Good.”
Allie walks past us carrying a tray. “She has to go. Otherwise, who’s going to explain football to her?”
I look at her. “I know the basics.”
Hannah raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”
“I know the ball is supposed to go in one direction.”
Allie snorts. “Wow. Expert.”
I laugh. “I’ll learn.”
Hannah shakes her head, smiling as she goes back to the register.
The whole place feels lighter.
People are already making plans for tonight, talking about where they’re meeting before the game, what they’re wearing, and which fraternity is throwing the party afterward.
For once, nobody seems to care about the assignments waiting for them after break.
Neither do I.
--------
Everyone meets up at Malone’s so we can go to the game together.
Logan, Dean, Tucker, Hannah, Allie, Garrett, and Jules are already there when I finish getting ready.
Dean and Allie keep sharing these longing little glances that somehow everyone else is too blind to notice.
I just roll my eyes.
How can they be this obvious and still think nobody notices?
We head to the football arena together, carrying enough food to last us through the entire game.
Once we find our seats, we settle in and wait for the game to start.
That’s when I notice Justin nearby.
It’s a little awkward. Mostly because of Hannah.
He had a thing for her, and she initially had a crush on him too. But after their little “deal,” things changed, and she eventually fell for Garrett instead.
Justin notices me and walks over. “Hey.”
“Hey. Didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Well, our bandmate—the drummer, Ethan—he’s a football player.”
“Oh, really?”
He laughs. “Yeah. Anyway, have fun.”
“You too.”
He gives me a small wave before heading back toward the other side of the stands.
I turn back to our group.
I end up sitting between Jules and Logan.
Jules is doing a live stream for their gossip page, explaining what’s happening before the game starts.
I listen carefully.
At first, the rules sound unnecessarily complicated, but the more they explain, the more they start making sense.
Downs. First downs. Touchdowns. Field goals.
I think I’m actually starting to understand.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I think I get it.”
Jules looks at me. “Really?”
“Mostly.”
“That’s better than half the people watching.”
I laugh.
The players start warming up on the field, and the crowd gets louder.
I glance toward Logan. He’s already looking at me.
“What?”
“Just checking.”
“Checking what?”
“That you’re following.”
I smile. “I am.”
He nods, satisfied, and turns back toward the field.
A few minutes later, I catch him looking at me again.
This time, I don’t say anything. I just smile. He smiles back before turning his attention to the game.
The stadium lights brighten as the sun starts to disappear, and the noise from the crowd grows louder.
For once, I don’t feel like I’m trying to figure out where I fit.
I’m just here.
Watching a football game with people I somehow ended up becoming friends with.
----------
The game starts with the entire stadium erupting.
I jump slightly at the noise.
Jules laughs beside me. “Welcome to college football.”
“I think my eardrums just died.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“I’m not sure I want to.”
Logan laughs from my other side. “You’ll be screaming by halftime.”
“I won’t.”
He gives me a skeptical look. “We’ll see.”
The players take their positions. I immediately recognize Beau.
He’s standing behind the offensive line, helmet on, scanning the field. “That’s Beau, right?”
Jules nods. “Quarterback.”
I look at Logan. “He looks terrifying.”
“That’s because he’s focused.”
The whistle blows. Beau takes the snap.
For the first few plays, I barely understand what’s happening. He calls something out. The players move. He drops back. Then he throws.
The ball flies across the field and one of Briar’s receivers catches it. The crowd erupts.
I find myself smiling. “Okay.”
Logan glances at me. “Okay?”
“That was cool.”
“I told you.”
Briar keeps moving down the field. Beau takes another snap. He fakes a handoff, steps back, and throws a long pass. The receiver catches it and runs. Ten yards. Twenty. Thirty.
The entire stadium rises. “Go! Go! Go!” I realize I’m standing too.
The receiver is finally tackled near the twenty-yard line.
I sit back down, staring at the field. “That was actually terrifying.”
Logan laughs. “Now you’re getting it.”
A few plays later, Briar gets close enough for Beau to run the ball himself.
He takes the snap and pushes through the defense. Touchdown. The stadium explodes.
Dean grabs Garrett by the shoulders. “LET’S FUCKING GO!”
Garrett laughs. Hannah jumps up beside him. Allie is screaming. Jules nearly drops their phone while trying to keep their live stream going.
I jump up too. “YES!” I freeze.
Logan turns toward me with a grin. “You were screaming.”
“Don’t.”
“You were.”
“I got excited.”
“Sure.”
I roll my eyes.
The opposing team answers with a touchdown of their own. The crowd goes from ecstatic to furious.
Dean throws his hands over his head. “Come on!”
Tucker laughs. “There’s still three quarters.”
“That’s not comforting.”
The game becomes a back-and-forth battle. Beau keeps throwing. Sometimes the passes connect perfectly. Sometimes the defense gets to him before he can release the ball.
Every time he gets hit, Hannah winces.
Garrett keeps reassuring her. “He’s fine.”
“I know he’s fine.”
“You look like you’re about to jump onto the field.”
“I’m not.” She immediately looks toward the field again.
Dean catches me watching her. I raise an eyebrow. He shakes his head. I roll my eyes. Everyone is hopeless.
By halftime, Briar is ahead 21–17.
I stare at the scoreboard. “That’s actually close.”
Logan looks at me. “You understand the score?”
“I understand enough.”
Jules laughs. “She’s learning.”
During halftime, everyone starts talking at once. Dean is convinced the referees are biased. Garrett disagrees. Tucker is analyzing Beau’s last few plays. Jules is explaining something to their viewers. Hannah is leaning against Garrett’s shoulder.
I glance toward the field.
Beau is talking to his teammates.
He looks completely different from the Beau I know outside of football. Focused. Confident. Serious. Then he looks up toward the stands and spots us. He points toward our section. Dean immediately raises both arms. Garrett shouts something back. Beau laughs before turning back to his teammates.
The second half begins.
Briar gets possession. Beau takes the snap. He throws. Intercepted. The stadium goes silent for half a second. Then the opposing team’s fans erupt.
“No,” Dean says.
Garrett groans. Tucker covers his face.
I stare at the field. “That can’t be good.”
“No,” Logan says.
The opposing team takes advantage of the turnover. They drive down the field. Then they score.
The scoreboard changes. 24–21.
The entire section erupts in frustration.
Dean drops into his seat. “We’re cooked.”
“We are not cooked,” Tucker says.
“We’re absolutely cooked.”
Garrett shakes his head. “There’s still a whole quarter.”
Dean points toward the field. “That’s exactly what someone says when we’re cooked.”
I laugh.
Logan looks at me. “Still having fun?”
I nod. “Unfortunately.”
The fourth quarter begins, and everything changes. Beau comes back onto the field.
The crowd starts chanting his name. I feel something shift in the atmosphere. He takes the snap Throws. Complete. Another snap. Another pass. Complete. They’re moving. Ten yards. Then another first down. The crowd gets louder with every play.
I find myself gripping the edge of my seat. “Come on…”
Logan looks at me. “Did you just say ‘come on’?”
“Shut up.”
He laughs.
Briar gets inside the red zone. Beau takes the snap. He looks left. The defense closes in. He steps back. Throws. Touchdown. The stadium erupts.
I jump up with everyone else. “YES!”
Logan is laughing beside me. “You’re definitely invested.”
“I don’t care anymore.”
The scoreboard changes. 28–24.
Four minutes remain. The opposing team gets the ball. The tension becomes unbearable. Every play seems to last forever. They gain ten yards. Then fifteen. Then another first down.
Dean is pacing in front of our seats. “Why are they still moving?”
Tucker laughs. “Because they have the ball.”
“I know that!”
The opposing quarterback throws. The receiver catches it. He runs toward the end zone. I stand. Everyone does. He’s getting closer.
Ten yards. Five. Three— Briar’s defender tackles him just before the goal line.
The stadium erupts.
I grab Jules’s arm. “HE WAS RIGHT THERE.”
“I KNOW!”
The opposing team has one more chance. Two minutes left. They line up. The quarterback takes the snap. He throws. Incomplete.
The crowd cheers.
Another play. Incomplete.
Everyone is screaming now.
Third down.
The quarterback throws again. The receiver catches it— But he’s tackled immediately.
Fourth down.
The entire stadium is standing. I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous about something I barely understood three hours ago.
The opposing team needs one more play. If they don’t get it, Briar gets the ball back. The quarterback takes the snap. He looks left. Then right. He throws. The ball flies.
Everyone watches it.
A Briar defender jumps. Intercepted.
The stadium explodes.
I scream. Actually scream.
Logan looks at me with the biggest grin I’ve seen on his face.
The defender falls to the ground clutching the ball. Briar has possession. The clock is almost out.
Beau takes the final snap. He kneels.
The crowd starts counting down. “Ten! Nine!”
Everyone around us joins in. “Eight! Seven! Six!”
Dean grabs Garrett. “Five!”
Hannah grabs Allie’s hand. “Four!”
Tucker is already laughing. “Three!”
Jules turns their phone toward the field, barely managing to keep the camera steady. “Two!”
“ONE!”
The clock hits zero.
The stadium erupts. Briar won.
I barely have time to process it before Dean suddenly grabs me. “WE WON!”
“Dean—”
He lifts me straight off the ground.
I burst out laughing. “DEAN!”
He spins me around once before putting me down. “You were worried for nothing!”
“I didn’t even know what was happening!”
“You were screaming!”
“I got invested!”
He laughs and pulls me into another hug.
Around us, everyone is celebrating. Garrett has Hannah in his arms. Tucker is shouting toward the field.
Jules is still filming, laughing as they try to capture everything happening around us.
Allie is cheering.
Logan is standing a few feet away, smiling as he watches all of us. Then Beau looks toward the stands.
He spots us celebrating.
Dean immediately points at him. “THAT’S OUR QUARTERBACK!”
Beau raises his helmet in acknowledgment.
I laugh.
Logan looks at me. “You had fun.”
I glance back at the field. “Yeah.” I smile. “Actually, I did.”
He grins. “I told you.”
I shake my head. “Don’t get used to it.”
Dean throws an arm around my shoulders. “She’s officially a football fan now.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Too late.”
I look back at the field.
Briar’s players are celebrating. The crowd is still roaring. And despite myself, I can’t stop smiling.
Maybe I don’t understand every rule yet, but I understand this. Winning feels really damn good.
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, threesome/group sex (lesbian), casual sex, sexual discussion, sexual intimacy, references to orgasm/sexual dissatisfaction, hickeys, emotional vulnerability, therapy/mental-health discussion, family issues and addiction.
Author's note: first time writing smut and its lesbian threesome ;p i might do a double update today.
word count: 8.9k words.
chapter 8<< >>chapter 10
masterlist
The week before Thanksgiving break is always chaos.
Every professor seems to collectively decide that this is the perfect time to assign essays, presentations, research papers, and group projects.
I’m sitting in my usual corner of the library, surrounded by highlighters, sticky notes, three open books, and a laptop that’s threatening to die.
I’m almost done. I just have one paragraph left.
Someone pulls the chair across from me. I assume it’s Carmen.
Then a cup of coffee slides across the table.
I look up.
Garrett.
“I figured I’d find you here.”
He sits down as if this had been the plan all along, taking his laptop out of his backpack.
I look at the coffee before lifting the lid. “…Oat milk?”
He looks up from unzipping his backpack. “Yeah.”
I frown. “How did you know I’m lactose intolerant?”
He laughs. “I didn’t.” He shrugs. “Hannah is, so now whenever I’m buying coffee for someone, I just get oat milk. Better safe than sorry.”
I smile despite myself. “Smart.”
Only then do I notice a few people looking our way.
Or rather… Looking at Garrett sitting with me.
I deliberately don’t acknowledge them.
Garrett doesn’t seem to notice.
He opens his laptop, sighs dramatically, and rubs his face. “I’m starting to regret taking philosophy.”
I glance at his screen. “You take philosophy?”
“It was supposed to be an easy elective.” He turns the screen toward me. “I’ve been lied to.”
I laugh quietly. “What’s the assignment?”
He scrolls until he finds it. “‘To what extent is a person’s identity shaped by their choices rather than their circumstances?’”
“…That’s actually a good prompt.”
He pauses. “You sound excited.”
“I am.”
He studies me. “You like philosophy?”
“I love philosophy.”
He blinks. “…Seriously?”
I nod. “It’s one of my favorite subjects.”
He sits back. “I was expecting you to say statistics.”
“Everyone expects statistics.”
He looks back at the assignment. “So…” He taps the screen. “What’s your answer?”
I think for a moment.
“I don’t think you can separate the two.”
He narrows his eyes. “Explain.”
“If you grew up somewhere else…” I gesture toward him. “…with different parents, different money, different friends… You wouldn’t be you.”
He nods. “Okay.”
“But.” I continue. “You also wouldn’t become just anyone.”
He stays quiet.
“I think circumstances give you the map, and choices decide how you walk it.”
He stares at me for a second. “…I’ve never heard it explained like that.”
I shrug. “I think psychology made me appreciate philosophy more.”
“How?”
“Psychology asks how people behave. Philosophy asks why.”
He nods slowly. “That actually makes sense.” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I thought I was just asking you about an assignment.”
“You accidentally gave me my favorite topic.”
He laughs. “I can see that.”
He closes his laptop halfway.
“So…” He points at my books. “How long have you been secretly into philosophy?”
I smile. “My dad. He loved it, so I started reading his books before I was old enough to understand half of them.”
“And now?”
“Now I understand maybe sixty percent.”
He laughs. “I feel a lot better about understanding zero.”
I slide his laptop closer to me. “Let’s see what you’ve written.”
He immediately pushes it the rest of the way. “Please. I need all the help I can get before this paper starts having an existential crisis.”
After helping him reorganize his outline, Garrett quietly starts typing.
The only sounds between us are keyboards clicking and the occasional page turning.
I finish the last paragraph of my assignment, read it over once, and finally hit submit.
I let out a relieved sigh.
Garrett glances up. “Done?”
“Done.”
“Congratulations.”
“I can finally be a functioning human being again.”
He chuckles before returning to his paper.
A moment passes.
Then I ask, “Didn’t Hannah tutor you for your philosophy presentation?”
A small smile appears on his face. “Yeah. I passed.”
“I know.”
He looks up. “You know?”
“Hannah told me.” I smile. “She was very proud of herself.”
He laughs through his nose. “She should be.” He leans back in his chair. “She’s secretly into philosophy too.”
I nod. “I know.”
“I think she was the only person in class who passed without having to retake it.”
“That sounds like Hannah.”
He nods.
“And in exchange…” I close my laptop. “…you helped her talk to Justin.”
His fingers stop moving.
Just for a second. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
I notice.
He resumes typing. “Yeah. That was the deal.”
“The deal,” I repeat, watching him.
He finally looks up. “What?”
I smile. “Nothing.”
“No.” He points at me. “That was a psychology smile.”
I laugh. “A psychology smile?”
“Yeah. The one where you notice something and refuse to say it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You absolutely do.”
I rest my chin in my hand. “I just think…” I pause. “…it’s interesting that you keep calling it a deal.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Because it was.”
“I know.” I nod. “But every time you mention it, you make it sound like you’re reminding yourself.”
He studies me for a long moment.
Then he lets out a small laugh. “…You really are good at this.”
“I try.”
He closes his laptop. “For the record… I would’ve helped her anyway.”
I smile. “I know.”
He blinks. “You do?”
“You don’t strike me as someone who only helps people after signing a contract.”
That earns a genuine laugh. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is.”
He stands, sliding his backpack over one shoulder. “I should probably get to practice.”
“And I should probably go to work.”
He nods.
Then, just before walking away, he pauses. “Oh.”
I look up.
“Dean’s going to be insufferable if you don’t show up next friday.”
I laugh. “So this is peer pressure?”
“This is a warning.”
“I’ll be there.”
He grins. “Good.”
With that, he turns and heads toward the library exit, leaving me smiling to myself as I pack up my books.
-------
As I’m walking toward Malone’s, I spot Quinn.
She waves first. I wave back and walk over.
We hug.
“So,” she says as we pull away, “are you staying on campus over Thanksgiving break?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “What about you?”
She hesitates. “…No.” She lets out a small breath. “I’m going home.”
I wait.
She looks down at the sidewalk before meeting my eyes again. “I’ve decided.”
“Decided what?”
“I’m going to talk to Cait.”
A smile spreads across my face. I gently squeeze her arm. “Good.”
She lets out a nervous laugh. “…Yeah. I think I’m going to need all the luck I can get.”
“You will.” I smile. “But I think you’ll regret not saying anything more than saying something.”
She nods slowly. “I think so too.”
“I’ll be here when you get back.”
She smiles warmly at that. “Thank you.”
She glances at her phone.
“I should go. I have a presentation on French colonialism in twenty minutes.”
I wince. “Good luck.”
She laughs. “I’m definitely going to need it.”
We hug one last time.
“Good luck with Cait,” I say.
“And good luck surviving Malone’s.”
I groan dramatically. “I’ll need more luck than you.”
She laughs as we head in opposite directions, each of us walking toward our own kind of battle.
-----
Malone’s is more crowded than usual.
Final assignments are due this week, and it seems like every student at Briar has decided to claim a table and survive on caffeine alone.
I tie my apron around my waist and spend the first hour refilling coffees, clearing plates, and weaving between backpacks scattered across the floor.
As I’m carrying a fresh pot of coffee, I see Justin walking in with his guitar case slung over his shoulder.
“You’re early,” I say.
“Yeah.” He smiles, barely containing his excitement. “I’m performing an original tonight.”
“The one you wrote with Hannah?”
He nods. “I wanted to tune my guitar before everyone gets here.” He points toward the small stage. “You should stay after your shift.”
“I will.” I pour him a cup of coffee before he even asks. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
He disappears toward the stage while I go back to serving increasingly stressed students.
A while later, the bell above the entrance chimes.
I don’t look up. I’m wiping down a table when someone stops beside me.
“Hey.”
I look up and smile. “John. Hey.”
He smiles back, but it isn’t quite there.
I notice. Then my eyes drift to the faint lipstick mark near the side of his neck.
I don’t comment on it.
“Can I get a coffee?”
“Sure.”
A minute later, I set the mug in front of him.
Instead of going back to work immediately, I stay standing beside the table. “Is everything okay?”
He looks at the coffee for a long moment before answering. “Yeah.”
A pause.
“…Not really.”
I wait.
“Garrett and I have been arguing.” He rubs his thumb against the paper cup. “There’s this charity event over Thanksgiving break. It’s for kids who want to play hockey but can’t afford equipment or camps.”
I nod.
“I wanted Garrett to talk to his dad. One endorsement from him would’ve changed everything. He played in the NHL. People still listen when he puts his name behind something.”
He sighs.
“We would’ve gotten more sponsors. More donations. More kids, and Garrett refused.”
I stay quiet.
“I know they don’t get along. I get that, but this isn’t about him or his dad. It’s about the kids.”
I think about that for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”
He nods.
“If his dad had agreed… Would Garrett have had to be involved too?”
He thinks for a second.
“…Yeah. Probably interviews. Photos. The whole thing.”
I nod slowly. “So maybe…”
I choose my words carefully.
“…to you, you were asking him to call his dad. But to Garrett… it felt like asking him to step back into something he’s been trying to walk away from.”
Logan stares into his coffee. “I didn’t think about it like that.”
“I know.”
I pull out the chair across from him and sit for a minute while the café stays busy around us.
“I also understand why you’re frustrated.”
He looks up. “You do?”
“Yeah. If I were one of those kids… I’d want someone to fight that hard for me.”
His shoulders loosen a little.
“But…” I continue, “…I don’t think Garrett refused because he doesn’t care. I think he refused because it cost him something.”
Logan lets out a long breath. “I hate that the kids are the ones who lose.”
“So does Garrett.”
He stays quiet.
After a while he asks, “You think I owe him an apology?”
I smile. “I think you owe him a conversation.”
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
“No. They’re not.”
He nods slowly. “I guess I never actually asked him why.”
“You assumed.”
“I did.”
Another silence settles between us.
This one feels lighter.
He finally picks up his coffee. “You know…” He smiles faintly. “I came here because I wanted a coffee, and instead I got therapy.”
I laugh. “My next session isn’t until next week.”
He chuckles. “I’ll remember not to complain around you.”
“You can complain.” I stand, picking up my towel again. “Just don’t be surprised if I ask annoying questions.”
He smiles. “Fair enough.”
I smile back before returning to work, leaving him with his coffee—and, hopefully, a different way of looking at the conversation waiting for him with Garrett.
My shift finally ends after hours of dealing with stressed, sleep-deprived students who act as though running out of coffee is a national emergency.
As I’m taking my apron off, I see Hannah and Allie walking in for their shift.
I smile. “Perfect timing.”
They both hug me briefly before heading behind the counter.
I notice Justin setting his guitar up on the small stage.
I nudge Hannah. “Excited?”
She looks at me, confused. “For what?”
“He’s performing the song you two wrote together.”
The color immediately drains from her face. “…What?”
Before I can answer, Justin taps the microphone.
“Hey, everyone.”
The café quiets down.
“So… this is an original song.” He smiles toward Hannah. “One that a very special girl and I wrote together.” He looks directly at her. “It’s called Yellow Haze.”
Hannah freezes. “He didn’t tell me he was doing this,” she whispers. “The song isn’t even finished.”
The first verse starts.
It’s… surprisingly good.
A few people stop typing on their laptops to listen.
By the time he reaches the chorus, the entire café is paying attention.
The glow, the glow of star-born eyes reflect the sky,
Until I find I’m sinking into your yellow, yellow haze.
Lingering as it pours,
Yellow, yellow rain… what was it all for?
Hello, hello pain…
Hannah looks absolutely horrified. “Oh my God. I told him not to use placeholders!”
I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing.
Allie pats her shoulder. “Hey. It’s catchy, and look.” She gestures around the café.
The earlier atmosphere of exhausted students has completely disappeared.
People are tapping their feet. A few are humming along.
By the final chorus, half the room is singing “yellow, yellow haze” despite having heard it only once.
That somehow makes Hannah feel even worse. “I have to stop him from releasing this.”
I pat her shoulder. “You probably should.”
Just then, my phone buzzes.
Jessica: Please tell me you’re still at Malone’s.
Jessica: I’m dying.
Jessica: Can you bring me coffee?
I laugh.
Me: Library?
Jessica: Obviously.
I look back at Hannah, who’s still standing there in complete disbelief while Justin happily takes a bow.
“…Good luck.”
She doesn’t even hear me. She’s too busy whispering, “Yellow rain…”
I grab Jessica’s coffee and head toward the library, leaving Hannah to recover from her accidental lyrical disaster.
When I arrive at the library, Jessica somehow convinces me to stay.
“Just five minutes,” she says.
Five minutes turn into helping her format citations.
Formatting citations turns into proofreading two pages.
Proofreading turns into explaining one of the theories she somehow skipped every lecture about.
By the time I finally glance at my phone, almost three hours have passed. “…You’re a parasite.”
Jessica gasps dramatically. “I’m a friend.”
“You’re an energy vampire.”
“I prefer ‘academically resourceful.’”
I laugh, gather my things, and leave before she finds another reason to keep me there.
----
By the time I get home, I’m exhausted.
I unlock the apartment door as quietly as I can.
The living room lights are dim.
Then I freeze.
Hannah is kissing Garrett. Neither of them notices me.
She’s smiling into the kiss as she grabs the front of his hoodie and starts walking backward toward her room, gently pushing him with her.
He almost bumps into the doorframe before laughing quietly.
She shushes him. They disappear into her room.
The door clicks shut.
I blink once. “…Good for them.”
I quietly take off my shoes.
As I tiptoe toward my bedroom, another sound stops me.
Muffled voices.
From Allie’s room.
“Stay quiet,” Allie whispers.
“They didn’t hear us,” Dean whispers back.
“You literally just whispered louder than your normal voice.”
“I don’t know how whispering works.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
For one brief moment, I consider sleeping in the hallway.
Instead, I quietly open my bedroom door.
I grab my skates. Slip them into my backpack. Pick up my bike helmet, and leave the apartment without making a sound.
If everyone else is busy tonight… I know exactly where I want to be.
------
I ride my bike through the cold, letting the wind sting my face.
Trying not to think about what I just walked into.
I’m happy for Hannah. I really am. It was about damn time.
But the image keeps replaying in my head.
Hannah and Garrett. Allie and Dean.
Everyone seems so… comfortable with physical intimacy.
And I know I’m capable of it too.
So why does it always leave me with the lingering feeling that maybe there’s something wrong with me?
I slow my bike as the ice rink comes into view.
My backpack sways against my shoulders with every step as I walk inside.
I’ve been physically intimate before, but I was never satisfied.
I never let anyone truly take care of me. I always stopped them first.
By choice… Was it really a choice? Or was I just scared of what it would mean if I let someone get that close?
The rink is empty.
Perfect.
I set my backpack down on one of the benches and change into my skates.
The familiar weight settles around my ankles.
I step onto the ice. One push, then another.
The thoughts don’t disappear, but they become quieter.
I’m skating for a while when I notice another figure on the ice.
Logan.
He spots me almost immediately and skates over.
“I texted you,” he says. “Thought you fell asleep.”
I smile apologetically. “No. I’ve been here for a while.” I tap my jacket pocket. “Didn’t check my phone. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” A small smile appears on his face. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Are you here to practice?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
He looks down at the ice as he glides beside me. “I just wanted to keep my mind off things.”
A short pause.
“And what usually distracts me… didn’t work today.”
That’s when I notice his hair.
Messy. Like he’d run his hands through it over and over.
I look away before he catches me staring.
We skate side by side for a while.
The only sound is the scrape of our blades against the ice.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
He thinks about it. “…Not yet.”
I nod. “Okay.”
He looks over at me. “You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“You ask once, and when people say no… you actually leave it alone.”
I shrug. “I figured if you wanted to tell me, you would.”
He smiles faintly. “Most people don’t work like that.”
“I know.”
Another quiet lap.
Then he asks, “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You came here for a reason.”
I let out a small breath. “I couldn’t settle my thoughts.”
“Bad day?”
“Not exactly. Just…” I search for the words. “My apartment felt loud.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Loud?”
“Not noisy.” I shake my head. “My brain was.”
He nods as though he understands. “So you came here.”
“So I came here.”
We skate another lap.
“You know…” he says. “I think this place is becoming our mutual escape.”
I smile. “I was thinking the same thing.”
He laughs quietly. “Kind of convenient.”
“It is.”
Another comfortable silence.
Then he suddenly pushes off harder.
I glance at him. “What?”
He looks over his shoulder with the ghost of a grin. “Last one to the other side buys coffee next time.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Why?”
“You had a head start.”
He shrugs. “Sounds like an excuse.”
I roll my eyes and push off after him anyway.
For the next minute, neither of us says another word. We just skate.
He wins.
Obviously.
He reaches the other end of the rink a few seconds before me, slowing down with the kind of effortless control that comes from spending your life on the ice.
I roll my eyes as I skate up beside him. “You’re insufferable.”
“I warned you.”
“You literally do this for a living.”
“I play hockey.”
“On ice.”
He laughs. “Fair.”
I cross my arms. “You had an unfair advantage.”
“You agreed to race me.”
“I didn’t.”
“You chased me.”
“I was defending my honor.”
He chuckles. “I’ll allow it.”
We push off again, skating side by side this time.
After a lap, he glances over. “You’re more comfortable than the first time I saw you.”
I smile. “I should hope so.”
“I’m serious. The first night…” He gestures toward the ice. “…you kept testing every turn. Tonight you just skated.”
I think about it. “I only ever skated during family holidays, in Ifrane. My dad loved taking us whenever he could.”
I smile at the memory.
“It wasn’t something I did all the time. We’d go for a few days, I’d skate until my legs hurt, then we’d go back to Al Hoceima. So…” I shrug. “I never got particularly good.”
“You don’t have to be.” He looks ahead. “It looks like your body remembered.”
I glance down at my skates. “Maybe, or maybe I finally stopped overthinking every movement.”
He smiles. “I think that’s closer.”
We keep skating.
Sometimes we talk. Sometimes we don’t.
The silence doesn’t feel awkward anymore.
Every now and then one of us points something out—a bad turn, a near fall, a joke about how empty the rink is.
At one point I lose my balance slightly.
He instinctively reaches a hand toward me.
I recover before taking it. “I had it.”
“I know.”
“You still reached.”
“I did.”
I smile to myself.
After another twenty minutes, we both gradually slow until we’re gliding more than skating.
“I think I’m done,” I say.
“Me too.”
We sit on the benches and untie our skates.
The cold has settled into my cheeks, but my head feels lighter than when I arrived.
Not better.
Just… quieter.
Logan looks over. “Better?”
I think about it. “…Yeah.”
He nods once. “Good.”
Outside, the air somehow feels even colder.
He lifts my bike into the back of his truck before I can protest.
“I can do it.”
“I know, but I got here first.”
I laugh. “I didn’t realize it was a competition.”
“Everything’s a competition.”
The drive back is quiet.
Not because we don’t have anything to say. Because neither of us feels obligated to say it.
The radio hums softly in the background.
Streetlights blur past the windows.
Halfway to my apartment, he breaks the silence. “You still owe me coffee.”
I look over. “I owe you?”
“You lost.”
“You challenged me.”
“I absolutely did.”
“I never accepted.”
“You chased me.”
I sigh dramatically. “I walked right into that one.”
“You did.”
I shake my head, smiling. “I’ll buy you a coffee.”
“I knew you’d come around.”
When he pulls up outside my building, he hops out and lowers my bike from the truck.
I put my helmet back on and take the handlebars. “Thanks. For the ride, and…” I gesture vaguely toward the rink. “…for getting me out of my head.”
He shrugs. “You did the same for me.”
We stand there for a second.
Neither of us rushing to say goodnight.
Finally, he nods. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”
I wait until his truck disappears around the corner before unlocking the apartment door.
It’s quiet. No voices. No whispering.
Just silence.
Perfect.
I carry my skates to my room, change into pajamas, and collapse into bed.
---------------------
The next morning, I wake up before everyone else.
The apartment is quiet.
For once.
I decide to make pancakes.
Extra pancakes.
Just in case there are still… guests lingering around.
When I’m done, I leave the stack on the counter with a bottle of maple syrup and a small sticky note that simply reads:
Help yourselves.
I pour myself a cup of tea, sling my backpack over my shoulder, and quietly leave.
I don’t particularly want to risk walking into another awkward interaction.
My assignments are finally finished, but instead of celebrating, I head to the library.
I settle into my usual corner and pull out the research I’ve been slowly working on since summer.
I become so absorbed in reading that I don’t notice someone sitting beside me until I hear a laptop unzip.
I look up.
Tucker.
His hair is still damp from a shower.
I smile. “Morning.”
“Morning.” He returns the smile before pulling out his laptop.
For a while, we study in comfortable silence.
Eventually, I close one of the articles and glance at him. “So… How are the Friendsgiving preparations?”
He exhales dramatically. “They’re… good.” A pause. “I think.”
I laugh. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”
“It isn’t.” He rubs his forehead. “I have no clue how many people are actually staying on campus. Half the hockey house is going home. Dean. Garrett, even Beau."
He starts counting on his fingers.
“And then people keep telling me, ‘Maybe I’ll stop by.’ What does ‘maybe’ even mean? I don’t know whether I’m cooking for eight people… or twenty.”
I smile into my tea. “So you’ve been overthinking it.”
"I’ve made three grocery lists.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Three?”
“One if almost nobody comes. One if everyone comes, and one in case people bring other people.”
I laugh. “You’ve planned for every possible outcome.”
“I’ve tried.” He closes his laptop for a second. “I just want everyone who stays here over Thanksgiving to feel like they have somewhere to go.”
His voice is quieter now.
“My family’s always done that. So I figured… why not continue it here?”
I smile. “I think that’s really sweet.”
He shrugs, almost embarrassed. “I just hope I don’t accidentally poison everyone.”
“I’ll come early.”
He looks over. “You don’t have to.”
“I know, but if you’re cooking for potentially twenty people… you could probably use another pair of hands.”
A genuine smile spreads across his face. “…I’d actually appreciate that.”
“Then it’s settled.”
He nods. “Thanks, Insaf.”
“You’re welcome.”
We return to our work.
The silence settles between us again. Comfortable. Easy.
Broken only by the occasional turning of a page or the tapping of keys.
As I’m typing the last sentence of a paragraph, my phone buzzes.
John:
I’d like to claim my coffee.
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
Me:
I think you’re confusing me with Uber Eats.
His reply comes almost immediately.
John:
I didn’t race Uber Eats last night.
I raced you.
I roll my eyes.
Me:
Still feels like a scam.
Three dots appear.
Then—
John:
Pay up.
I shake my head, smiling to myself.
Me:
Malone’s.
Ten minutes.
I close my laptop and slide it into my backpack.
Tucker looks up from his notes. “Heading out?”
“Yeah. I apparently owe someone a coffee.”
He smirks. “I’ll let you get to your very important appointment.”
I laugh. “I’ll see you Friday.”
He nods. “And don’t forget—you promised you’d come early next week to help with Friendsgiving.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.”
I sling my backpack over my shoulder, wave goodbye, and head toward Malone’s.
When I get to Malone’s, I find Logan already sitting in a booth.
He looks up as I walk in.
“You’re early.”
“So are you.”
I slide into the seat across from him.
Then I notice the cups already sitting on the table.
Coffee for him. Tea for me.
And two plates of food.
“You already ordered.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs as if it isn’t a big deal. “I guessed.”
Just then, Della walks over with the last of our order. “There you go.”
“Thanks.”
She gives us a knowing smile before walking away.
I look back at Logan. “You ordered food too.”
“I figured you hadn’t eaten.”
I smile despite myself. “…Yeah. I was at the library all morning.”
“I figured.”
I shake my head. “You’ve gotten annoyingly good at figuring me out.”
“I’ve had practice.”
I pick up my fork and finally start eating.
Only after a few bites does he speak again. “Can I ask you something?”
I nod.
“You said, during that fight with Hannah… that you paid your dad’s debts.”
“I did.”
I brace myself, expecting the next question.
Instead, he asks, “Then why are you still working?”
I blink. “I thought you were going to ask about my dad.”
He smiles. “Would you have answered?”
I grin. “I’m an open book.”
He gives me a look that clearly says I don’t believe you.
I laugh. “I honestly don’t know. I think I just got used to working. I have savings now. So…” I point at his coffee. “Don’t worry. I can still afford this.”
He laughs. “Good. I challenged the right person.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve been thinking about buying a car, maybe.”
He leans back. “I could help with picking one.”
I smile. “That’s sweet, but first I’d need to learn how to drive.”
He stares at me. “…You know how to rebuild part of an engine.”
“I never said that.”
“You’ve literally helped your dad fix cars.”
“I helped. I didn’t fix them.” I point my fork at him. “There’s a difference.”
“So…” He grins. “You know how to repair a car… but not drive one?”
I shrug. “Coaches don’t play.”
He laughs. “I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.”
“It does today.”
As he laughs, I notice a faint lipstick smudge near his chin.
Without thinking, I reach across the table, grab a napkin, and wipe it away.
He freezes for half a second.
I pull my hand back just as quickly. “There. You had lipstick.”
He instinctively touches his chin. “…Didn’t notice that.”
“You would’ve walked around with it all day.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Guess I owe you one.”
“I’ll add it to your coffee tab.”
He laughs again, and the conversation slips back into its easy rhythm.
His phone starts ringing.
He glances at the screen and answers. “Hey.”
I continue eating while he listens, occasionally nodding.
“Yeah. I’ll come.”
He hangs up and slips his phone back into his pocket. “Duty calls.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I have to go fix a fridge.”
I blink. “A fridge?”
He shrugs. “It's my job.”
I smile. “Okay.” I reach for my wallet. “I’ll pay.”
He looks at me. “You don’t have to.”
“I lost.”
He smiles. “Fair enough.”
I pay for our order while he grabs his jacket.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he says.
“You’re welcome.”
He starts walking toward the door, then turns back “See you.”
“See you, John.”
He gives me a quick wave before leaving.
I finish my tea, pack my things, and head back to the library.
------
I head back to my usual spot in the library.
Tucker is still there, laptop open and headphones around his neck. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
I sit across from him, pull out my laptop, and go back to my addiction research.
For a while, neither of us says much.
I’m halfway through rewriting a section of my notes when two familiar figures approach the table.
Hannah and Garrett.
Hannah immediately takes the seat beside me.
Garrett sits beside Tucker.
Tucker looks up. Then at Hannah. Then at Garrett. Then back at Hannah.
His expression slowly changes.
I keep my eyes on my laptop, trying not to smile.
Tucker gestures vaguely between the two of them.
Hannah’s cheeks turn pink.
He looks at Garrett, pats him on the back, and says, “About damn time.”
Garrett laughs.
Hannah looks at me. “You’re not surprised.”
I keep typing. “I’m not.”
“How?”
I don’t look up. “You were kissing in our living room yesterday.”
Hannah’s eyes widen. “You saw that?”
Garrett bursts out laughing.
“I did.” I finally look up at them. “But I’m happy for you. Really.”
Hannah smiles and squeezes my arm. “Thank you.”
I smile back before turning toward my laptop again.
Tucker looks between them one more time. “I still can’t believe I had to find out like this.”
Garrett laughs. “You’ve known for weeks.”
“I suspected.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Hannah rolls her eyes.
I quietly go back to my research, letting them argue beside me.
We were busy studying when Dean approaches our table with a bag of food. “I brought food!”
“Shhh!” Several people in the library turn toward us.
Dean lowers his voice. “I brought food.”
He starts handing out something to everyone, including me.
I stare at the food in my hands.
He rolls his eyes. “Just take it.”
I quietly laugh and pull it closer.
-----
Everyone starts leaving one by one.
I stay.
Eventually, it’s just me and two girls at another table.
I’m so absorbed in my research paper that I barely notice the time passing. I make more progress in one day than I have in months simply because, for once, I have a few uninterrupted hours to work on it.
I’m halfway through typing a new paragraph when I hear someone clear their throat.
I look up.
It’s one of the girls from the other table.
“Hey!” She looks a little nervous as she approaches me.
She’s a blonde girl with green eyes and a slim frame.
I stop typing and smile at her. “Hey.”
“My girlfriend and I were wondering if you wanted to go to Malone’s with us?” She gestures toward the other table. “We’re getting pretty tired.”
I look over at her girlfriend.
She waves. I wave back.
She’s a dark-skinned girl with curly hair.
“Yeah, sure.” I glance at my laptop. “I got pretty absorbed in this. I think that’s enough for today.”
The girl sighs in relief. “Okay, we’ll get our stuff.” She turns around, then suddenly stops and looks back at me. “I’m Emily, by the way. And she’s Ashley.”
I smile. “I’m Insaf.”
A few minutes later, we pack up our things and leave the library together.
We head toward Malone’s.
By the time we get to Malone’s, the place has quieted down considerably.
We take a table near the window.
Emily drops into the seat beside Ashley with a tired sigh, and I sit across from them.
“I swear my brain stopped working an hour ago.”
“Mine too,” Ashley says.
I laugh. “That’s why I left the library.”
Della comes over, and we order our drinks.
Tea for me. Coffee for them.
For a while, we talk about classes, professors, and how everyone seems to be counting down to Thanksgiving even though it’s still next week.
Eventually, the conversation shifts to relationships.
Emily looks at me. “So… are you seeing anyone?”
“No.”
“Anyone you’re interested in?”
I shake my head. “Not right now.”
Ashley looks at Emily. Emily looks back at her.
I notice. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at each other.”
Ashley laughs. “We’re communicating.”
“Telepathically?”
“Exactly.”
I smile and take a sip of my tea.
A few seconds pass.
Then Emily asks, “Have you ever had a girlfriend?”
I look at her. “No.”
She nods. “Okay.”
“But I’ve been with girls.”
Ashley raises her eyebrows slightly. “Like… casually?”
“Yeah.”
Emily smiles. “What about guys?”
“One relationship.”
“Just one?”
I nod. “One actual relationship.”
Ashley looks amused. “And everything else?”
“Casual.”
Emily glances at Ashley again.
I narrow my eyes. “Okay, seriously. What is happening?”
They both laugh. “Nothing.”
“You’re terrible liars.”
Emily finally sighs. “We were just trying to figure out if you were into women.”
I stare at her. “I thought that was obvious.”
Both of them blink. “Was it?”
I shrug. “Apparently not.”
Ashley laughs. “Okay, that’s actually good to know.”
“Why?”
Emily looks at Ashley. Ashley looks at Emily.
I sigh. “Again with the telepathy.”
Emily laughs. “We just thought you were cute and wanted to know if we were wasting our time.”
I blink. “Oh.”
Ashley immediately adds, “Not like—”
“I know what you mean.”
Emily looks relieved.
“So…”
“So?”
“You’re into women.”
I nod. “Yes.”
“And men.”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
I stare at her. “Was that the entire investigation?”
Ashley laughs. “Pretty much.”
I shake my head. “You could’ve just asked.”
“We were trying not to be awkward.”
“You failed.”
They both laugh.
The awkwardness finally breaks, and we move on to talking about completely unrelated things.
I don’t mind.
For once, being asked about it doesn’t feel like something I have to hide.
Silence settles over the table for a moment before Emily speaks. “We were wondering if you’d like to join us tonight.”
I look at her. “Join you where?”
“Our apartment.”
I stare at them for a second. Then I smile. “Okay. I’m going to ask this directly so I don’t misunderstand anything.”
They both nod.
“Are you asking me to have a threesome with you?”
“Yes.”
I stare at them for another second before smiling. “Okay.”
Emily’s eyes widen. “Really?”
“I’ve never tried it, but I’m open to it.”
Ashley looks at Emily. “We’ve never tried it either.”
“Perfect.”
We finish our drinks, pay for our food, and head toward their apartment.
-------
We head to their apartment, which isn’t far from campus.
When I step inside, I immediately smell vanilla. Warm lights surround the room, giving the whole place a cozy feeling.
“Nice place,” I comment.
“Thank you.”
I notice the nerves on both their faces as I sit down on the couch.
“How long have you two been dating?”
“Over a year.”
I nod. “What made you want to do this?”
“We wanted to indulge in 'the college experience',” Ashley says.
“Fair enough.”
Emily sits on one side of me, Ashley on the other, leaving me in the middle.
I glance between them. “You guys know I’ve been in the library all day, right? I didn’t even take a shower.”
They both smile.
“It’s fine.”
Emily reaches over and gently brushes my hair behind my ear.
I look across at Ashley.
She’s staring at my lips.
They both look nervous, neither of them quite sure how to take the lead.
So I decide to.
I lean toward Ashley and softly capture her lips. She tastes faintly like the coffee she had at Malone’s.
When I pull back, I glance toward Emily. She’s already starting to undress, her cheeks faintly flushed.
I smile at the sight.
Ashley notices too and smiles before turning her attention back to her.
We head towards the bedroom. I lay down in the middle as they get undressed.
The tension is in the air, it’s a bit awkward because of the shy nerves.
This time, Emily leans and captures my lips. She is savoring them. Ashley is helping me get undressed.
Emily leans back and Ashley asks her “what does she taste like?”
“Honey.”
I smile at that.
They lay down in bed beside me, we are completely naked. They start kissing each other.
I grab them by the waist towards me while they’re still kissing.
I lean towards Ashley’s neck and start kissing her, nipping and biting and i can hear her start panting.
The soft flesh of their breasts in front of me, so i lean down and capture one of Ashley’s nipples in my mouth.
She gasps into the kiss.
I cup one of Emily’s tits in my hand. Her nipple hardening with my touch.
I began playfully licking and biting into her sensitive buds.
I hear both of them giggle into their kiss.
Emily removes my hair from my face while Ashley pushes my face further on her chest.
Our pace is getting faster. They stop kissing and start kissing my neck at the same time. Each one from both sides. Their hands roaming around my body.
I hold Emily’s head from my neck and i kiss her hungrily, tilting her face to deepen the kiss. My tongue sliding into hers. Demanding her to open her mouth.
Ashley is busy at nipping my neck, her kisses are getting rougher. Probably creating hickeys down my collarbone.
Her kisses started getting lower to my chest, as she captures my breast in her mouth she starts whining. Closing her legs to relieve creating some friction. Whining for some attention as my tongue is technically down Emily’s throat.
I stop kissing Emily as i hear Ashley’s whine and i smile at that.
“Someone is begging for attention.”
I stop her from kissing my chest, the loss of impact makes a noise.
I turn her effortlessly to lay on her back.
“Don’t worry. We’ll take care of you.”
Her nerves of excitement are showing, she looks at her girlfriend who’s looking down at her and instead of kissing her she starts kissing her chest. While squeezing her other nipple.
Her soft moans filled the air and her hands instinctively went to Emily’s hair.
“Spread your legs for me.” I demand
I put my hands under her knees and spread them further. Nipping at her inner thighs as the sounds of whining and moans fill the air.
She starts grinding so i'd use my lips on her now leaking cunt. Craving some sort of release. But i tease her more.
With Emily playfully biting and pinching her chest and with me getting closer to between her legs. Her whines are getting louder.
I laugh at that. “Use your words sweetheart.”
She talks, barely “i need you…”
“Where?” Emily continuing to tease her.
“Here.” Her fingers slip to between her thighs. But i stop her from touching herself.
“Not yet.”
I gesture towards Emily. “Come here.”
She settles beside me between Ashley’s legs, with her legs wide open, her glistening folds are showing.
Ashley sits straight up to look down on us. Waiting in anticipation for what we’ll do next.
Instead of giving her some relief. I kiss Emily. Hungrily and sloppily.
Ashley tries to close her legs but with my grip on her thighs, she doesn’t budge so she starts whining again.
We laugh into our kiss and stop it. “Okay, okay. You’ll get what you want.”
Emily gets down first, kissing her folds. Ashley moans almost immediately.
I follow her, our tongues on each other. Making out while simultaneously eating her out.
I look up at Ashley and her eyes are rolled far back. Her hands holding into nothing.
I lean back looking at Emily eating her out, and Ashley is looking at me. I hold her gaze and lean towards her face and say “open you mouth for me.”
She does and i put two of my fingers and watch her suck on them.
I go back to my usual place between her legs. And put both of my fingers inside without a warning.
Her moans got louder.
I put my tongue on her dripping cunt again and say “I’m sorry but you taste so sweet. We have to share.”
Emily hums in agreement while her tongue is circling her clit.
She is dripping on the bed covers with me fingering her. I can feel her walls gripping my fingers and getting tighter and tighter.
I curve my fingers, hitting her sweet sensitive spot.
“I’m close.” She says in almost a scream.
We don’t stop and we don’t change our pace. My grip on her leg got tighter and she cums on both of our faces and my fingers.
We start cleaning her up with our tongues slowly, so she won’t get overstimulated. Still riding her orgasm.
I look at Emily, her chin is filled with Ashley’s liquids. I lean towards her and lick her face up. She takes my fingers and lick them up, holding my gaze.
I lean back looking at her, her eyes are hazy. Still pussy drunk. I smile at that.
Ashley still breathing hard after her orgasm. I lay down beside her and i gesture to Emily. “Sit on my face.”
She looks at me hesitantly “are you sure?”
“If i wasn’t i wouldnt have asked.”
She puts her legs on each side of my face. Still hesitant to put her weight on me.
I pull her on top of me and start kissing.
She arches her back and starts moaning, instinctively grinding on my face.
I can feel Ashley being on top of me and she is kissing Emily.
She was already wet from eating her girlfriend out. Feeling her juices leaking on my nose and lips.
I squeeze her ass to encourage her to grind on my face more. She instinctively grabs my hair and starts grinding while moaning into her girlfriend’s mouth.
“You’re doing so good baby.” Ashley sharing words of encouragement while kissing her neck.
I use my tongue, fucking into her. Her moans turning almost pornographic.
I put my thumb on her clit and her legs instinctively close around my head. Oxygen hardly coming in, but i’m too busy pleasuring her.
She comes on my face without a warning. While moaning on her girlfriend’s face.
I slurp it all out, still circling her clit gently.
She holds my wrist finally breathing out “too sensitive”
Her legs are wobbly so Ashley holds her up to sit on bed.
Their faces are bright red and glowing. Looking at each other with so much love. I smile at that.
I get up to the bathroom and bring a clean towel and started cleaning them up.
They look exhausted.
“Thank you.” They both say
“You’re welcome.”
I get dressed while their eyelids grow heavier.
“You can stay,” Ashley says.
“I have a shift in the morning. I can’t.” I smile. “But I had a great time.”
“Thank you. We had an amazing time.”
“I’m glad. See you.”
“See you.”
-----
As I step outside, I finally check my phone.
I have a missed call from Logan.
I call him almost immediately. He picks up after a few rings.
“John? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just…” He pauses. “Hannah and Garrett are home.”
I stay quiet.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“I’m driving aimlessly.”
I hesitate for a second.
“Come over.”
“What?”
“Come over,” I repeat.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m not home yet, though. Can you come here first and we can go together?”
“Sure. Send me your location.”
I send it and stay by the apartment building’s entrance, waiting for him.
For the first time since leaving Emily and Ashley’s apartment, I have a moment to actually process the night.
I just had a threesome.
I was in control. I liked it. But I also never really gave them the chance to satisfy me, and I don’t think they noticed.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to make of that.
Maybe I’ll think about it tomorrow.
Right now, I just need to get home.
I’m still lost in my thoughts when headlights appear through the rain.
Logan’s truck pulls up by the entrance.
It’s raining heavily now, almost sideways, and the second I see him, I realize I have no choice but to run for it.
I pull my jacket tighter around myself and sprint toward the passenger side.
Logan unlocks the door from inside. “Come on!”
I climb in, shutting the door behind me.
Too late. I’m completely drenched.
Logan looks at me for a second, then at the water dripping from my hair and clothes. “You know you could’ve waited for me to stop closer to the door.”
“I was trying to be fast.”
“You succeeded.”
I look down at myself. “Clearly.”
He laughs quietly and reaches toward the heater. “You’re going to freeze.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re literally dripping on my seat.”
I glance down. “…I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head, still smiling. “Just sit closer to the heater.”
I turn the vents toward myself. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
For a few seconds, neither of us says anything.
The rain taps against the windshield while the heater hums.
Then Logan glances at me. “So… how was your night?”
I look out the window. “Complicated.”
He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push. “Fair enough.”
I smile faintly.
And somehow, the silence doesn’t feel uncomfortable.
---
The rest of the drive is quiet.
Logan doesn’t ask about the complicated part, and I’m grateful for it.
When we finally pull up in front of the apartment building, the rain has eased a little.
We both get out and hurry toward the entrance, somehow getting even more drenched on the way.
“Why did we get wetter?” I ask, laughing.
“Because you insisted on running.”
“You ran too.”
“I was trying to keep up.”
I roll my eyes, still laughing.
We get into the elevator, both of us looking ridiculous in our soaked clothes.
His hair is still sticking to his forehead, and I can feel mine dripping down my neck.
I start giggling again.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing. We just look ridiculous.”
He smiles.
The elevator dings, and we step into the hallway.
I unlock the apartment door.
It’s completely quiet.
I peek inside. “Looks like no one’s home.”
Logan looks over my shoulder. “Good.”
I step inside and kick off my wet shoes. “I need a shower.”
He nods. “Yeah, you probably do.”
I look down at my soaked clothes. “And then I need to change before I catch pneumonia.”
“Probably a good plan.”
I laugh and head toward my room. “Wait for me in my room. I’ll be quick.”
“Okay.”
He walks into my room while I grab some clean clothes and head toward the bathroom.
I close the bathroom door behind me, finally letting out a long breath.
Once I finish showering, I go back to my room and find Logan still sitting there, his clothes still damp from the rain.
I hand him a clean towel, along with a hoodie and a pair of basketball shorts.
He looks down at them, then back at me.
“These are my brother’s,” I explain. “I stole them before coming to the U.S. because they’re comfortable.”
He laughs. “That explains the size.”
“Are you complaining?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He takes the clothes and heads toward the bathroom. “I’ll be quick.”
“Take your time.”
Once the bathroom door closes, I head to the kitchen.
I pull out some ingredients and start making sandwiches.
The apartment is still quiet.
I put some water on to heat and start preparing something warm to drink while I wait for Logan to finish.
Once he gets out of the shower, his hair is still damp, and both of our cheeks are flushed from the heat.
His eyes briefly land on the new hickeys on my neck. “Complicated night, huh?”
I blush slightly and roll my eyes. “Don’t.”
He laughs and doesn’t say anything else.
I hand him his sandwich and the chamomile tea with honey.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
I head back to my room, and he follows.
I sit down on the floor beside my bed, and Logan looks around. “Your room is… cute.”
I look up at him, chuckling. “Cute?”
“Yeah.” He looks around again. “Everything is in its place, but you have a little bit of everything. Music, CDs, DVDs, cassettes, books…”
I smile.
“Yeah. I guess I do. You can sit on the bed if you want.”
Instead, he sits down on the floor beside me.
I glance at him. “You don’t have to sit on the floor.”
“I’m fine.”
I smile and lean back against the side of my bed.
After a moment, I look at him. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He sighs. “There’s not much to say. Hannah stayed over today and they were…” He pauses, searching for the least awkward way to say it. “Loud.”
I nod. “Okay.”
Neither of us says anything for a few seconds.
Then he gestures vaguely toward my neck. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I touch one of the hickeys without thinking. “Maybe later.”
He nods. “Okay.”
I take my laptop and open it.
“What are you doing?”
“Watching The Office.”
He looks at the screen. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“At this hour?”
“Especially at this hour.”
He laughs quietly.
I press play, and soon the familiar opening music fills the room.
For a while, neither of us talks.
We just sit there on the floor, eating our sandwiches and watching the episode.
We get to the part where Michael takes the women to the mall and awkwardly asks them about roleplay.
I start laughing before he even finishes the sentence because I remember the scene.
Logan notices and smiles, watching the scene with anticipation.
Michael: “Jen has a schoolgirl fantasy.”
The girls reassure him, telling him it’s normal.
Michael: “I feel uncomfortable wearing the dress.”
I snort, laughing so hard I have to cover my mouth.
After a while, I say without thinking,
“I had sex today.”
“I figured.” He pauses for a moment. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I look at him. “I feel like it would make you uncomfortable.”
“Did something bad happen?”
“No. No.”
He waits.
“Okay.” I pause the show and turn toward him. “I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone before.”
“Okay.” He gives me his full attention.
“I’ve never had an orgasm.”
He stares at me for a moment.
“I’m not a virgin,” I quickly add, suddenly feeling the need to explain myself. “I had sex with my boyfriend when I was a teenager. He was the only boyfriend I’ve ever had, and I never felt… it. You know, what everyone talks about.”
I look down at my hands.
“Then I started casually hooking up with people. I was always in control, and I liked it somehow, but…” I shrug. “I don’t know. Today with them, it felt good, but I still didn’t.”
“Them?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I hesitate. “I had a threesome. With two girls.”
His eyebrows lift slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“They were the girls from the library. They asked me, and I thought, ‘Sure, why not?’ It went well.” I pause. “But I didn’t really let them… you know.”
He studies me.
“And they didn’t notice, which I was grateful for.”
“Honestly, since I’ve never experienced it, I don’t think I’m missing out.”
I shrug.
“It’s just… tomorrow I have that Dr. Carter session, and I’m scared she’ll say something that makes me spiral for two weeks again.”
Author's note: sorry it took some time to edit this because i was busy reading gojo smut.
warnings: therapy/alcohol (referenced). anxiety and mention of panic attacks.
word count: 6.4k words.
chapter 7<< >>chapter 9
masterlist
Chapter 8:
November 14th
I have a session with Dr. Carter today.
Two o’clock.
I keep replaying the appointment in my head, trying to figure out what I’m supposed to say.
A lot happened.
I skipped our last session.
I had that fight with Hannah, then we made up.
Quinn told me about Cait.
I had a panic attack. Logan was there.
I got drunk. He took care of me.
Again.
I baked cookies in his kitchen. I slept on his floor.
We had an actual conversation instead of me dodging every question with sarcasm.
He told me I don’t have to earn the right to be cared about.
I still don’t know what to do with that sentence.
I sigh and stare at the ceiling. How am I supposed to summarize all of that in fifty minutes?
Do I tell her about November seventh?
About how every year it feels like my nervous system remembers something before I do?
Do I tell her I skipped because I was scared she’d ask why?
Or do I talk about Logan?
About how terrifying it is when someone keeps choosing to stay?
I rub my face.
Maybe I’ll just tell her everything.
Or maybe I’ll walk in there and spend ten minutes talking about assignments before she inevitably sees through me.
Again.
--------
I knock twice before opening the door.
Dr. Carter looks up from the notebook resting on her lap. “There you are.”
I smile awkwardly. “I know.”
She gestures toward the couch. “Come in.”
I sit down.
She studies me for a second. “I’m glad you came.”
“I’m sorry I missed last week.”
“I figured there was a reason.”
“There was.”
She waits.
I stare at the floor. “I just… couldn’t.”
She nods once. “Thank you for telling me.”
No disappointment. No lecture. Just acknowledgment. “I was worried I’d have to start chasing you around campus.”
I let out a small laugh. “I’d probably lose.”
“You definitely would.”
The joke settles whatever tension was sitting in the room.
She closes her notebook. “So, a lot can happen in two weeks. What did I miss?”
I rub my hands together. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Start anywhere.”
Silence.
“I got into a fight with Hannah.”
“What happened?”
“I found out she lost her scholarship.”
Dr. Carter tilts her head. “And?”
“And… I didn’t know. I didn’t even ask how she was doing. I was so caught up in my own head that she lost something that important and I had no idea.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“Like a terrible friend.”
“What made you conclude you were a terrible friend?”
“I should’ve noticed.”
“You expected yourself to notice.”
“I always notice.”
She makes a small note. “But this time you didn’t.”
I nod. “We made up.”
“That’s good.”
“It is.”
“But?”
“I still feel guilty.”
She smiles gently. “Guilt has a tendency to outstay its welcome.”
I laugh quietly. “It really does.”
“What else happened?”
I hesitate. “I had… what I think was a panic attack.”
Her posture changes ever so slightly. “Tell me about it.”
“I was overwhelmed. I couldn’t breathe. My stomach turned. I threw up.”
She doesn’t interrupt. “Were you alone?”
“No.”
“Who was with you?”
“…Logan.”
“The hockey player?”
I nod.
“What did he do?”
“He stayed.”
“That’s it?”
I smile despite myself. “He held my hair while I threw up. He stayed until I calmed down. He got me food. He drove me home.”
Another pause.
“I got drunk later that week.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“I know. I know. He took care of me again.”
She studies me. “And how did that make you feel?”
“…Embarrassed.”
“More than grateful?”
“Way more.”
“Why?”
I don’t answer immediately. “I don’t like needing people.”
“What does ‘needing people’ mean to you?”
“It means…” I search for the words. “…someone has to stop what they’re doing because of me, and that’s difficult because… because they didn’t sign up for that.”
She nods. “Did Logan tell you that?”
“No.”
“Hannah?”
“No.”
“Anyone?”
“No.”
“So whose expectation are you trying to meet?”
The question catches me off guard.
I look at my hands. “I don’t know.”
“You answered that very quickly.”
I blink. “I did?”
“You immediately assumed caring for you was an inconvenience.” She leans back slightly. “That assumption usually comes from somewhere.”
The room goes quiet.
Finally I speak. “I’ve always been more comfortable being useful.”
She waits.
“If I can help someone…” I shrug. “…then I make sense.”
“And if someone helps you?”
“I feel like I owe them.”
“What if they don’t want anything back?”
I smile weakly. “I don’t know how to believe that.”
Dr. Carter nods. “I think that sentence is much more important than the story about Logan.”
I look up. “Why?”
“Because Logan isn’t the problem.”
She taps her pen lightly against the notebook. “The belief that care always creates debt—that’s the problem.”
I don’t respond. Because she’s right.
“I’d like you to pay attention to something this week.”
I nod.
“Every time someone does something kind for you…” She smiles. “I don’t want you to ask yourself how you’re going to repay them.”
She pauses.
“I want you to notice how quickly your brain assumes you have to.”
I let out a slow breath. “…That’s going to be annoying.”
“It usually is.”
For the first time since I walked in, I laugh without forcing it.
“See you next week?”
“I’ll be here, and I’ll actually come this time.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
------
I leave Dr. Carter’s office clutching my bag a little tighter than usual.
My brain keeps replaying the last thing she said.
Notice how quickly your brain assumes you owe people.
I still haven’t told her about November seventh.
About how every year my skin suddenly feels wrong. How my bones start aching before my brain understands why. How it feels like my body remembers something I’m still trying to forget.
I don’t even know where I’d begin.
Lost in thought, I don’t notice someone walking beside me until they clear their throat.
I glance over.
Dean.
For half a second, my brain flashes back to yesterday.
“Can you untie this faster?”
“I’m trying!”
I immediately shove the memory away.
Dean grins. “Hi.”
“…Hi?”
“You busy Friday?”
I blink. “No… why?”
“Beau has a game.”
“Okay.”
“I want you there.”
I stop walking. “…Why?”
“So we can hang out.”
I stare at him. “You want to… hang out with me?”
“Yeah.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I already asked Hannah and Allie. Thought I’d ask you too.”
“…Why?”
He laughs. “You really like that question.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He shrugs. “You gave me mystery baked goods all through freshman year.”
I groan.
“You somehow became the Ghost of Briar.”
I cover my face with one hand.
“And you’re fucking cool.”
I lower my hand. “You don’t have to pay me back for any of that.”
Dean looks genuinely confused. “Pay you back?” He laughs. “I’m trying to be your friend.”
I just stare at him.
He points at me. “There it is again.”
“What?”
“That look.”
“What look?”
“The ‘why would anyone willingly spend time with me?’ look.”
“I don’t have a look.”
“You definitely have a look.”
I open my mouth to argue. Nothing comes out.
Dean starts walking backward. “So.” He points toward me again. “Friday.”
I don’t answer.
“Last game before Thanksgiving.”
Still nothing.
“People are leaving campus after that.” He turns around. “Be there!” He lifts a hand without looking back. “See ya, Ghost.”
I stand on the sidewalk long after he’s disappeared around the corner.
Dr. Carter’s voice echoes in my head.
What if you believed them when they said they wanted to?
I hate how today’s lesson seems determined to follow me outside her office.
---------
I get home and do the one thing that lets me think and not think at the same time.
I bake.
Then I bake some more.
By the time the sun starts setting, the kitchen looks like a bakery exploded.
Chocolate chip cookies. Cinnamon rolls. Lemon loaf. Brown butter cookies.
The apartment smells like butter and vanilla.
I line plastic containers across the counter, carefully filling each one.
I write labels with a black marker.
Jules.
Hockey House.
Logan.
Carmen.
Jessica.
Quinn.
Another batch comes out of the oven just as the front door opens.
Allie walks in after her shift at Malone’s.
She takes one look at the kitchen. Flour on the counter. Cooling racks everywhere. Six different containers. Me measuring sugar for another batch.
She doesn’t comment. She quietly walks over, steals a warm cookie, and sits at the island.
I pour her a glass of milk without asking.
She smiles softly. “Thanks.”
I nod.
For a while, the only sounds are the mixer humming and her chewing.
Finally, without looking away from the dough, she asks, “What’s bothering you?”
I glance at her. “What makes you think something’s bothering me?”
She dunks the cookie into the milk. “You’ve made enough baked goods to feed half the psychology department.”
“…Fair.”
She waits.
I keep folding chocolate chips into the dough. “What about you?”
She sighs. “I ran into Sean after work.”
I stop mixing.
“He told me I’m right on schedule.”
I frown. “What does that mean?”
“He has this whole timeline.” She laughs bitterly. “He says every breakup we’ve had follows the same pattern.”
I lean against the counter.
“He said… after about thirty-six hours, I usually call him crying and ask if we can get back together.”
The kitchen goes quiet.
She stares into her glass of milk. “I haven’t.”
I walk over and sit beside her. “Do you want to?”
She thinks about it. Then slowly shakes her head. “…No.” She smiles sadly. “I just hate that he knows me that well.”
I bump my shoulder against hers. “Maybe he knew who you used to be.”
She looks at me.
“People change.” I glance toward the containers covering the counter. “Sometimes they don’t even realize they’re changing until someone points it out.”
She follows my gaze. “…Is that why you’re baking for half of Briar?”
I look at the labels.
Maybe, or maybe I’m just trying to convince myself that people really do want me around.
“I had therapy today.”
Understanding flashes across her face. “Oh.” She doesn’t ask any more questions.
Instead, she reaches into the container labeled Hockey House, steals another cookie, and takes a bite.
I point at her. “That’s theft.”
She grins with her mouth full. “I’m emotionally distressed.”
“…Fair defense.”
“You can bake another one.”
I roll my eyes and reach for the flour. “I was already going to.”
She smiles. “I know.”
She stays quiet for a while.
“He also said something else.”
I wait.
“He said I’m not capable of being alone.”
I frown but don’t answer immediately.
She keeps staring into her glass. “It’s just…”
Her voice gets smaller.
“My mom always taught me to love my body… and to follow love.” She smiles sadly. “So I think a part of me believed that staying with him was me doing that.”
I sit beside her in silence.
Then I ask quietly, “Did you stay because you loved him… or because you loved the version of yourself that existed when you were with him?”
She blinks. “I…”
“You’ve told me before that he made you feel beautiful.”
She nods.
“And safe.”
Another nod.
“And wanted.”
She smiles weakly. “Yeah.”
I pick at the label on one of the containers. “I don’t think your mom meant ‘follow the first person who makes you feel loved.’”
She looks at me.
“I think she meant… follow the places where love makes you more yourself.” I glance at her. “Did Sean do that?”
She doesn’t answer.
“He wanted Vermont.”
She nods.
“You wanted New York.”
Another nod.
“You got an agent.”
A tiny smile.
“The first thing he did was ask you to give it up.”
She looks down.
“Love isn’t supposed to make your world smaller.”
The room is quiet.
“I know.”
“No.” I shake my head gently. “I think you know it now.”
She lets out a shaky laugh. “I hate when you’re right.”
“I’m rarely right.”
“Bullshit.”
I smile.
“You know…” She leans her head against my shoulder. “I am scared of being alone.”
I don’t deny it. “I know.”
“What if he’s right?”
I think for a second. “Then you’ll learn.”
She looks at me.
“And if he’s wrong…” I shrug. “…you’ll learn that too.”
She studies my face. “That’s a very therapist answer.”
I snort. “I literally got out of therapy two hours ago.”
She laughs. “A little rubbed off on you.”
“Unfortunately.”
She bumps my shoulder. “You know what’s funny?”
“What?”
“You spent the whole afternoon baking for everyone else.”
I look at the containers. “So?”
“And not one of them is labeled ‘Insaf.’”
I blink. “…Huh.”
She smiles softly. “I think you and I have opposite problems.”
I look at her. “You think love means staying.”
She points at me. “And you think love has to be earned.”
Neither of us says anything.
Because neither of us has an argument against it.
After everything is packed away, I stack the containers neatly inside the pantry.
Tomorrow. I’ll hand them out tomorrow.
Allie helps me wipe down the counters, neither of us saying much.
The front door opens. Hannah walks in.
One look at her and I can tell she’s exhausted.
Not physically. Emotionally.
She drops her bag by the door.
Without saying a word, the three of us migrate toward the couch.
We practically collapse on top of one another, limbs tangled awkwardly as three simultaneous sighs fill the apartment.
For a long moment… No one speaks.
Eventually we untangle ourselves just enough to sit normally.
Allie breaks the silence. “So…” She nudges Hannah’s knee. “What’s going on with Justin?”
Hannah stares at the coffee table. “I don’t know.”
We wait.
She sighs. “I think…” Another sigh. “I think I like Garrett.”
Allie blinks. “…Oh.”
She looks genuinely surprised. I don’t.
Hannah notices. “You knew?”
I shrug. “I had a suspicion.”
She groans, burying her face in a cushion. “I don’t want to think about it right now.”
“Good.” I stand up.
Neither of them questions why. I walk to the freezer.
“Cookies, ice cream…” I hold up the tub. “…and Mamma Mia?”
Both of them answer at the same time. “Yes.”
Twenty minutes later we’re under one oversized blanket.
A bowl of ice cream balanced between us.
Warm cookies on a plate.
Mamma Mia! playing on the TV.
By the time Slipping Through My Fingers starts, Allie is already crying. “I hate this song.”
She says it every single time. Every single time she cries anyway.
Hannah wipes her eyes. “I don’t even know why I’m crying. It’s contagious.”
I mumble, already tearing up myself. “You’re both so dramatic.”
Allie points at me. “You’re literally crying.”
“I never said I wasn’t.”
She snorts.
By the end of the movie, we’re singing every song at the top of our lungs.
Wrapped around each other on the couch like we’ve done a hundred times before.
For one night the apartment feels lighter.
And for the first time all week— So do I.
------------------
I wake up with a stiff neck.
The couch.
Right.
I blink a few times before looking around.
Allie is sprawled across the other end of the couch, one arm hanging off the side.
Hannah somehow ended up half asleep against my shoulder.
The coffee table is a disaster.
An empty tub of ice cream. A plate with melted vanilla pooling around the last spoon. Cookie crumbs everywhere.
I smile.
Then all three of us groan at the exact same time.
Allie opens one eye. “I hate morning classes.”
“So do I.” Hannah mumbles into a pillow.
We sit there for another minute, silently regretting every life decision that led us to sleeping on a couch.
Eventually we peel ourselves off the cushions. Everyone gets ready in comfortable silence.
No teasing. No rush.
Just the familiar rhythm of three roommates sharing one apartment.
--------
I end up sitting beside Carmen in class.
The first thing I notice isn’t her notebook.
It’s her hair. “…It’s orange.”
She grins proudly. “You noticed.”
“You look like a traffic cone.”
She gasps dramatically. “It’s Clementine.”
I laugh. “Eternal Sunshine?”
“I rewatched it.” She flips a strand around her finger. “I had a breakdown. So naturally… I dyed my hair.”
“It actually suits you.”
She smiles. “I know.”
Before class starts, I pull a plastic container from my backpack and slide it across the desk. “For you.”
She looks down. “Baked goods?”
“Fresh ones.”
She opens the lid just enough to smell them. “Oh my God.” She immediately closes it again. “I’m hiding these from Brad.”
I laugh. “Wise decision.”
----------
After class I head back to the apartment.
It’s empty. Allie and Hannah already left for their shift at Malone’s.
I don’t have work until the evening. Which gives me enough time.
I pack another bag.
The biggest container goes in first. Hockey House.
Then a smaller one. Jules.
I hesitate before picking up the last container.
The label simply says— Logan.
I stare at it for a second.
Then zip the bag shut before I can overthink it.
I wheel my bicycle out of the apartment building, sling the bag over my shoulder, and start pedaling toward the hockey house.
------
I arrive at the hockey house first.
I wheel my bike toward the side of the house, behind the bushes where everyone usually leaves their bikes.
I’m halfway through locking it when the front door swings open.
Voices.
I pause.
Tucker and Logan step onto the porch.
I freeze.
Neither of them has seen me.
“You need to get over it, man.” Tucker says.
Logan lets out a dry laugh. “Get over what?”
“Oh, don’t do that.”
“I’m serious.”
“Bullshit.”
Silence.
Tucker crosses his arms. “You’ve been drinking more.”
“So?”
“You’ve been hooking up with anything that moves.”
Logan rolls his eyes. “It’s called having fun.”
“No.” Tucker shakes his head. “It’s called distracting yourself.”
Another silence.
“And don’t think I haven’t noticed you picking fights with Dean.”
“I wasn’t picking fights.”
“You were.”
Logan doesn’t answer.
Tucker sighs. “Look…” His voice softens. “It’s obvious Hannah and Garrett are into each other.”
“I know.”
“It’s serious.”
Another pause.
“You need to let it go before it starts screwing with what you’ve got.”
Logan looks away. “Nothing’s screwed up.”
“It will be.”
A long silence settles between them.
Then, quietly— “So what?”
“So…” Tucker rubs the back of his neck. “…get over her before you lose your best friend too.”
Logan stands there for a long moment.
When he finally speaks, his voice is so quiet I almost miss it. “…I’m trying.”
He walks past Tucker without another word.
A truck door opens. The engine starts.
A few seconds later, he drives away.
Tucker watches the truck disappear down the street.
He exhales through his nose. “…Fuck.”
Then he turns around and heads back inside.
The front door clicks shut.
Only then do I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
I hadn’t realized it was that serious. That it was tormenting him.
I obviously knew he had a thing for Hannah.
I’d figured it out last year, and he never denied it. But to me, it had always looked like a quiet crush. Something he’d eventually move on from.
Apparently, he hadn’t.
My mind drifts back to karaoke night.
To the way Hannah and Garrett looked at each other.
The ugly, terrifying feeling that settled in my stomach as I watched them. The desperate ache for whatever their eyes were saying to one another. To be understood like that. To be chosen like that.
Then I’d looked at Logan.
I’d convinced myself the expression on his face was the same as mine. That he wanted what I wanted.
I was wrong.
He wasn’t longing for what they had.
He was longing for her.
I blink.
Only then do I realize I’m still clutching my bike, my fingers wrapped so tightly around the handlebars that they hurt.
I take the container labeled Hockey House from my bag and walk up to the front door.
Like always, it isn’t locked.
I let myself in. “Tucker?”
“In the kitchen!”
I follow his voice and find him standing by the counter, absentmindedly ruffling his hair.
He looks up.
“Insaf!” His face brightens. “Hey.”
He walks over and pulls me into a quick hug before noticing the plastic container in my hands.
“…Is that for us?”
I nod. “I baked a little too much yesterday.”
“A little?” He eyes the size of the container.
“…Okay, a lot, so I figured I’d share.”
He takes it carefully, reading the label before popping the lid open.
The smell of butter and vanilla immediately fills the kitchen.
He closes his eyes dramatically. “Oh my God.” He takes another exaggerated sniff. “I missed the smell of butter.”
I laugh quietly. “That’s a very specific thing to miss.”
“You have no idea.” He peeks inside. “…Yeah, I should probably hide these.”
“Why?”
“Because if Dean finds them first, they’ll be gone in sixty seconds.”
I laugh. “Fair.”
He snaps the lid shut protectively. “These are going into witness protection.”
I shake my head, smiling. “Well… I should get going.”
“Whoa, whoa.” He points at me. “Do you have plans for Thanksgiving?”
I think for a second. “Not really. I’ll probably stay on campus.”
“Perfect.” He smiles. “I’m putting together a Friendsgiving, for everyone who’s staying here over the break. You should come.” His smile widens. “I’d really like you there.”
I stare at him for a moment.
“And,” he adds, pointing the container at me, “I’m cooking.”
“Oh?”
“My family’s recipes.” He grins. “So you definitely have to be there.”
I can’t help but smile. “…Yeah. Sure.”
His face lights up. “Perfect.” He tucks the container under his arm. “See you on Thanksgiving.”
“See you.”
I wave before stepping back outside, the cool air greeting me as the door closes behind me.
I get back on my bike.
Next destination.
Jules.
Before heading there, I send them a message on Instagram.
Me: Where are you?
A few seconds later, my phone buzzes.
Jules: Radio station :)
Jules: Come visit meeeee.
I smile to myself.
I change directions and pedal toward Briar’s student radio station, the container labeled Jules bouncing lightly in the basket at the front of my bike.
I step inside the radio station, balancing the plastic container against my hip.
Music hums softly through the building. Through one of the studio windows, someone is speaking into a microphone while another student fiddles with the soundboard.
“Hey!”
I look up.
Jules is already waiting for me in the hallway, camera hanging around their neck.
“Hi.” I smile.
Their eyes immediately land on the container “…Please tell me those are the cookies.”
“They are.” I hand them the container. “The cookies you requested.”
Jules’ face brightens. “You actually brought them.”
“I said I would.”
“I know.”
They take the container with both hands and grin. “I’ve been thinking about these ever since Drunk Shakespeare.”
They crack the lid open just enough to smell them. “Oh…” They immediately close it again. “John wasn’t lying.”
I laugh. “So he really talked about them?”
“Oh, yeah.” Jules nods. “The entire next morning.”
I raise an eyebrow. “The entire morning?”
“He kept saying, ‘I don’t know what she puts in them, but they’re really good.’”
I can’t help smiling. “He said that?”
“Mhm. Then I asked if I could have one.”
“And?”
Jules sighs dramatically. “He gave me half.”
“Half?”
“Half.”
They hold up two fingers. “He literally broke it in two.”
I laugh. “I thought he was sharing.”
“He was.” Jules deadpan. “With his future self.”
I laugh harder. “That sounds about right.”
“I know.” They hug the container protectively. “So these are being hidden.”
“From your brother?”
“Especially from my brother.”
I smile. “I thought siblings were supposed to share.”
Jules snorts. “You have siblings.”
“I have three.”
“Exactly.” They point at me triumphantly. “Then you know that’s a myth.”
I laugh. “…Fair enough.”
Jules hooks their thumb toward the recording studios. “Come on. I’ll show you around before I accidentally eat six cookies in one sitting.”
I fall into step beside them. “Six?”
They glance at me innocently. “I said accidentally.”
We start wandering through the station.
As we pass one of the recording booths, I notice two students speaking into microphones.
“…and I’m just saying, if Briar loses this football game, it’ll definitely be because everyone’s too distracted by how ridiculously attractive the team is.”
The other host laughs. “I mean, have you seen Beau Maxwell?”
“Especially Beau Maxwell. Quarterbacks shouldn’t be allowed to look like that.”
Me and Jules exchange a look.
I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing.
Jules quietly whispers, “I don’t think Beau knows he’s become campus public property.”
“I don’t think he’d mind.”
We both stifle our laughter as we continue walking.
Jules pushes open another door.
My eyes widen. The room is lined floor to ceiling with shelves of cassettes.
I stop in the doorway. “…Whoa.”
Jules smiles. “I had a feeling you’d like this room.”
I slowly walk toward one of the shelves, carefully running my fingers over the labeled cases. “I love cassettes.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I smile to myself. “I brought my cassette player all the way from Morocco.”
Jules looks genuinely surprised. “You packed a cassette player?”
“Mhm. It took up way too much space in my suitcase.”
They laugh. “You should come here more often then.”
I look around the room one more time. “Oh, I will.”
Then I turn to them. “So you work here?”
“Sometimes.” They shrug. “My scholarship doesn’t cover everything, so I pick up shifts whenever I can.”
I nod. “This is a beautiful place to work.”
They raise an eyebrow. “Better than Malone’s?”
I glance back toward the booth where the two hosts are now passionately debating which hockey player would survive longest on a deserted island.
“…No.” I grin. “But this room almost makes up for it.”
Jules laughs. “I’ll take ‘almost.’”
We wander for another few minutes before I check the time on my phone. “…I should probably head out.”
“You still have more deliveries?”
“One more.”
“John?”
I nod.
They smile knowingly.
“See you around, Jules.”
“See you, Insaf.”
As I head toward the exit, they call after me. “And thanks again for the cookies!”
I turn around, walking backwards for a second. “Don’t let John steal them.”
They grin. “I’m making no promises.”
I shake my head, laughing, before stepping back outside into the cold November air.
As I unlock my bike, a thought suddenly occurs to me.
I don’t have Logan’s phone number, or his Instagram.
I blink.
…How have we managed that?
I could text Jules and ask where he is.
Instead, I take a guess.
The ice rink.
If I’m wrong, I’ll just ask Jules.
I pedal across campus, the cold November air stinging my cheeks.
By the time I reach the arena, it’s nearly empty.
The lobby is quiet. No crowd. No practice. Just the faint hum of the building and the scrape of skates echoing somewhere beyond the doors.
I step inside.
The rink is deserted. Well… almost.
One figure glides across the ice.
Logan.
He’s alone. No teammates. No coach. Just him.
He skates the length of the rink before cutting sharply, hockey stick in hand, weaving around a line of cones he’d set up himself. He shoots.
The puck slams into the back of the net.
Without celebrating, he skates over, collects it, and starts again.
Again, and again.
I stay by the entrance for a moment, watching him.
There’s something oddly peaceful about it.
Out here, he isn’t fixing someone’s engine.
He isn’t taking care of anyone. He isn’t smiling for anyone.
It’s just him, the ice, and the sound of steel carving across it.
I keep watching him.
Everything looks effortless.
The sharp turns. The quick stops. The way he shifts his weight like the ice is something he was born knowing instead of something he learned.
Then I notice the crease between his brows.
He’s thinking.
Probably about the conversation with Tucker.
About Garrett. About Hannah.
About whatever else he’s carrying that I still know nothing about.
The urge to help settles quietly in my chest.
To ask. To listen. To let him know someone would stay if he wanted to talk.
But I don’t know why I want to.
Because I owe him?
Because he took care of me?
Or because… I genuinely want to? And if I do… How?
As I’m lost in thought, Logan looks up.
He spots me almost immediately. His expression softens.
He pulls off his helmet, revealing damp curls flattened against his forehead. A few strands spring free as he runs a hand through his hair.
Then he smiles. A bright, genuine smile.
I find myself smiling back.
He skates over, slowing to a stop in front of the boards. “How’d you know I’d be here?”
I shrug. “I took a guess.”
He laughs. “Not a bad one.”
Only then does his gaze drift to the plastic container tucked under my arm.
His eyebrows lift. “…Is that what I think it is?”
“Yes.” I smile.
His eyes drop to the container. “…That’s a lot.”
“I baked way too much yesterday.” I lift one shoulder. “So today became my baked-goods delivery route.”
He chuckles. “Am I the last stop?”
“Yep.”
He looks back at me, his expression softening. “…Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I glance at my watch. “I should probably head out. My shift at Malone’s starts in an hour.”
“Wait.”
I look back at him.
He rests both hands on the top of the boards. “Come skate with me.”
“What?”
“You told me you like dancing.” He smiles. “Skating’s just dancing with knives on your feet.”
I laugh. “I don’t know if that’s a convincing sales pitch.”
“You’ll be fine.” He gestures toward the rental skates. “We’ll skate for a bit, then I’ll drive you to Malone’s.”
“I brought my bike.”
“I’ll throw it in my truck.” He says it so matter-of-factly that it’s clear he’s already decided.
Before I can protest, he disappears toward the rack of rental skates.
He looks back over his shoulder. “Shoe size?”
“I… only know the European one.”
He laughs. “Right.”
“I have no idea what the American size is.”
He starts pulling out random pairs. “Guess we’ll have to figure it out.”
“Or…” I pull my phone from my pocket. “…we could Google it.”
He gasps dramatically. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“The fun is that my toes survive.”
He grins. “You’re no fun.”
“I bake you cookies.”
“You do.”
“I brought them all the way to the ice rink.”
“You did.”
“I think that’s enough fun for one day.”
He laughs, holding up a pair. “Fine.” He tosses them onto the rubber mat in front of me. “But if these fit first try, I’m taking all the credit.”
I look down at them. “…Deal.”
The skates fit perfectly.“…Creepy.”
He rolls his eyes, laughing. “I’m taking all the credit.”
“And I hate that.”
He smiles at that. He offers me his hand as we step onto the ice.
I hold onto his arm for the first few seconds.
Then I let go.
The cold glides beneath my blades.
One push, then another.
I’m moving comfortably across the rink. “I haven’t skated since that day.”
He knows exactly what I mean.
The night after Antigone.
When he caught me skating in the middle of the night after the rush of performing. Dancing to a song that only existed in my head.
The night I asked him to keep it a secret.
He was a stranger then. He didn’t owe me that.
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
I nod.
“Why haven’t you told Allie and Hannah that you used to dance?”
I stay quiet for a moment.
“Because…” I look ahead. “I feel like if I told them, they’d help me get back into it.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No." I smile faintly. “But it’s terrifying.”
He nods as he skates beside me.
After a moment, I remember something.
“I realized I don’t have your phone number, or your Instagram.”
He smirks. “Is that your way of asking for my number?”
I roll my eyes. “Never fucking mind.”
“I’ll text you.”
I look at him. “…You have my number?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“A magician never reveals his secrets.”
I laugh.
“You know…” He looks ahead. “If dancing again is that terrifying…” He glances back at me. “…you could find a middle ground.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Dance on the ice. You can come here whenever I practice by myself.”
I squint at him. “Is that your way of asking me to hang out more often?” This time, I’m the one teasing.
“Yes.” He says it so matter-of-factly that I stop skating for half a second.
I just stare at him.
First Dean asks me to come to Beau’s football game.
Then Tucker invites me to Friendsgiving.
Now Logan wants me to come skate with him.
And the worst part? They all say it so casually.
I’m collecting hockey boys like Pokémon cards.
Who’s next? Garrett?
He studies my silence for a second before asking, “…Unless you’d rather be alone?”
“No.” I shake my head quickly. “I think it’s a great idea.” I smile. “I just… didn’t expect that.”
He smiles back. “Well…” He lightly bumps my shoulder as we skate. “…get used to it.”
As I’m smiling at that, I notice someone approaching from the locker rooms.
A girl.
She’s wearing nothing but one of Logan’s jerseys, the sleeves hanging past her hands.
I see her before he does.
My smile slowly fades.
Logan follows my gaze and turns around.
For the first time since I’ve met him, he actually looks caught off guard.
“There you are,” she says, crossing her arms. “I’ve been waiting for you for almost an hour.”
Silence.
I clear my throat. “Uh… I should probably get to my shift.”
Logan immediately looks back at me. “I said I’d drive you.”
“I have my bike.” I force a small smile. “It’s okay.”
Neither of us moves.
The girl looks between us, clearly impatient.
I take a step backward. “…Bye.”
Before Logan can say anything else, I turn and walk toward the parking lot.
I don’t look back.
As I unlock my bike, Tucker’s words from earlier echo in my head.
You’ve been drinking and having more hookups than ever.
It’s obvious Hannah and Garrett are into each other.
I tighten my grip on the handlebars.
That’s… A sad reason to hook up with someone.
I climb onto my bike and push the thought away.
I have a shift to get to.
------
I spend the rest of my shift surprisingly animated.
Between customers, I find myself talking to Justin whenever we cross paths. Mostly about the song he’s writing with Hannah and how she’s somehow convinced him to rewrite the chorus for the fourth time.
Nothing particularly exciting happens. Just another busy evening at Malone’s.
By closing time, everyone has gone home.
The chairs are upside down on the tables, the music has been turned down, and I’m wiping the last few tables before locking up.
The bell above the door chimes.
Without looking up, I call out, “We’re closed.”
Silence.
I glance toward the entrance. “…John?”
He gives me a small smile. “Hey.”
I stare at him. “…Need something?”
“I’m here to drive you home.”
I blink. “…Why?”
He shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because I said I’d drive you to your shift, and I didn’t.”
I can’t help smiling. I go back to wiping the table. “I thought we agreed not to keep score.”
He walks over, grabs the spray bottle and cloth from the next table, and starts wiping it down beside me. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
I look over at him. “Then what are you doing?”
He shrugs again. “Driving a friend home.”
For a second, all I do is look at him.
Then I quietly nod and go back to cleaning. “…Okay.”
Neither of us says anything else.
We finish wiping the last few tables together, moving around each other with the strange ease that comes from people who still don’t know each other that well, but somehow already know how to share the silence.
He drives me home.
The truck is unusually quiet.
Not uncomfortable. Just… hesitant.
Every now and then, he glances at me like he’s about to say something, then thinks better of it.
After the third time, I ask, “Is everything okay?”
He scratches the back of his neck. “…Yeah.”
A beat passes.
“Actually… no.”
I wait.
He keeps his eyes on the road. “I just didn’t want you getting the wrong idea earlier.”
“The ice rink?”
“Yeah.”
I nod for him to continue.
“The girl.” He lets out an awkward breath. “She wasn’t… we weren’t…” He sighs. “I didn’t even know she was still there.”
I look at him. “I believe you.”
He glances over briefly. “You do?”
“Yeah.”
He nods once. “…Okay.”
Silence settles between us again.
After a minute, I speak. “I overheard you and Tucker.”
His hands tighten around the steering wheel. “…You did?”
“I was behind the bushes locking my bike.”
He closes his eyes for half a second. “That’s… unfortunate.”
“I wasn’t trying to listen.”
“I know.” He shakes his head. “I just wish you hadn’t heard that conversation.”
“I figured.”
Another silence.
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“I know you won’t.” He says it without hesitation. “I just…” He exhales through his nose. “It wasn’t exactly one of my better days.”
I nod. “We all have those.”
He gives me a small smile. “Yeah.”
The rest of the drive passes quietly.
When he pulls up outside my apartment, he shifts the truck into park.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“No problem.”
I unbuckle my seatbelt.
As I’m about to get out, he says, “…And the skating offer still stands.”
I look back at him. “I know.”
“I wasn’t just saying it.”
“I know.” I smile. “I’ll probably take you up on it.”
He nods. “Cool.”
I step out of the truck. “See you tomorrow?”
“Probably.”
“Bye, John.”
“Bye, Insaf.”
I close the door, and he waits until I’m inside the building before driving away.
author's note: im sorry guys i was moving out and going back home and my country's state is in shambles lol we were getting pulled over by the police every 5 minutes, so it took forever to edit this chapter.
word count: 6.8k words.
chapter 6<< >>chapter 8
masterlist
Chapter 7:
I wake up with a groan. Every part of my body feels numb.
I stay on the floor for a second, staring at the ceiling, waiting for my brain to catch up.
Surprisingly... No headache.
I slowly sit up. Then I remember where I am.
Logan's room.
I immediately look down at myself. I'm still wearing his jersey. "...Oh no."
Memories begin returning in flashes. Piña coladas. Karaoke Maneater.
Cookies. The floor. Logan carrying me.
I bury my face in my hands. "I sniffed him." I groan louder. "I definitely sniffed him."
I remember baking cookies.
Dean.
The Ghost of Briar.
Then changing into Logan's jersey because I'd somehow managed to cover myself in flour. "...Perfect."
Another memory surfaces. Logan waking me up. His work boots. His brother's shift at the garage.
The bottle of water. The painkillers.
I glance toward the bedside table. The water is still there.
I drink half the bottle before making my way downstairs.
The house is quiet. Until I reach the kitchen.
Hannah is standing by the coffee machine. She's wearing Garrett's jersey.
The moment she notices me—
We both stop.
She looks at Logan's jersey. I look at Garrett's.
Silence.
Then we both burst into laughter.
Neither of us can even explain why. We just keep laughing.
A moment later, footsteps shuffle into the kitchen.
Allie appears. Still wearing yesterday's clothes.
Hair a complete disaster. She looks like she lost a fight with gravity.
She squints at us. "...Why are you laughing?"
Then she notices Hannah. Then me.
Her eyes slowly travel from Garrett's jersey... to Logan's.
She stares for a beat.
Then she starts laughing too. "Oh my God." She points between us. "The walk of shame twins."
"There was no walk." Hannah says through laughter. "I literally slept."
"So did I." I add.
Allie collapses dramatically into a kitchen chair. "I don't care. You both look guilty."
"We're innocent." Hannah and I say at exactly the same time.
That only makes Allie laugh harder.
-------------
I head upstairs to get ready.
On the way to the bathroom, I shake my head to myself.
Condom boxes. Everywhere. On a shelf. On a dresser. One somehow sitting next to a fake plant.
There was a reason I called this place the whore house.
I close the bathroom door behind me. My flour-covered clothes are folded where I'd left them.
I change back into them, trying to dust off as much flour as I can. It doesn't help much.
I glance at myself in the mirror. My lipstick is still there.
Only now it's smeared well past my lips. "...Classy."
I wet a towel and carefully wipe away the red stains until my face looks like mine again.
Before leaving Logan's room, I fold his jersey neatly and place it on the bed.
"...Thanks," I murmur to the empty room.
Then I head downstairs.
Hannah and Allie are already waiting by the front door.
"Ready?" Allie asks.
I nod.
The three of us step out into the crisp morning air and quietly make our way back home.
----------
Hannah and I have a shift at Malone's.
I work my usual weekend evening shift.
It's busier than normal, tables constantly filling and emptying, coffee machines hissing without a break.
Nothing unusual. Nothing dramatic.
Between orders, I find myself talking to Justin every now and then.
Most of our conversations revolve around the song he's writing with Hannah for the pop competition.
He asks for my opinion on a lyric. I tell him it sounds too polished. He laughs and says Hannah told him the exact same thing.
By closing time, my feet ache.
I untie my apron, grab my bag, and head toward the employee exit.
That's when Logan walks in. He's still wearing work boots. His hoodie sleeves are rolled up.
His hands are stained with dark engine grease that was clearly scrubbed over and over but refused to come off completely.
Without thinking, I smile.
He notices me.
"...Hey."
His smile is small. Polite. "Hey."
Then he keeps walking. Straight past me.
I stop moving. Something sinks in my chest before I can stop it.
I turn around, waiting for him to look back.
He doesn't.
My smile slowly disappears.
My first thought comes so naturally it doesn't even feel like a thought.
He's tired of taking care of me.
I threw up in front of him. Twice.
He saw me panic. He carried me.
Drove me around. Fed me.
Let me bake cookies in his kitchen.
Gave me his jersey because I managed to cover myself in flour.
Then I fell asleep on his bedroom floor.
Maybe... Maybe now that I'm sober... He's remembering all of it too.
Heat creeps up the back of my neck.
I grip the strap of my bag a little tighter.
Before I can think myself into saying something stupid, I turn toward the door.
I just don't want to think about it.
---------
For the next two days, I bury myself in my assignment.
Most of my time is spent in the library with Carmen, fueled almost entirely by coffee.
"Are you going to Drunk Shakespeare later this week?" she asks, not looking up from her notes.
"Probably. Allie's performing." I shrug. "But I don't want to drink."
She raises an eyebrow. "It's called Drunk Shakespeare for a reason."
"It's the middle of the week. I have assignments." I laugh, continuing to type on my laptop.
"Exactly," Carmen deadpans.
I shake my head, smiling.
A few minutes later, Tucker walks into the library.
He notices me immediately. "Hey, Insaf."
"Hey." I smile back.
Then my eyes drift to the person walking in beside him.
Logan.
He's carrying a backpack over one shoulder, his curls slightly messy, looking like he came straight from class.
When he spots me, he smiles.
Not the polite smile from Malone's. A real one.
"Hey, Insaf."
"Hey, Logan."
For a second, he just stands there, looking between me, the mountain of books, and the half-empty coffee beside my laptop.
"Tough assignment?"
I sigh dramatically. "Yeah. t's frying my brain cells."
"Liar," Carmen mutters without looking up from her book.
I glance at her. "I still have a few left."
Logan laughs quietly. "I was going to say... I don't think you've got enough books yet."
I look down at the stack. "...You might be right. Give me twenty minutes."
Carmen groans. "Don't encourage her."
He chuckles, but before following Tucker farther into the library, he looks back at me for a brief second. "Good luck."
"You too."
Only after he walks away do I realize I'd been holding my breath.
----------
As I'm walking home, my phone buzzes.
Quinn: Friendship date tomorrow?
I smile before replying.
Me: I thought you'd never ask :)
A few seconds later—
Quinn: Malone's at five?
Me: Perfect.
The next day comes quickly.
I survive my morning classes, spend most of them half-awake, and by lunchtime my phone buzzes again.
This time it's Jessica.
Jessica: Your Instagram feed is a crime.
Jessica: Fix it.
I blink.
My Instagram has exactly one post.
Allie's birthday.
A carousel of pictures of her after i surprised her by making an instagram account on her birthday.
I type back.
Me: It has character.
Jessica: It has neglect.
I laugh to myself and lock my phone.
By late afternoon, I'm getting ready.
Nothing special. Just jeans, a sweater, and boots.
As I'm putting on my jacket, Allie appears in my doorway with her arms folded. "So..."
I already know that tone. "What?"
"Are you sure this isn't a date?"
I don't even look up. "Yep."
She narrows her eyes suspiciously. "Hm."
I roll mine. "It's Quinn.
"I know. That's exactly why I'm asking."
I stare at her. "It's literally called a friendship date."
She shrugs innocently. "I'm just saying... People have started relationships with less."
I grab my bag. "Good thing that's not what's happening."
She follows me to the front door. "We'll see."
I point a finger at her. "We won't."
She grins. "We definitely will."
I shake my head, laughing as I step outside. "You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
---------
I arrive at Malone's a few minutes before five.
Quinn is already there, tucked into one of the booths in the far corner of the restaurant.
I greet Hannah, who's working today, then wave to Dalla before making my way over.
"You're early."
Quinn looks up and gives me a small smile. "Yeah."
Something about her voice makes me pause.
"Is everything okay?"
She nods quickly. "Yeah."
A beat passes.
"I just... wanted to talk about it."
I slide into the booth across from her without another question.
Hannah appears a moment later with her order pad. "The usual?"
I nod. "My tea."
Quinn asks for a coffee.
Hannah smiles warmly at both of us before walking away, sensing we need the privacy.
Soft music hums through the restaurant.
Around us, students occupy booths with laptops and notebooks, trying to get ahead before Thanksgiving week.
I let the silence settle.
Quinn stares at the table. "I don't know where to start."
I think for a second. "...How did you meet her?"
She looks up at me, grateful for the question.
Before she can answer, Hannah returns with our drinks. She places my tea in front of me and Quinn's coffee beside her.
Quinn thanks her quietly. She doesn't touch the cup.
Instead, she keeps staring at the steam curling upward.
"It's actually a crazy story."
I smile softly. "How so?"
She lets out a humorless laugh. "She was supposed to marry my cousin."
My eyebrows shoot up.
Quinn nods. "I grew up in a religious family. A rich, religious family. I'm an only child. My cousin John is too. We practically grew up together. He knew I was queer. He was always calm."
"I..." She smiles faintly. "...I was the reckless one."
I notice the past tense.
Was.
It catches somewhere in my chest.
"Our families arranged their marriage. They got engaged. They were supposed to get married after we all graduated."
She traces the rim of her coffee mug with one finger.
"They actually made sense together. They were alike. Quiet. Organized. Gentle."
A small laugh escapes her.
"The first time we met... She couldn't say my name."
I smile. "Really?"
"I made her nervous. So naturally... I decided to make it worse."
I laugh quietly.
"I kept showing up. I teased her. I'd say good morning just to watch her stumble over her words."
A genuine smile appears on Quinn's face for the first time. "I thought she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen."
The smile slowly disappears again. "She was my best friend's fiancée. I couldn't..."
She swallows. "...I couldn't stay there. So I applied to Briar. As far away from home as I could get. I thought if I left.. it would go away."
She finally reaches for her coffee. It's gone cold. She doesn't seem to notice.
"One day, I visited them spontaneously. I wanted to surprise them."
She lets out a small laugh. "John was thrilled. Cait... not so much."
I raise an eyebrow.
Quinn smiles sadly. "She said I disturbed the peace she had with John."
The smile fades almost immediately. "Another time, we were at one of those ridiculous rich-people parties. She'd had a little too much to drink. So she kept trying to set me up with some guy."
"'Maybe it'd be good for you,' she kept saying."
I chuckle. "You didn't seem convinced."
"I wasn't. I cornered her afterward and asked what that was about." Quinn looks down at her hands. "She told me... You make me stumble over my plans.'"
I stay quiet.
"We ended up talking for hours. We apologized. Decided to actually become friends instead of pretending we tolerated each other." She smiles faintly.
"John went to bed early. When he came downstairs for water, he found us sitting on the living room floor laughing so hard we couldn't breathe. He looked so confused. Then he smiled. He said... 'Finally.'"
She swallows.
"I remember looking at him. He looked at me like... he knew. Not because I told him. Because he knew me, and he was just...happy. That's who John was. The kind of person who wanted everyone else to be okay before himself."
A long silence settles between us.
"Then..." She closes her eyes. "...a week later...John died."
The words land heavily between us.
"We grieved together. There wasn't really anyone else who understood what we'd both lost. So we'd sit together. Sometimes we'd talk about him. Sometimes we'd just sit in silence. We'd make each other tea. Cook meals neither of us felt like eating. We kept each other alive, honestly."
She rubs at her eyes. "One evening... we were looking through old pictures of him. We laughed, then we cried. Cait started apologizing. Over and over. As if she'd somehow failed him. I told her none of it was her fault. I reached for her hand. She held onto mine."
Quinn's voice grows quieter.
"She looked at me... and I knew. I knew she felt it too, but neither of us said anything. She kissed me. Just once. A tiny kiss. Then she pulled away immediately. She started crying. She kept saying...'I'm sorry.' I spent the next hour convincing her she had nothing to apologize for."
"But every time we were together after that...she'd kiss me... then she'd pray. I'd find her sitting on the prayer mat afterward. Crying. Asking God to forgive her. Asking John to forgive her."
I feel my chest tighten.
"So I left." She nods. "I promised her I'd stay. But I couldn't keep watching her punish herself for loving me. I thought leaving would free her."
A bitter laugh escapes her. "I was wrong." She finally looks me in the eyes. "I found out last week, she's looking for another arranged marriage."
She laughs without humor. "And all I want to do... is shake her. Tell her to come back to her senses. Tell her that loving me doesn't make her a bad person. That she doesn't have to spend the rest of her life apologizing for who she loves."
She looks down at the untouched coffee. "...But I don't know if she'd believe me."
We sit in silence for a while, my tea went cold.
"Maybe you should."
Quinn blinks. "...What?"
"Talk to her."
She studies my face, trying to figure out if I'm serious.
"I think..." I stir my tea absentmindedly. "...John knew."
She freezes.
"He knew about you. He was happy when you two became friends. The way you described him..." I smile softly. "...he doesn't sound like someone who would've wanted either of you to spend the rest of your lives miserable."
Quinn's eyes begin to glisten.
"Cait might not know that. Not because she didn't love John, but because the guilt is louder than everything else."
I pause.
"Sometimes guilt convinces us it's honoring the people we lost...when really, it's keeping us from living."
She doesn't say anything.
"So..." I shrug. "Maybe she does need someone to shake her. I'm not saying the grief will disappear. It won't. I'm not saying the guilt disappears either. It probably won't, but... she still deserves a life. One she actually chooses."
The words leave my mouth before I fully process them.
She still deserves a life.
They echo somewhere inside me.
I look down into my tea.
Quinn watches me carefully. "I didn't expect you to say that."
I smile. "What did you expect?"
She laughs quietly. "I thought you'd analyze my attachment style, or tell me I need closure, or explain the stages of grief."
I shake my head. "I could, but..." I look back up at her. "...I'm here as your friend, the psychology student can stay home for today."
She smiles. "So you're just... listening?"
"I listened, and I know a little about religious guilt." I hesitate. "And... I know a little about grief."
Quinn nods slowly. "As if believing you're doing the right thing... can still make you feel like you're betraying something?"
I meet her eyes. "Exactly."
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
Then Quinn reaches across the table.
She squeezes my hand once. "Thank you."
I squeeze hers back. "I don't know if you'll decide to talk to her, but whatever you choose... make sure it's because it's what you want. Not because guilt made the decision for you."
She lets out a long breath. "I think..." A small, uncertain smile appears. "...that's the first decision I've made for myself in a long time."
----
Quinn says her goodbye and leaves.
I stay in the booth for a while, staring into the last sip of my tea.
I hope I gave her the right advice. It isn't a situation with a right answer.
Love. Grief. Faith. Guilt.
Sometimes they become so tangled that you don't know which feeling belongs to which.
I hope, whatever she chooses, it's because she chose it. Not because guilt chose it for her. The thought lingers longer than I'd like.
"Insaf?"
I look up.
Hannah is standing beside the booth, already changed out of her work clothes. I hadn't even noticed Malone's emptying. The chairs are up on half the tables. Someone is mopping near the entrance.
Closing time.
She gives me a warm smile. "Everything okay?"
I force a small smile back. "Yeah." I stand, grabbing my coat. "Just tired."
She nods, not pushing.
Instead, she reaches for my hand. I intertwine my fingers with hers without thinking.
Neither of us says much as we walk home.
The streets are quiet. Cold enough that our breath hangs in the air.
For once, the silence doesn't feel lonely.
---------------
November 13
I wake up remembering what day it is.
Drunk Shakespeare.
Tomorrow is my session with Dr. Carter.
I canceled our last session because of what that date meant to me. I still don’t know what excuse I’m going to give her for missing it.
I’ll worry about that tomorrow.
Today, I just have to get through today.
It’s as if I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. The lights are too loud. Even the curtains aren’t enough to muffle them.
I stare at the ceiling for a while before forcing myself out of bed.
My morning classes pass without anything particularly interesting happening.
Brad Smith has apparently developed a new personality since the two-minute incident. Instead of his usual asshole attitude around me, he’s become weirdly shy.
Carmen notices, of course.
She keeps pestering me about what exactly I did to him so that he would stop acting like a cocky bastard around her.
I shrug every time. “Maybe I threatened him.”
She narrows her eyes. “You?”
“People contain multitudes.”
She laughs.
After class, I go to the library with a protein bar and tea.
I barely get through half my assignment before my phone buzzes.
Allie:
REMINDER.
I stare at the message.
Me:
I know.
Allie:
You’re coming.
Me:
I know.
Allie:
You’re not allowed to disappear.
Me:
I know.
Three dots appear.
Allie:
Good.
I smile despite myself.
A few minutes later, Hannah messages the group.
Hannah:
I’m going with Justin.
I stare at the message for a second.
Allie:
OH MY GOD.
Allie:
YOU ASKED HIM???
Hannah:
Yes.
Allie:
I’M SO PROUD OF YOU.
I laugh quietly.
Me:
Look at you, Hannah.
Hannah:
Don’t make it weird.
Me:
I’m not.
Allie:
I’m making it weird.
I can practically hear her saying it.
I put my phone down and look back at my laptop.
For a moment, everything feels normal. Hannah has Justin. Allie has her Shakespeare performance. Everyone has somewhere to be tonight.
And I suppose I do too.
I just wish mine didn’t involve pretending that today is an ordinary day.
----------
Quinn texts me.
Quinn: Are you going to Drunk Shakespeare?
Me: Yes.
Quinn: See you there?
Me: See you there.
I get ready and check my period tracker app.
Luteal phase.
Makes sense. I sigh and get out.
----
I get inside the decorated venue and immediately find people in butterfly costumes, medieval costumes, glitter covering their faces. These are the performers.
Jules is taking shots in the corner.
I find Allie and Hannah standing together and approach them.
I hear Allie saying, “This mingle-with-the-audience-before-the-show shtick is such hacky student-director bullshit.” She tries to mock whoever said it. “Ohhh, it’s immersive. We’re breaking the aesthetic distance.” She rolls her eyes. “Give me a fucking break.”
Hannah looks at me. I raise my eyebrows.
Then Hannah turns back to Allie. “Hey, whoa, babe. Maybe we’ve turned the corner onto Raging Diva Allie.”
Allie answers without thinking. “Maybe you’ve turned the corner into Cuntsville.”
Hannah scoffs, surprised. I press my lips together, trying not to laugh.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that,” Allie says quickly.
“No, it’s okay,” Hannah replies, still half-laughing and half-surprised. “It’s your first show at Briar without Sean.”
“Yeah.” Allie sighs. “He just really used to help calm me down, you know?”
I squeeze her arm.
“I’m kind of nervous.” She takes a breath. “Yeah, maybe it is making me a little bit of a—”
She suddenly spots something across the room. Her expression changes. “Catherine!” She storms off. “Don’t touch a prop that’s not yours!”
Hannah and I watch her go. Once she’s out of earshot, we laugh.
Then Justin spots us and approaches. “Hey!”
He hugs Hannah first.
She smiles brightly. “You’re here!”
“Of course.”
I glance around the room.
Garrett is looking at Hannah, and the moment he sees her with Justin, his smile disappears.
I look back at Justin. He’s holding an orange.
I raise my eyebrows. “Why are you holding an orange?”
“Beau recruited me. I had to steal this from Tucker.”
As if summoned by his name, Tucker turns around. He spots the orange. “Fuck, are you kidding me?”
Beau and Dean give Justin enthusiastic thumbs-up.
I laugh under my breath.
Then I see Garrett approaching us. “Hey, Wellsy. Insaf. Hey, Jordan.”
Justin looks at him. “It’s Justin,” he corrects him.
I pinch my eyes shut and look around, trying to figure out where I can escape whatever this is. I don’t have the energy for it.
I look around for an escape and find Quinn.
She spots me at the same time and immediately comes over, wrapping me in a hug. I smile and hug her back.
We’re just about to start talking when we hear a wave of shushing from the audience.
The performance is about to start.
I take my seat between Quinn and Tucker. Tucker is holding a coconut, while Dean, Garrett, and Beau sit beside him.
Logan isn’t here.
I lean toward Tucker and whisper, “Where’s Logan?”
Dean overhears us but doesn’t say anything.
“He said he didn’t feel like coming. He’ll drive us back later.”
I nod. I look toward the stage. Hannah is sitting on a couch with Justin. I give her a small smile.
Then Dexter walks onto the stage.
He has a tiny crown sitting crookedly on his head, fake grass twisted around his arms, and heavy eyeshadow around his eyes.
He looks out at the audience. “C’mon, bitches! Let me hear you all scream for our gay show!”
The crowd cheers.
“A Midsummer Night’s…” He pauses dramatically. “…SCREAM!”
Everyone erupts.
Two performers walk onto the stage wearing fairy costumes.
Dexter continues theatrically. “Now, virgins oft find Drunk Shakespeare scary. If it’s your first time, I’ll pop your cherry. Now, there’s only one rule, my sweet, gentle twinks.” He raises his glass. “When an actor calls ‘line,’ everyone drinks.”
Beau nods approvingly. “I like that.”
Dean raises his shot. “Let’s drink to that.”
They both take their shots.
Another guy in a fairy costume approaches Dexter and starts whispering into his ear.
Dexter’s expression changes.
“What? What?”
The guy continues whispering.
Dexter finally turns back toward the crowd. “I’m sorry, everyone, but it seems that the actors who were going to play our four young lovers have all been struck by a terrible affliction.”
One of the performers calls out, “True love?”
Dexter shakes his head. “No.” He pauses. “Gonorrhea.”
The entire room erupts into laughter.
Dexter snickers before continuing. “So, we’ll be needing some brave volunteers from the audience.”
Beau immediately looks at Tucker. “You. You go.”
Tucker shakes his head. “Nope.”
Dexter scans the audience. Then his eyes land on Hannah and Justin. “Oh, would you look at this couple?”
The lights turn toward them. The audience starts cheering.
“Give it up for our Hermia and Lysander!”
Everyone claps.
Hannah looks completely caught off guard. Justin laughs beside her.
“Okay,” Dexter continues. “Next, I need a big, strong man to play Demetrius.”
Dean suddenly changes his voice and shouts “Me! Garrett Graham! I want to be in the show!”
Garrett’s eyes widen. “What the hell? Shut the fuck up!”
Dean shrugs innocently. “What? You can’t tell her how you feel sitting here on your ass. Come on.”
I pretend I didn’t hear that.
Dexter points dramatically at Garrett. “Come here, pookie.”
Garrett shakes his head. “That’s okay. I’m alright.”
“You’re ours now.”
Garrett reluctantly gets to his feet.
Tucker suddenly turns toward me and holds out his coconut. “Can you hold this for a second?”
I look at it. “Sure.”
He hands it to me.
The second Garrett steps toward the stage, Tucker jumps up and starts clapping. “C’mon, G! Yeah!”
Then he turns back to me and takes the coconut. “Thank you!”
Now Justin, Hannah, and Garrett are all onstage.
Quinn leans toward me. “Why does this feel awkward?”
I look at the stage. “Because it is.”
Dexter continues. “Okay, now we just need Helena.”
He looks around dramatically. “She’s a real messy bitch who wants to get in Demetrius’ pants. Can anyone relate?”
Half the room’s hands shoot into the air.
“Damn,” Quinn mutters.
Then Kendall—the girl I’d seen Garrett hooking up with throughout most of freshman year—gets up without even waiting to be picked.
She walks onto the stage. “Allow me.”
Dexter stares at her for a second, clearly amused. “Not even going to wait to be picked.” He gestures toward her. “That is messy.”
The audience laughs.
“Let’s hear it for our four young lovers!”
Everyone applauds.
Quinn turns to talk to someone beside her, but I can hear everything.
Every laugh. Every shout. Every glass clinking. Every voice bleeding into the next.
It’s too loud.
I don’t want to be here anymore. But I have to stay. At least until I see Allie perform.
I turn to Tucker and point at the coconut. “What’s the story with that coconut?”
He sighs. “I decided to join the frat, and now I have to take care of the fruit they gave me.”
He gestures toward Beau and Dean. “If I lose it, it’ll be exchanged for a bigger fruit.”
I stare at him.
“…”
He nods solemnly. “I know.”
“And when does that stop?”
Beau answers without even looking at us. “Until we decide to stop.”
I laugh.
Tucker gives me a look that says please don’t encourage them.
Before I can say anything else, Dexter grabs Hannah’s attention. “Okay, Hermia! Let’s get you all caught up.”
He points toward Justin. “All right. You’re in love with Lysander.”
The audience immediately erupts into excited cheers.
Hannah’s eyes widen, and she gives an awkward little smile.
“But your big, bad daddy is forcing you to marry Demetrius.” He points toward Garrett.
The audience boos.
“What say you, Hermia?” Dexter demands. He dramatically drops to one knee.
A girl holding a whiteboard steps forward and turns it toward Hannah.
BUT DADDY, I LOVE HIM.
Hannah stares at the board. Then, awkwardly: “But daddy, I love him.”
The audience immediately chants: “But daddy, she loves him!”
Lovefool by The Cardigans starts playing.
The music gets louder.
Performers rush onto the stage, throwing confetti over Hannah and Justin while people start dancing around them.
Garrett and Kendall disappear backstage.
Hannah and Justin start dancing too, laughing as the confetti falls around them.
I feel someone poking my shoulder from behind. I turn around. Jules.
I smile. “Hi.”
“Hey!” They grin. “My brother told me about your cookies. He refused to let me eat more than half of one, and he has one hiding in his room.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“He got me curious. Can I have some soon?”
I laugh. “Yes, of course.”
They smile, satisfied, and turn back toward the stage.
I turn around too. Then I stop.
His room.
Apparently, Logan still has one of my cookies. I don’t know why that makes me smile.
I shake it off.
The music changes.
Allie comes onto the stage for her duo performance.
She’s wearing a beautiful blue corset and matching dress, butterfly wings attached to her back and a flower crown resting in her hair.
She looks beautiful.
I watch her for a moment. Then my attention drifts.
Why doesn’t Logan feel like hanging out? All of his friends are here.
Dean. Garrett. Beau. Tucker. Even Jules. And he isn’t here.
He said he didn’t feel like coming. I don’t know why, but something about that bothers me.
I force myself to look back at the stage.
Allie's scene partner is wearing bunny ears.
She begins dramatically. “What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?” Her voice is sad. “I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again. Mine ear is much enamored of thy note. And so is mine eye enthralled to thy…”
She stops. Her smile disappears.
“To thy…” She stares into the distance. “…smile.”
A beat.
“And thy sweatshirt.”
The audience laughs.
But Allie’s eyes are beginning to water. “And surprisingly ripped thou art.” Her voice shakes. “And how thou always made me chocolate chip and blueberry pancakes.”
Her scene partner looks completely confused.
Allie continues anyway. “Because thou knowest I want both, even though thou aren’t eating carbs right now.”
Dean leans forward, visibly getting emotional.
“And so what if thou favors missionary?”
A few people laugh.
“Methinks I could get on board with missionary.” She manages a tiny smile before her expression falls again. “Oh, sweet Bottom, out to Vermont do not desire to go.” Her voice starts shaking. “Please, do not desire to go.”
She stares at her scene partner. He just stares back.
Dean suddenly starts clapping. His eyes are watery. The rest of the audience follows.
He leans toward Beau. “Holy shit. She’s incredible.”
Beau nods. “Yeah, man. She really is.”
Allie’s scene partner looks around helplessly. “Line?”
Quinn leans toward me. “I don’t think that’s supposed to be in the play.”
I laugh. “Probably not.”
The show continues.
Drinks start appearing everywhere. People take shots whenever an actor calls for a line.
I don’t. I stick to my drink.
Eventually, everyone around me becomes progressively louder. And drunker.
Even Quinn. She’s talking animatedly to a group of people, laughing at something I can’t hear.
At some point, Tucker loses his coconut.
I don’t even notice until he comes back holding a pineapple.
I stare at it. “What happened?”
“Don’t ask.”
I laugh.
A little later, Allie suddenly walks onto the stage in the middle of a scene. “Line!”
The actor stares at her. “It’s not even your line!”
Allie holds up her glass. “Sue me. I’m thirsty.”
The audience loses it.
Beau watches the chaos around him. “I think theater kids are better than us at drinking.”
Eventually, they started debating what the play actually means.
Everyone has a different interpretation. Someone starts arguing about Shakespeare. Someone else starts arguing about love. Someone is insisting that the whole thing is about sexual repression.
I sit there listening for a while.
The room is getting louder. The lights are getting brighter.
The alcohol isn’t touching me, but everyone else’s is.
I look toward the exit. I need some fresh air. I quietly stand.
“I’ll be right back.”
Quinn barely hears me.
I slip away from the crowd and head outside.
As I’m making my way out, I see Carmen making out with someone near the hallway.
I just shake my head with a smile and keep walking.
The moment I step outside, the cold breeze makes me instinctively squeeze my eyes shut.
It’s not raining. It’s not snowing. It’s just cold.
I lean against the wall and breathe it in. Then out.
The cold settles somewhere deep in my chest.
Luteal phase is weird. I just hope it doesn’t turn me into someone I don’t like.
I hear a car door closing. I turn around.
Logan.
His hands are tucked into his pockets as he walks toward me, a small smile on his face. “Hi.”
He comes to stand beside me, leaning against the wall too.
“Hi.” I smile politely, then turn my attention back toward the parking lot. “Tucker told me you didn’t feel like coming.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Didn’t feel like being around drunk people today.”
“Understandable. Me neither.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Then why are you here?”
“Allie.”
He goes quiet for a moment. Then nods.
I can feel him looking at me, but I keep my eyes on the parking lot.
“You want a ride?”
I finally look at him. “No, it’s fine.” I push myself away from the wall. “I still need to go see Allie.”
He nods.
I nod back.
Neither of us says anything else. It’s a little awkward.
So I turn around and head back inside.
I get back inside to the sound of muffled music and cheering.
Instead of going back to the venue, I head backstage, toward the room where the performers rest.
I find the room where Allie does her makeup.
Before I can knock, I hear muffled sounds from inside.
Then Allie’s voice, frustrated: “Can you untie this faster?”
“I’m trying,” Dean answers.
I freeze. I don’t knock.
I just turn around and walk away.
I make my way back outside.
Logan is still there, smoking.
He looks up when he sees me. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. She’s just busy.”
He nods.
Then he holds the cigarette out toward me.
I politely shake my head. “No, thank you.”
He studies me for a second, then he drops the cigarette and steps on it.
I look toward the parking lot.
“Since Allie’s busy, need a ride?”
“No, thank you. I can call an Uber.”
I pull out my phone and open the app. I don’t wait to see his reaction.
I can feel him leaning closer. I look up.
He’s watching me. “Why are you talking to me like a stranger?”
I look back down at my phone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Before I can request the ride, he reaches over and takes my phone.
“Hey!”
He holds it loosely in his hand. “Why are you talking to me like that?” he asks again.
“Like what?”
He just stares at me.
I sigh. “It’s… I don’t want you to have to drive all the way to my house. It’s not on the way.”
“Did I complain?”
“What?”
“If it was inconvenient for me, I wouldn’t have offered.”
That makes the guilt settle even deeper. I don’t say anything.
But somehow, he sees it anyway. “Can you tell me what this is really about?”
I stay quiet. I feel stupid. Embarrassed.
Finally, I say, “I just don’t want you to have to take care of me.”
“Have to?” He raises his eyebrows.
“You didn’t have a choice the past few times. You were there.” I swallow. “I know you’re a good person, John. I don’t want to abuse that.”
His expression softens. “If the roles were reversed, would you do the same thing?”
I don’t answer.
“Or if it was Hannah? Or Allie?”
Still nothing.
He takes a small step closer. “Look at me.”
I do.
“You know the answer to that. That’s why you’re not saying anything.”
I look away. “Okay, okay. I’m an idiot.”
He almost smiles.
“I just don’t want you to have to take care of me. That’s all.” I hesitate, trying to find the right words. “I’m not used to…”
I stop.
He waits.
“…being in situations where I’d need help.”
He stays quiet for a moment.
Then he hands my phone back to me. “You know you can just ask me not to help you.”
I look at him. “What?”
“If you don’t want a ride, say no. If you don’t want me to help, tell me. I’m not going to force you.”
I stare at my phone in my hands. “But you keep offering.”
“Because I want to.”
I swallow. “That’s the part I don’t understand.”
His eyebrows furrow. “What?”
“Why?”
He looks at me for a moment. “Because you’re my friend.”
The word makes something twist in my stomach.
I look away. “I don’t think I’m very good at that.”
“At what?”
“Being someone’s friend.”
He lets out a quiet breath. “Insaf.”
I don’t look at him.
“You don’t have to earn the right to be cared about.”
I laugh once, but there’s nothing funny about it. “That’s a very nice thing to say.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“Then why don’t you believe me?”
I don’t answer.
The parking lot is almost empty now. The music from inside is muffled by the walls.
Finally, I say, “Because every time someone does something nice for me, I start wondering when they’re going to get tired of it.”
He doesn’t interrupt.
“I start counting everything they’ve done. Like there’s a number somewhere. And once I’ve taken too much, they’ll realize I’m not worth the effort.”
His expression changes. Not pity.
Something worse. Understanding. “I don’t want you to look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m keeping score.”
I finally look at him. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
I give him a small, embarrassed smile. “Maybe.”
He shakes his head. “You threw up twice and I held your hair. You had a panic attack and I stayed. You got drunk and I drove you home.”
I wince.
“And you baked cookies in my kitchen.”
“I ruined my shirt.”
“You gave me cookies.”
“You had to give me your jersey.”
“And you gave me cookies.”
I stare at him.
He smiles slightly. “See the pattern?”
I can’t help laughing. “You’re very annoying.”
“Yeah.” He takes a step back. “But you don’t owe me anything for any of that.”
I look down. “Not even friendship?”
He looks at me for a second. “No.”
My throat tightens. “That’s worse.”
He smiles faintly. “You really hate being cared about.”
“I hate feeling like I’m taking something.”
“Then don’t take it.”
I look at him.
“Let me give it.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
He gestures toward the parking lot. “Now, do you want a ride?”
I hesitate. “Yes.”
“Okay.”
He smiles like I’ve just answered the easiest question in the world.
And somehow, that makes it easier to breathe.
We walk toward his truck, both of us smiling.
He opens the door for me, and once I’m inside, he turns the heater on before starting the engine.
The warmth slowly fills the truck.
He drives me home.
I look out the window at the passing lights. They don’t feel as loud as they did inside the venue. I smile to myself.
Then I turn toward him. “Why didn’t you come to Drunk Shakespeare?”
He gives me the same answer as before. “I didn’t want to be around drunk people.”
I stay quiet for a while.
Then I ask, “Why?”
He glances at me, confused, while keeping his eyes on the road.
“You always go to parties. Why not today?”
I leave the question hanging there.
Not accusing him. Just giving him an opening.
He shrugs.
I understand the gesture. Whatever the answer is, he’s not ready to give it. So I let it go.
A few minutes pass.
Then he says, “Garrett told me you go to Dr. Carter.”
I turn toward him. “Not by choice.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“My professor low-key forced me to go last year.”
“Force is a strong word.”
“Blackmailed, basically.”
He laughs quietly. “Okay. That’s a little stronger.”
I smile.
The rest of the drive is quiet.
When we arrive at my apartment building, neither of us immediately reaches for the door.
We look at each other.
There’s something unspoken between us. There are so many things we don’t talk about. Things that happened long before either of us met. Hurts we carry around without explaining them.
Things that existed before he drunkenly called me an angel at the Valentine’s party. Before he held my hair while I threw up. Before I fell asleep on his floor.
Before any of this.
Neither of us knows the whole story. Maybe we don’t need to.
Author's note: soft John yet again, this is a breather for the previous 2 chapters dw. Friendship era :p.
warnings: drinking/being drunk. mention of sensory overwhelm.
word count: 6.6k
chapter 5<< >>chapter 7
masterlist
Getting ready for karaoke night somehow becomes a group project.
Hannah texts Garrett beforehand, letting him know we’re coming.
“So everyone else shows up too,” she says.
“What?”
She shrugs innocently. “If we’re going out, we might as well make it fun. For Allie.”
Allie nods in approval. “I support this manipulation.”
----------
Hannah is the first one ready.
She wears a fitted red top that shows just enough cleavage, paired with blue jeans and Allie’s red leather jacket.
She looks confident. Comfortable.
Like she’s finally starting to believe the things we tell her about herself.
---
Allie goes for something completely different.
A fitted long-sleeved shirt underneath a green corset, skinny jeans, and boots.
She twirls once in front of us. “What do we think?”
“You look hot,” Hannah says.
“You look expensive,” I add.
“I’ll take both.”
------
Then it’s my turn.
Allie opens my wardrobe like she’s entering a battlefield. “No hoodies.”
“I wasn’t even reaching for one.”
“Liar.”
She eventually pulls out a black skirt. “Tights. A fitted long-sleeved top, and boots.”
I look at myself in the mirror once I’m dressed. “…This isn’t nearly as scandalous as I expected.”
“Oh.” She smiles mischievously. “I’m fixing that.”
Before I can react, she’s already uncapping a tube of lipstick.
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh, absolutely yes.”
Five minutes later… She steps back proudly. “There.”
I look in the mirror. Bright red lipstick.
I sigh. “I look like I’m about to ruin someone’s life.”
Allie beams. “Exactly.”
---------
We order an Uber and head to the karaoke bar.
Music is already pouring onto the street before we even get inside. The place is packed.
Dean is the first person I spot.
He’s leaning against the bar with yet another girl tucked against his side.
Some things never change.
Across the room, Tucker is on stage, enthusiastically singing Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy) to an audience that’s somehow singing louder than he is.
People are cheering. Laughing. Throwing napkins.
On one of the tables, John and Garrett are standing shoulder to shoulder, each with a beer in hand while the rest of the team eggs them on.
Garrett notices us first. Probably because Allie is practically sprinting toward the bar.
He nudges Logan with his elbow before pointing in our direction.
Logan turns. His eyes immediately find us, they find Hannah first then...
Me.
His gaze lingers for a second longer than usual before a slow smile spreads across his face.
We make our way over to the group.
Jules was snapping a picture of Tucker performing, then they start snapping candid pictures of us.
Before I can even say hello, Allie appears in front of us carrying a tray of shots. “There you are!”
She hands one to me. One to Hannah. Then keeps one for herself.
I don’t even think about it. I throw mine back before greeting anyone.
The burn makes me wince. I scrunch my face. “…It never gets better.”
A quiet chuckle comes from beside me. I glance over. Logan.
"You always make that face?"
"Everytime."
"Then why do you keep drinking?"
"Peer pressure."
"Me when I lie." Allie comments.
I roll my eyes.
Logan laughs.
Meanwhile, Hannah politely pushes her shot back toward Allie. “I’m good.”
Allie doesn’t argue. She simply shrugs and downs it herself.
Across the room, Tucker finishes his cover to an eruption of applause before hopping off the stage and immediately disappearing into conversation with Logan.
Garrett steps closer to Hannah. “You can drink.”
She shakes her head. “No. I have to keep an eye on Allie.”
As if on cue, Allie is already at the karaoke list enthusiastically debating songs with the DJ.
Garrett smiles. “I can take care of her. I promise. I’m driving tonight.”
Hannah studies him for a second. Then smiles. “…Okay. But I don’t even know what I like.”
“Then let’s find out.” He gestures toward the bar. “Come on.”
He looks at me. “You too.”
I shrug. “Might as well.”
---
The three of us settle onto bar stools.
The bartender lines up tiny samples in front of us.
Garrett points to the first one. “Start easy.”
Hannah sniffs it.
"You're supposed to drink it." Garret laughs.
We do.
I immediately grimace. “Tastes like perfume.”
Hannah nods. “Perfume mixed with hand sanitizer.”
Garrett laughs. “Okay… Not that one.”
The next one isn’t much better.
“This tastes like someone melted cough syrup.”
“No.”
The third.
“No.” and i steal Garret's water.
The fourth.
“Worse.”
At one point Hannah physically shudders. “People drink this… voluntarily?”
“I have the same question,” I mumble.
Garrett is laughing with an amused look on his face.
Finally, the bartender slides another glass toward us. “Try this.”
We each take a sip. Hannah and I slowly turn to look at each other.
“…Oh.”
“This one.”
She takes another sip. I do too.
“Pina colada,” the bartender says.
Hannah smiles. “I like this.”
“I like this too.”
Garrett folds his arms, looking far too pleased with himself. “Told you we’d find something.”
Hannah looks up at him.
He’s already watching her with the softest smile.
She tilts her head dramatically. “Yummmyyyyy!”
Garrett bursts into laughter.
I shake my head. “…That did not take much.”
“Nope,” Garrett says. “I think we’ve found the winner.”
Logan slides onto the empty stool beside Hannah.
The moment Hannah notices him, her face lights up. She reaches over and grabs his hand. “You’re the one who fixed my Bluebaru!”
Logan looks down at their joined hands before looking back at her. “…Yeah. I did.” A soft smile spreads across his face.
Garrett looks between them. “…Your what?”
“My Bluebaru!”
Garrett frowns. “You have a car?”
Hannah turns to him with the saddest expression imaginable. She slowly shakes her head. “…No.”
Garrett waits for the explanation. None comes.
Instead, she turns back to Logan with complete determination. “I’m buying you a drink! For fixing my Bluebaru!”
She leans over the counter and whispers something into the bartender’s ear.
The bartender raises an eyebrow before laughing.
A minute later, he places a glass filled with an unnaturally bright blue drink in front of Logan.
Logan stares at it. “…Woooow.” He leans closer. “That looks exactly like windshield wiper fluid.”
Garrett snorts. “…That might actually be windshield wiperfluid.”
Before Logan can take a sip, Hannah suddenly gasps.
“I'm going to sing!"
Garrett blinks, "Already?"
She looks at him with complete confidence, "Yep" and she slips off her jacket and hands it to me. Revealing her red top showing her cleavage. She looks radiant and confident.
Garrett can't take his eyes off of her. A slow smile spreads across his face.
She beams before hurrying toward the stage, while Garrett is holding her drink in his hand.
Logan sighs dramatically. “For Bluebaru.”
He takes one sip. Immediately regrets every decision that led him here.
His face twists. His eyebrows shoot up. He swallows with visible effort, staring at the glass like it personally betrayed him.
“…That’s…” He clears his throat. “…one of the worst things I’ve ever tasted.”
Across the room, Hannah is already on stage, completely oblivious, happily waiting for the music to start.
She never sees his reaction.
I do.
For one long second, I watch Logan silently questioning his life choices over a bright blue cocktail.
Then the piña colada finally catches up to me.
I burst into laughter. Real laughter.
I hide my face in my hands as I keep laughing.
Logan points accusingly at me. “Oh, don’t encourage her.”
I try to answer but another laugh interrupts me. “I…I’m sorry. No, I’m not.”
I look at the bright blue drink again, and start laughing all over again.
We get up from the bar to join the crowd gathering around the small stage.
I end up beside Allie.
She’s already bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Oh my God, she’s actually doing it.”
The guitarist plays the opening chords.
Hannah wraps both hands around the microphone. She grins. “Oh shit, Graham.”
She points into the crowd. “Do you remember this one?”
I instinctively look at Garrett. His smile is so wide it has to hurt. He shakes his head, laughing.
Then Hannah starts singing. Cherry Pie.
Loud. Confident. Completely fearless.
It only takes one verse to remind everyone that she’s a music major.
Every note lands perfectly. Every run is effortless.
The piña colada has somehow erased every ounce of the girl who was too nervous to speak to Justin a month ago.
The crowd erupts. People clap along. Someone whistles.
Dean is already screaming the lyrics louder than the speakers.
Halfway through the song, Hannah hops off the stage without missing a beat.
She weaves through the crowd, still singing.
The microphone finds Allie first.
Allie dramatically belts the chorus with her, pointing at random strangers like she’s performing in a stadium.
I can’t help laughing.
Then Hannah grabs my wrist and pulls me in beside her. She dances between me and Logan.
Logan laughs, shaking his head as Hannah shoves the microphone toward him. “No chance.”
“Oh, come on!”
He gives in for exactly one line before handing it back.
She spins away again, laughing.
The entire bar is singing now.
By the final chorus, Hannah makes her way across the room. Straight toward Garrett. She stops inches in front of him. Still singing. Still smiling.
The crowd somehow fades into the background. They’re close enough that neither of them looks anywhere else.
Garrett doesn’t sing. He just watches her. Like he’s forgotten there are other people in the room.
The tension between them is almost visible. Then—
Someone whistles.
Hannah covers her face with both hands, laughing.
She looks almost embarrassed by how loud everyone is cheering.
Tucker pretending to bow down to Hannah. Jules taking candid pictures of her.
I look back at Hannah and Garrett. There’s something in the way they’re looking at each other.
I can feel it settling somewhere deep in my stomach. The feeling their eyes translate.
The quiet certainty of finding someone who understands you without asking.
The comfort of company of your soul choosing to wrap itself around someone else’s because it makes you feel free.
The feeling inside me twists.
Becomes uglier. Because wanting it… Craving it…
The terrifying need to be seen by someone like that— It scares me. More than anything.
I swallow hard, but God. I’m so happy for Hannah.
She looks happy, really happy.
The kind that reaches her eyes. The kind I’ve never seen on her before.
He gives her back her drink, and she takes it smiling.
Without thinking, my gaze shifts to Logan.
He’s watching them too.
There’s something familiar in his expression. It’s almost as if everything I just felt is written across his face.
Like he wants that, too. Like part of him is reaching toward it.
And another part is terrified of ever letting himself have it.
I don’t say anything.
---
The host announces the next singer.
Allie.
She marches toward the stage with the confidence of someone who’s had just enough alcohol to believe she’s on Broadway.
“I dedicate this,” she announces dramatically into the microphone. “…to men who deserve to be punched.”
The crowd cheers.
The opening notes of Take Me or Leave Me fill the room.
She doesn’t just sing it. She performs it.
Every lyric sounds like she’s arguing directly with Sean.
Half-drunk. Heartbroken. Furious. Pouring every ounce of herself into the song.
By the final note, the entire bar is clapping. Dean is standing on a chair. Someone whistles.
Allie takes an exaggerated bow before climbing off the stage. The moment she reaches us, Hannah throws her arms around her. I join the hug a second later.
Allie lets out the longest sigh. “…I really needed that.”
“We know,” Hannah says softly.
I squeeze her shoulder. “…You killed it.”
She smiles for the first time tonight. A real one.
She wipes the mascara beneath her eyes. "...I actually feel better."
---
Next up is Logan.
He looks genuinely confused. “I didn’t put my name down.”
He turns toward the crowd.
His eyes immediately land on Jules, who is leaning casually against the wall, camera hanging around their neck as if they’ve done absolutely nothing suspicious all night.
Jules simply shrugs. “What?”
Logan narrows his eyes. “You did this.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Dean slaps Logan hard between the shoulder blades. “Quit whining. Get up there!”
The rest of the hockey team starts cheering.
“LOGAN!”
“LOGAN!”
He sighs dramatically before climbing onto the stage.
When the opening guitar begins, I recognize it almost instantly.
Just Like Heaven by The Cure.
He smiles the second the first verse starts. Not nervous. Comfortable.
His voice is lower than I expected. Smooth. Warm.
The kind of voice that doesn’t need to show off because it doesn’t have to.
Dean is already singing half the lyrics from the crowd, terribly off-key.
Logan laughs mid-song without missing a beat.
He points the microphone toward the boys during the chorus, letting them scream the lyrics before taking it back.
He’s completely in his element. Relaxed. Happy.
Every now and then, his eyes drift across the room. Each time… they find me.
I don’t even realise I’m smiling until Allie quietly nudges my shoulder.
I don’t look away. I just keep watching him. Amazed.
Because somehow… The loud hockey player. The quiet guy who sat beside me while I ate fries. The one who held my hair while I threw up. The one who stayed with me in his truck while it snowed. The one singing on stage now— They all feel like the same person.
And somehow… That surprises me the most.
He finishes the song to a chorus of cheers.
Dean is the first to pull him into a one-armed hug before smacking him on the back. “I didn’t know you had that in you!”
Tucker screams "since when can you sing??"
The rest of the guys join in, clapping him on the shoulders.
He is slightly embarrassed but amused, throwing his hair aound dramatically.
I laugh at that.
Allie suddenly nudges me. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
“I’ll come with you.”
--------
There’s a line. Of course there is.
Allie groans dramatically before joining it.
I wait beside her, absentmindedly looking around until I notice the guys’ bathroom across the hallway.
Logan is standing in that line too. When he catches me looking, he smiles.
I smile back. “Just Like Heaven?”
He nods. “I love that song.”
“Me too.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Especially the story behind it.”
He tilts his head. “I don’t know the story.”
My eyes widen. “You don’t?”
He shakes his head.
I smile. “There’s this story—I don’t know if it’s completely true—but apparently Robert Smith passed out after kissing his wife.”
He lets out a small laugh. “What?”
“Yeah.” I laugh too. “When he woke up, the first thing he saw was her standing over him with the light behind her, and that’s what inspired Just Like Heaven.”
He looks at me, listening intently.
I shrug. “Whether it’s true or not… I’ve always thought it was ridiculously romantic.”
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just watches me. Then a small smile spreads across his face. “…That is ridiculously romantic.”
I smile back.
Before I can answer, I hear Allie’s voice behind me. “Oh my God.”
I turn around.
She’s walking toward me, looking utterly horrified. “Who hooks up in the girls’ bathroom?” She shakes her head dramatically.
“Honestly.”
I laugh. “What happened?”
“There was a line because two people apparently decided tonight was the night.”
She loops her arm through mine. “Come on, and don’t think I’ve forgotten. You still have to perform.”
I laugh as she starts pulling me back toward the crowd. “Don’t worry.” I grin. “I’m already in the queue.”
She gasps “Please don’t tell me you picked a ballad.”
I look at her innocently. “…Nope.”
-------
I head back to the group and finish another piña colada.
Logan walks back over, he has a drink in his hand.
I take it from his hand and drink it, my red lipstick smudging his glass.
i wince at the taste. "You're psychotic."
He laughs while staring at the lipstick smudge, then he drinks from the same spot i did. I didn't notice that.
I look around the room, Dean is grinning at Allie and she flips him off.
Tucker trying to teach Hannah how to line dance, and she laughs so hard she almost falls.
Garrett holds her by her waist steadying her. Laughing with her.
For once, no one looks like they need me. It doesn't feel as ugly as i thought it would. I like that.
A minute later, I hear my name.
I point at myself. “Already?”
The host nods.
I shrug. “Well… alright.”
I walk onto the stage.
Strangely… I’m not nervous. The piña coladas deserve most of the credit.
I grab the microphone and grin. “Allie Hayes… This one’s for you.”
The opening beat of Maneater starts playing.
Allie’s eyes go wide. “No way.”
Her expression alone makes me laugh before I even sing the first line.
I slip off my jacket and toss it onto a nearby stool, shaking my hair loose as I do.
A few whistles echo through the bar. I don’t care. I start singing.
By the first chorus, I’m actually having fun. “I wanna see you all on your knees, knees…”
I dramatically drop onto my knees.
Dean whistles so loudly people turn to look at him. “LET’S GO!”
Tucker is already clapping to the beat. Garrett is laughing into his glass of water.
I hop back to my feet and walk off the stage, weaving through the crowd while still singing.
I stop in front of Allie. She screams the lyrics right back at me. The two of us start dancing together.
Hannah joins in a second later, laughing as she tries to copy Allie’s ridiculous dance moves.
I can’t stop smiling.
I roll my hips with the beat, spin once, then dramatically flip my hair over one shoulder just because it makes Allie cheer louder.
She points at me. “WHO ARE YOU?”
“I DON’T KNOW!” I shout back between lyrics.
The crowd laughs.
I keep moving through them, completely committing to the performance.
When I glance across the room, I catch Logan watching me.
He has that same amused smile he’s had every time I’ve accidentally surprised him.
Our eyes meet for a second. I lift an eyebrow as if to say, What?
He just shakes his head, smiling to himself.
Not far from him, Dean notices the tiny exchange. He doesn’t say a word. He only smirks into his beer before taking another sip.
The last chorus comes around. The whole bar is singing now.
By the final note, I throw one arm into the air dramatically.
The room erupts into applause.
I laugh, slightly out of breath, and bow with an exaggerated flourish.
As I climb off the stage, Allie immediately tackles me into a hug. “I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO GET YOU TO DO THAT FOR A YEAR!”
“I blame the piña coladas.”
“No.” She grabs my shoulders. “I blame the fact that you’re secretly insane.”
Hannah nods very seriously. “I second that.”
I gasp dramatically. “I’m being bullied.”
Logan walks over to me. I look at him as he finds me in the middle of the crowd.
My head feels pleasantly fuzzy.
What used to make me anxious—being surrounded by so many people—somehow feels different tonight.
Like I’m part of the crowd instead of trapped inside it.
He stops beside me. “Maneater?”
I grin. “I have to act as the queen’s jester.”
“And Allie is the queen in this scenario?”
“Duh.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You looked like you were having fun.”
“I was.” I take another sip of my piña colada. “The first time I got drunk, I drank half a bottle of vodka by myself.”
He blinks. “Straight vodka?”
“Yep. I was with my friends. They mixed gin with Coke. I just… drank the vodka. They got drunk before I did.”
He looks at my drink. “And now you get drunk off piña coladas.”
I lift the glass. “Progress. I’ll drink to that.”
He smiles. “So… What happened after you chugged half a bottle of vodka?”
I think for a second. “I started dancing.”
He nods as if that checks out.
“Then apparently I started apologising to trees.”
He laughs. “What?”
I sigh. “I love trees.”
He tries to hold it together. Fails. “So you apologised to them?”
“I don’t remember why. I probably bumped into one.”
He laughs harder. “Then what?”. He leans closer.
“My friend at the time, Farid, got drunk and started calling people who’d hurt him. So I took the phone.”
His eyebrows rise. “And?”
“I started cussing them out for him.”
He lets out another laugh. “You defended your drunk friend?”
“Very passionately. I think I threatened one guy. I’m not sure.”
“And after that?”
I sigh dramatically. “I fell asleep.”
“Where?”
“On the floor.”
“…Inside?”
I shake my head. “No. The middle of the street.”
He stares at me. “…Bold.”, he continues "so that's why you like cold floors."
“Yes!"
“I would’ve paid to witness that.”
“You and everyone else. I think there is a video somewhere i'll never search for."
“I still can’t believe you apologised to trees.”
I point a finger at him. “They deserved closure.”
That makes him laugh all over again.
“I cried a lot that day.”
Logan’s smile softens. “Did something happen?”
I stare into my piña colada for a moment. “I just…”
I glance up at the lights hanging across the ceiling. “…liked how they didn’t look as loud anymore.”
Without thinking, my eyes linger on them. The music. The chatter. The neon signs.
Tonight… They’re just lights.
Silence settles between us.
Then he says quietly, “I’m glad they don’t tonight.”
I smile. “Me too.”
For a second, I realize how close he’s standing.
Without thinking— I lean in and sniff him.
He immediately laughs. “…What are you doing?”
I blink. “You smell good.”
His smile somehow gets wider. “Thank you…” He chuckles, shaking his head. “…Let’s get you some water.”
He heads toward the bar. I watch him go.
Then my eyes drift downward. The floor looks… Comfortable. Very comfortable.
So I wander over to a quiet corner and sit down on it. Cross-legged. Perfect.
A few minutes later, I hear footsteps. “The floor found you.”
I look up and smile proudly. “It greeted me.”
He laughs. “I can see that.”
He crouches in front of me. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
I squint at him. “When your legs don’t work like they used to before…” I point at him dramatically. “…it’s an Ed Sheeran song. I think he wrote it about his grandmother.”
Logan laughs. “I don’t think that’s right.”
“I’m pretty sure.”
He shakes his head, still smiling. “Come here.”
Before I can protest, he slips one arm behind my back and the other beneath my knees. He lifts me effortlessly.
I let out a tiny yelp before instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck. “…You’re strong.”
“I play hockey.”
“Fair.”
He carries me through the crowd as if I weigh nothing.
On the way out, Garrett notices us.
Logan nods toward me. “I’m taking her home.”
Garrett glances between us before answering, “Take her to our place. I’m bringing Allie and Hannah there.”
Logan nods. “Got it.”
Then he adjusts his grip slightly and keeps walking toward the door.
As he carries me toward his truck, I sigh dramatically.
“The last time someone tried to carry me…”
He glances down.
“…we both fell.”
He smiles. “Well, we won’t fall right now. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not.”
For a moment, I just look at him.
He catches me staring. “What?”
I keep studying his face with complete seriousness. “You’re very pretty.”
He laughs. “Am I?”
“Mm-hm.”
He unlocks the truck and carefully sets me down in the passenger seat. I settle in immediately, suddenly feeling very sleepy.
He walks around to the driver’s side. Before climbing in, he reaches over and pulls my seatbelt across me, clicking it into place. Then he buckles his own.
As he starts the engine, I look out through the windshield. “Do you think cars can feel how much we take care of them?”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”
I smile at that. “I forgot… I’m talking to a mechanic.”
He chuckles as he pulls out of the parking lot. “I thought you had a photographic memory.”
I crack one eye open. “I do.” I yawn. “You’re just… a lot of things.”
He laughs quietly. “I’ll take that.”
I hum in response, close my eyes again, and rest my head against the cool window as the truck rolls into the night.
I fall asleep somewhere along the drive.
The next thing I know, someone is gently shaking my shoulder.
I blink. “Are we there yet?” I whisper.
“Yeah.” Logan smiles.
He reaches over, clearly about to pick me up again, but I stop him. “I can walk…” I pause, considering it. “…I think.”
He raises an eyebrow but steps back anyway.
I hop out of the truck. So far, so good.
I take a few steps toward the house. Then I stop at the bottom of the staircase. I stare at it.
Logan notices. “You good?”
I keep staring. “…Is the Earth moving?”
He looks at me, trying not to laugh.
“I mean…” I continue seriously, “…it does move, but humans aren’t supposed to feel it.”
He finally laughs. “I think that’s enough walking for tonight.”
Before I can object, he scoops me up again.
I sigh dramatically. “…Sorry.”
“For what?”
I don’t answer.
Instead, I look around as he carries me inside.
The house is strangely quiet. Without music, shouting, or half the hockey team running around… It almost feels peaceful.
He carries me upstairs and nudges his bedroom door open with his shoulder. “You sleepy?”
I answer immediately. “No.”
He nods like he expected that answer. “Right.”
He sets me down on the edge of his bed.
I look around his room.
A guitar leans against one wall. His hockey gear is neatly stacked in the corner. There are toolkits and spare parts spread across his desk beside a laptop.
Then my eyes land on a small rubber duck. It’s wearing tiny sunglasses. Next to it sits a box of condoms.
I blink then I look at the duck. Then at Logan. “…Really?”
He follows my gaze. “Oh.” He laughs.
I roll my eyes. “Your duck has terrible taste in roommates.”
I slide off the edge of his bed and settle onto the floor. Logan looks down at me.
“You can sleep.”
“I don’t think I’ll sleep anytime soon.”
“I’m not sleepy.”
I nod, accepting that answer.
Silence settles between us.
Then, very seriously, I announce, “…I’m craving cookies.”
He smiles. “Cookies?”
“Fresh ones.”
“…Right now?”
I look at him as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Right now.”
He laughs through his nose. “…Okay.”
He stands up and offers me a hand. “Come on.”
I take it.
He waits to see if I can actually walk.
“I can.”
I take two successful steps. On the third, I drift slightly to the left.
Without saying a word, his hand finds my elbow to steady me.
“I was correcting my trajectory.”
“I’m sure.”
He keeps a hand hovering behind my back as we make our way downstairs.
The house is quiet. No shouting. No music. Just the creaking of the stairs beneath our feet.
The kitchen light flicks on. I immediately start opening cabinets.
Logan watches me in amusement. “You know where everything is?”
“I know where kitchens usually hide things.”
Within a minute I’ve found flour, sugar, baking powder, vanilla, butter and chocolate chips.
I place everything neatly on the counter.
Logan folds his arms. “…You look like you’ve done this before.”
I look at him. “I worked in my mom’ s bakery as a cashier every summer, but I’ve probably baked more cookies than I’ve studied for finals.”
He laughs. “So you’re actually making them.”
“I’m absolutely making them.”
I wash my hands, tie my hair into a bun, then look around. “Where’s your mixing bowl?”
He points to a cabinet.
“And your baking trays?”
“Bottom drawer.”
I nod approvingly. “You have an organized kitchen.”
“I like fixing things.”
“That tracks.”
He leans against the counter while I soften the butter. “You bake when you’re drunk?”
“I bake when I’m stressed. When I’m happy. When I’m bored. When someone breaks my heart.” I shrug. “…Tonight I’m baking because I wanted cookies.”
“Fair.”
He watches me cream the butter and sugar together with practiced movements. “You make it look easy.”
“It is.”
I crack an egg one-handed into the bowl.
He notices. “…Show-off.”
I grin without looking up. “I know.”
A few minutes later the dough comes together. I steal a spoonful.
Logan immediately points at me. “I thought bakers weren’t supposed to eat raw dough.”
I freeze with the spoon halfway to my mouth. “…That’s a guideline.”
He laughs.
I pop it into my mouth anyway. “It’s quality control. I have to make sure I don’t poison your entire hockey house.”
He shakes his head, smiling. “I can’t believe you convinced me that making cookies in the middle of the night was a normal idea.”
I look at him, completely serious. “It is.”
Then I hand him the bowl. “Hold this.”
He does. Without questioning it.
While the cookies bake, the kitchen slowly fills with the smell of butter and chocolate.
I lean against the counter, watching the oven through the glass like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.
The front door opens. I turn around.
Allie walks in first, followed by Dean.
She looks considerably more sober than she did an hour ago.
The moment I see her, I beam. “I made cookies!” I throw my arms around her.
She laughs, hugging me back “…And you’re drunk.”
I roll my eyes dramatically. “Details.”
I pull back, looking at her carefully. “This was supposed to be a fun night for you.”
I have to focus very hard on standing still because the floor has suddenly remembered it enjoys moving. “Are you okay?”
She smiles. “Yeah. Thank you for tonight.”
She hugs me again. “It helped.”
I smile into her shoulder before wandering back toward the oven.
The timer dings.
I put on the oven mitts with far too much concentration and pull the trays out.
“Beautiful…” I whisper proudly.
I leave them on the counter to cool.
As I’m reaching for a plate, Dean casually reaches for one.
I smack his hand away without even looking. “No. They’re cooling. They’re emotionally unavailable.”
He stares at me. “…Emotionally unavailable?”
“Yes. They need space.”
Dean slowly withdraws his hand. “…Okay.”
Allie bursts out laughing.
I begin transferring the cookies onto a plate. “You know… I never liked Sean.”
Allie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?” She folds her arms. “Is that so? What else are you hiding?”
I keep arranging the cookies with great care.
“One… He’s dismissive. Two… He’s boring, and I’m saying that as someone who has fun studying so that’s saying something.”
Dean snorts.
I continue counting on my fingers. “Three, he doesn’t know how to handle you. Four, he’s an idiot. Five, did I mention he’s boring?”
Allie is already laughing so hard she’s leaning against the counter.
“Six, he’s one of those guys who thinks being nice is some kind of reward. It’s performative. Seven, he doesn’t take care of his car.”
Logan looks personally offended. “…That’s a valid criticism.”
I nod solemnly. “Very.”
“Eight, his shoes were weird.”
Allie wipes tears from the corners of her eyes. “You’ve been judging his shoes this whole time?”
“I judge everyone’s shoes.”
“Yours are acceptable.” I point at Dean.
Dean looks absurdly proud of that.
I point a finger at Allie. “And nine… You can absolutely have the life you want without some loser nagging in your ear.”
The kitchen falls quiet for a second.
Then Allie walks over and hugs me again. “…Thank you.”
I hug her back. “You’re welcome.”
Behind us, Dean quietly steals a cookie.
I don’t even turn around. “…Dean.”
He freezes.
“…Put it back.”
“…How did you know?”
“I have baker senses.”
Grumbling dramatically, he sets the cookie back on the plate.
When the cookies finally cool, I pick one up and hand it to Dean first He’s been circling the plate for the past ten minutes like a lost puppy. “There.”
He beams. “I knew you loved me.”
“I tolerate you.”
“I’ll take it.” He immediately takes a huge bite. His eyes widen. “…Holy shit.” He points the cookie at me. “These are amazing.”
He takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully. Then his expression changes. “…Wait.” He looks down at the cookie. “…These taste familiar.”
I take one for myself. “Because you’ve already had them.”
He frowns. “I have?”
I nod. “The first week of freshman year. I was baking cookies for you, but our oven broke. So I just brought you stuff from the bakery instead.”
Silence.
Dean slowly lowers the cookie. “…Hold on.”
His eyes dart between me and the plate. “You’re telling me… you were the secret baked-goods person?”
I blink. “…Was it a secret?”
Dean looks at Logan. “It was a mystery for months!”
Logan laughs. “I remember you trying to figure out who kept leaving you desserts. You accused half the campus.”
“I had suspects!” Dean defends himself. “I even thought it was one of the cafeteria workers.”
Allie turns to me, completely bewildered. “You baked him cookies?”
I shrug. “Yeah.”
“But…why?”
I answer like it’s obvious. “He saved me from seeing everyone’s penises on my second day here.”
Dean blinks. “…Excuse me?”
“I got pranked. I accidentally walked into your locker room. You covered me with your hands.”
He squints, searching his memory. “…That happened?”
I nod. “You don’t remember?”
“I mean…” He scratches the back of his neck. “A lot of freshmen got pranked like that. I just… I guess I never thought about it again.”
“I did.” I say simply.
Dean smiles to himself. “…That’s actually really nice.”
While chewing my cookie, I suddenly remember something. “Oh.”
I pull out my phone. I type something into my reminders. Lock the screen. Put it away.
Allie narrows her eyes. “…What did you just do?”
“A reminder. For tomorrow.”
“…For what?”
“To put glitter in his shampoo.”
The kitchen goes silent.
All three of them stare at me. “…What?”
I look back at them. “The guy who pranked me. I’ve been inconveniencing his life ever since.”
I walk over to the sink and start washing the mixing bowls.
Behind me, Logan laughs. “…You’re the Ghost of Briar.”
I glance over my shoulder. “…Is that what I’m called?”
He nods, still laughing. “The guy’s been complaining all year that someone keeps messing with him. He swore he was being haunted.”
Dean starts laughing too. “…That was you?”
I shrug. “I wouldn’t say haunted.” I rinse another bowl. “…More like consistently inconvenienced.”
Allie bursts into laughter. “You’ve been running a silent revenge campaign for over a year? I told you, you have a double life.”
“He started it.” I answer matter-of-factly.
Logan wipes a hand over his face, still smiling. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so calm while admitting to psychological warfare.”
I point the wooden spoon at him. “It wasn’t psychological warfare. It was accountability.”
Dean nods solemnly. “I respect the commitment.”
I smile to myself and go back to washing the dishes.
-----
We head back upstairs, each of us carrying a couple of cookies.
By the time we get to his room, I look down at myself.
My clothes are covered in flour. I sigh. “I look like I lost a fight with a bakery.”
Logan laughs and opens his closet. “Here.”
He tosses me one of his Briar jerseys. “You can wear this.”
I change into it in the bathroom across the hall.
When I come back, the jersey hangs past my thighs, the sleeves swallowing my hands. I look down at it. “…Comfortable.”
“It suits you.”
I ignore that before sitting cross-legged on the floor.
Logan shakes his head with a smile. “You really like the floor.”
Then he sits beside me anyway.
For a while, neither of us speaks. We just eat cookies.
Eventually he breaks the silence. “When did you start liking floors?”
I look over at him. “I think… kindergarten.”
He waits.
“Everyone looked so much bigger than me, and scarier. I was tiny.”
“I’d be walking somewhere and someone would push me.” I shrug. “My sister used to find me coming home with bruises, sometimes a bloody nose.”
He doesn’t interrupt.
“So I started liking the floor. It couldn’t push me.” I smile faintly. “Then whenever we had guests over… I’d hide under the dining table.” I laugh quietly. “My mom always knew where I was. She’d just tell people… ‘Leave her there.’”
Logan smiles.
“As a teenager… I liked our bathroom floor.” My chewing slows. I stare at the cookie in my hands for a moment before looking away.
My eyes land on the guitar resting against his wall. “You play?”
He follows my gaze. “I used to.”
I look back at him. “…That’s a sad sentence.”
He lets out a quiet laugh. “…Yeah. I guess it is.”
He reaches over absentmindedly and runs his fingers across the strings.
A soft chord hums through the room. “I got busy. Hockey. Classes. Life.”
I nod. “Life steals hobbies.”
“It does.”
The room falls quiet again. Neither of us seems in a hurry to fill the silence.
I finish my cookie, then quietly lie down on the floor, turning my back to him.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I frown as if he’s asked the most ridiculous question imaginable. “Sleep.”
I tuck one arm beneath my head. “It’s a floor. It knows what it’s doing.”
He laughs under his breath. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m sleepy.”
Within thirty seconds… I’m completely out.
Logan looks over at me.
The oversized Briar jersey has ridden up slightly around my knees, the large 22 Logan stretched across my back.
He smiles to himself. “…Guess the floor won.”
He grabs a spare blanket from the closet and quietly drapes it over me before turning off the lamp.
--------------------
A gentle knock against the doorframe wakes me. Not all at once.
Just enough for me to hear a voice. “Insaf.”
I blink, still half asleep.
Logan is already dressed for the day. Jeans. Work boots. A dark hoodie with a jacket thrown over it.
His curls are still damp, like he showered in a hurry.
He looks tired. Not hungover. Just… weighed down.
His keys jingle softly in one hand. “Morning.”
I push myself up onto one elbow. “…Morning.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve got to head out. My brother asked me to cover his shift at the garage.”
I nod, my brain still waking up. “Okay.”
He studies me for a second, almost checking whether I’m fully conscious.
On the bedside table, he’s already placed a bottle of water and two painkillers. “In case you wake up with a headache.”
I follow his gaze to the table.
“You don’t have to take them, but they’re there.”
I look back at him and give him a sleepy nod. “…Thanks.”
He lingers for a second, as if he wants to say something else.
Instead, he simply says, “Get some more sleep.” Then he’s gone.
A few seconds later, I hear the front door close.
The house falls quiet again.
I pull the blanket a little higher over my shoulders, staring sleepily at the bottle of water beside the bed before closing my eyes for a few more minutes.
warning: a heavy chapter, vomiting. might have butchered hockey terms, panic attack. alcohol.
word count: 4.7k words
chapter 4<< >>chapter 6
masterlist
The following week, I cancel my November 7th appointment with Dr. Carter.
As much as I don’t believe in superstitions, this date somehow managed to wrap itself around my nervous system years ago.
Every year, it feels like the coldest day of my life, because of the whiplash it brings.
So, before it arrives, I do what I know best. I bury myself.
Double shifts at Malone’s. Cake orders. Assignments.
Anything that leaves me too exhausted to think.
If I’m calculating citations or frosting another cake at one in the morning, then I don’t have to remember what day it is.
The only things occupying my mind are deadlines, and how much I suddenly hate the feeling of clothes against my skin.
As if I’m wearing a meat suit instead of my own body.
----------------
I run into Logan every now and then.
Mostly because Hannah has started spending more time with the hockey team.
She’s actually talking to Justin now.
Every time Logan and I cross paths, we exchange the same thing. A polite smile. A nod, that's it.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m a good friend.
Lately, the only person I really feel useful to is Carmen. We spend hours together in the library. She asks questions. I explain whatever she’s struggling with.
It’s easy.
Something is wrong with Hannah. I can tell.
She’s putting too much pressure on herself over the pop competition.
I want to ask how she’s doing. I want to ask about Garrett. About Justin.
Instead, I don’t. The words never leave my mouth, and somehow, that makes me feel even worse.
As for Allie…
She’s become very vocal about being sexually frustrated. Apparently she wants to “try something new” with Sean. I know this only because she announces it every time I see her. I’ve stopped reacting.
She seems disappointed every single time.
-------------------
November 7th
The girls practically force me to go to tonight’s hockey game.
Their argument is simple. “You never hang out with us anymore.”
They’re right. I don’t really know what else to do today anyway. So I agree.
-------
I have a shift at Malone’s first.
I’m exhausted. The kind of exhausted where every sound feels too loud and every question feels like an accusation.
I barely slept.
The date alone is enough to leave every nerve in my body on edge.
I keep telling myself to breathe. Smile. Take the orders. Pour the coffee. One hour at a time.
When I step out onto the floor, I immediately recognize Garrett. He’s sitting in one of the booths. Across from him… His father. Phil Graham.
I walk over with my notebook. “Hi.”
Garrett gives me half a smile. “Hey.”
Phil Graham offers me a polished, picture-perfect smile. The kind that’s practiced. The kind that never quite reaches the eyes. The kind that sends shivers down my spine.
They order two coffees.
As I nod, I can almost feel the tension sitting between them.
When I walk away, I glance back once. Garrett’s shoulders are rigid. His jaw is clenched.
Throughout my shift, I keep catching glimpses of them. Phil speaks calmly. Always smiling. Even nodding politely whenever someone recognizes him.
Garrett never touches his coffee. Phil keeps smiling as though they're having a pleasant conversation. Garrett's jaw never unclenches. When Phil leans forward, Garrett instinctively leans back.
Then, suddenly— He pushes his chair back. Stands, and walks out of Malone’s without another word.
Phil remains seated. He takes another sip of his coffee. Smiling.
----------
When my shift ends, I head home.
I spend almost an hour in the shower. The water is hot enough to fog the entire bathroom.
When I finally step out, I don’t get dressed. I sit on the edge of my bed with nothing but a towel wrapped around me.
Staring. Not at anything. As if the floor can feel how empty i am and is waiting to swallow me whole.
Minutes pass. Eventually I stand.
I pull on a pair of jeans. A fitted long-sleeved shirt.
I reach automatically for one of my hoodies. My hand stops.
I look at the pile. For the first time in years… I don’t put one on.
I leave them where they are.
Today, I feel like burning every single one of them.
-------------
We make our way to the hockey arena.
It’s packed.
Sean came with us, somehow carrying enough snacks to feed half our row.
Before we find our seats, I spot Quinn a few sections away. I lift my hand. She smiles and waves back.
----------
The game starts.
Something feels… off. Not because Briar is playing badly.
Because Garrett is. Not badly. Differently.
He’s refusing passes. Keeping the puck too long.
Trying to carry every play himself instead of trusting his teammates.
Whenever someone skates into position for a pass, Garrett ignores them and tries to force his way through the defense alone.
It doesn’t work.
The chemistry on the ice falls apart.
“They’re not communicating,” Sean mutters.
“No…” Hannah says quietly, her eyes fixed on Garrett. “They’re trying to. He isn’t.”
By the end of the first period, Briar is trailing. The buzzer sounds. The team heads toward the locker room.
Hannah stands immediately. “I’ll be right back.”
None of us asks where she’s going. We already know.
--------------
While she’s gone, the conversation drifts around me.
I barely hear it. The arena lights are too bright.
For a second, they remind me of another gym. Another court. Another version of myself.
I shut the thought down before it can go any further. Not today.
--------------
Hannah returns just before the second period begins. She doesn’t say a word. She just sits down.
The puck drops.
Almost immediately… Garrett passes. A simple pass. Then another.
I don't know what Hannah said. Whatever it was, it worked.
He starts trusting the people around him. The rest of the team responds instantly.
Everything begins clicking. The defense tightens. The transitions become cleaner. The energy shifts.
“They’re finally playing as a team,” Sean says.
A few shifts later, Garrett steals the puck near center ice and immediately sends it to Dean instead of trying to skate through three defenders himself.
Dean carries it into the offensive zone before dropping it back to Tucker.
Tucker barely holds it for a second. He sees Logan cutting through the slot. The pass lands perfectly on his stick.
Logan winds up. One clean slap shot.
The puck whistles past the goalie’s glove. The goal light flashes. The horn echoes through the arena.
The entire place erupts.
Without thinking, I jump to my feet. “Let’s go!” I’m clapping before I even realize I stood up.
Logan disappears beneath a pile of celebrating teammates.
For just a second, as they skate toward the bench, he glances toward the stands. Our eyes meet. Then he’s gone again.
Allie is practically losing her mind beside me. “I KNEW THEY’D FIGURE IT OUT!”
The scoreboard is tied.
--------------
The third period feels different. Confident.
Every player trusts the next one. Garrett looks lighter somehow.
Near the end of the game, Dean wins a battle along the boards and feeds Garrett through the neutral zone.
Instead of hesitating, Garrett skates straight into open ice. One defender. Then another.
He slips between them before snapping a wrist shot over the goalie’s shoulder.
Goal.
The arena explodes. The final minutes disappear in a blur. When the buzzer sounds, Briar has completed the comeback.
Everyone around us is already talking about the celebration at the hockey house.
Before heading there, we wait outside the arena for the team.
The first player to come out is Garrett. His father is already waiting for him.
The moment Garrett gets close enough, Phil smiles. “You did great today.”
Garrett looks at him, surprised.
Phil continues as if he’s giving a compliment. “Although you only became a captain this year… better late than never.”
Garrett’s brows knit together. “I’m a sophomore.”
Phil’s smile falters for the briefest second.
It wasn't encouragement. It was a reminder he'd never be enough.
Before he can answer, the words slip out of my mouth. “…What a dick.” Not loudly. Just loud enough. Garrett hears it. Phil definitely hears it.
Garrett presses his lips together, trying to hide the smile threatening to appear.
Phil simply clears his throat and walks away. Garrett watches him leave before shaking his head to himself.
-----------
A few minutes later, the rest of the team pours out of the arena. Still laughing. Still riding the high of the comeback.
I spot Logan first. I walk over. “Congratulations.”
His face immediately lights up. “Thanks.”
Before either of us thinks about it, he wraps me in a hug. Strong enough that my feet actually leave the ground. I let out a startled yelp before laughing.
He laughs too. Then quickly sets me back down. “…Sorry. Adrenaline rush.”
I smooth my jacket. “Understandable.”
For just a second… His hands linger around my waist. Then, as if he suddenly realises it, he lets go and takes a small step back.
Neither of us says anything about it.
Across the parking lot, Dean throws both arms into the air. “Enough standing around! Let’s go celebrate!”
-------------
The party is already in full swing by the time we arrive.
Music spills out onto the porch. People are everywhere.
I spot Quinn first. I make my way over. “Hey.”
She smiles. “Hey.”
“Any updates with… your ex-girlfriend?”
She groans dramatically. “Oh, I have a lot to tell you.”
I laugh. “I think we still owe each other that friendship date.”
She smirks. “That’s a very fancy way of saying therapy session.”
“It really is.”
We both laugh.
“I’ll text you,” she says.
“You better.”
---------
I wander back inside.
That’s when I spot Garrett and Hannah standing together in the kitchen. They’re talking quietly. Neither of them notices me approaching.
Garrett rubs the back of his neck. “So… Are you still upset about losing the scholarship?”
My feet stop.
Hannah sighs. “No.” A pause. “I mean… That’s why I need to win the competition. I’ll be okay.”
She takes a sip from the unopened can she’d just cracked open. “What about you? Still terrified about your philosophy presentation?”
Garrett laughs.
The rest of the conversation fades into the background. I don’t hear it anymore. I don’t want to.
They knew each other's lives.
I didn't.
I slowly turn around before either of them notices me, and walk back outside.
-----------
I feel sick. Because I never asked.
I was so absorbed in my own head that I never stopped to think maybe my friends were drowning too.
Shame wraps around me like an old childhood blanket.
-----------
I find Logan standing alone on the porch. A cigarette rests between his lips.
Without thinking, I walk up to him. Take it from his mouth. And place it between mine.
He lets out a quiet laugh. His eyes linger on my lips. “…Getting bold, gorgeous?”
I don’t answer. I take one drag before letting the smoke escape slowly.
He watches me for a second. Then asks quietly, “So… Since I couldn’t ask why you smoked the last few times… Can I ask why now?”
I glance sideways at him. “What about you? Why are you smoking?”
He shrugs. “Mine’s simple. I’m still pissed about Garrett’s first period.”
I nod absentmindedly.
He waits. Patiently. For my answer.
"You okay?" Ha asks.
"No."
"Want to tell me?"
"...Not really."
I watch the smoke disappear into the cold air. Hearing muffled sounds from inside the house.
The porch door opens. Hannah.
She wrinkles her nose immediately. “I thought I told you smoking was a disgusting habit.” She stops.
Her eyes move from Logan… To the cigarette between my fingers. “…You smoke?”
“Yeah.” The word comes out flat. Cold.
Logan looks at me. He notices the shift immediately.
As if today… As if November 7th itself… Had reached inside me and flipped a switch.
Hannah’s expression changes too.
I flick the cigarette onto the ground. Crush it beneath my shoe.
A second later, Garrett steps onto the porch. He immediately senses the tension.
Nobody speaks. Until I do. “You lost your scholarship.”
Logan glances between the two of us, immediately realizing this conversation started long before he walked onto the porch.
Hannah’s eyes widen. “I—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She stares at me. “And do what, Insaf? It’s not anyone else’s responsibility. You’re an international student. You already have enough.”
“With a full scholarship.” My voice rises despite myself. “You know I paid my dad’s debts this summer. You know I don’t need to keep working.”
“That wouldn’t be fair.”
“To who?” I ask.
She looks straight at me. “You.”
Silence.
Then I whisper, “You’re my friend. I could’ve helped.”
Her eyebrows pull together. “I don’t want to be anyone’s burden. How could I burden you with something like this when you’re already drowning?”
I ignore the last sentence. “What use am I if I can’t help you?” The words leave my mouth louder than I intended.
She takes one step toward me. “And you’re standing here telling me not to call it a burden while you’re doing the exact same thing.” Her voice shakes. “Don’t you think I’ve noticed how you’ve been acting this past week?”
Neither of us speaks. The music from inside swallows almost all of our shouting. Almost. But not enough. Garrett hears every word. So does Logan.
I turn around, and walk. I don’t know where. Just away.
----------
The cold hits me immediately.
The further I get from the house, the quieter everything becomes.
Then my mind starts catching up. The bright lights of the basketball gym. A familiar pair of kind eyes. Fragments. Pieces.
My breathing becomes uneven. In. Out. In— Out—
The air is so cold it almost feels like snow, but all I can feel is my heart somewhere in my stomach the overwhelming urge to scrub my skin clean. To disappear out of it.
I don’t cry. I just keep walking.
One thought looping over and over. You’re a horrible friend.
Footsteps echo behind me. Fast. Someone’s running. I don’t turn around. I already know who it is.
Logan.
-------
I hear him stop a few feet behind me. Neither of us speaks for a moment.
Still trying to catch my breath, I force out a weak smile. “We really have to stop meeting like this.” I let out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh.
He doesn’t laugh. He just looks at me.
“Why are you here?”
“Because I can.”
I blink at him, confused.
Before I can say anything else, a snowflake lands on the sleeve of my shirt. Then another. Then another.
I stare upward. “…Snow.”
The word barely leaves my mouth before my stomach turns violently. I don’t even think. I rush toward the nearest patch of bushes.
The nausea wins. I throw up. Again, and again. Nothing is left.
My stomach is empty, but it keeps trying.
Behind me, Logan quietly gathers my hair away from my face. He doesn’t say anything. He just keeps it out of the way.
Another wave hits. My knees finally give out.
The world tilts.
Before I hit the frozen ground, an arm catches me.
“I got you.” His voice is so calm it almost hurts.
I stay there, shaking. One arm around my waist keeping me upright. His other hand absentmindedly rubs slow circles over my shoulder.
Neither of us speaks. Gradually, my breathing begins to settle.
When it finally does, I pull away almost immediately. I can’t look at him. The embarrassment burns hotter than the cold. “…Thank you.” I turn to leave.
His fingers gently wrap around my wrist. Not tight. Just enough to stop me. Without another word, he starts walking.
“Logan… What are you doing?”
“It’s cold.” That’s all he says. He leads me toward his truck.
This time, I don’t argue.
-----
The heater hums softly inside the cab.
Outside, snow falls in slow, lazy flakes I watch them gather against the windshield.
After a long silence, I speak, “Last year… I saw snow on the beach for the first time.”
He glances at me.
“Back home. It never snows there. But the first winter after I came here… I went back… And it snowed.”
He lets the silence sit between us. Then asks quietly, “Is that when you first started feeling the cold?”
I turn toward him.
He’s already looking at me. Holding my gaze.
“No.” I look back out at the snow. “…But that’s when it got worse.”
We stay quiet, watching the snow.
Then he asks, "Can i ask you something completely unrelated?"
"Yes, please."
He stays quiet for a while, still watching me. Then he asks softly, “When did you first start dancing?”
I glance at him before smiling. “Since I started walking.”
His eyebrows lift. “Really?”
“Yeah.” I laugh to myself. “I had a speech delay. Music was kind of… my language. As I got older, I became painfully shy.”
I look out at the snow again.
“I was probably five. It was my aunt’s wedding. My mom was stressed out trying to make everything perfect for her sister. The music was playing, but nobody was dancing. They were all busy looking at each other’s traditional outfits… checking who was wearing gold.”
I shake my head, smiling at the memory.
“And I remember thinking… ‘Man, that’s such a waste of good music.’ So I got up… and danced in front of everyone.”
He laughs. “You just decided that?”
“I did. I couldn’t understand why nobody else was.”
He smiles, resting his elbow against the steering wheel.
“So how did that turn into competitive dancing?”
“My dad thought he’d found a cheat code. A way to let me be…” I search for the word. “…ruthless.” I smile. “At first, he put me in karate.”
His eyebrows rise. “Karate?”
I nod. “I knew all the techniques. I just didn’t have the passion to actually use them. So…”
He laughs. “You know martial arts?”
“I guess.” I shrug with a small laugh. “Enough to surprise someone.”
A comfortable silence settles between us.
Then I look at him. “What about you? What made you start playing hockey?”
A small smile appears on his face. “There was a lake outside our town. It froze every winter. When I was little, it felt enormous.” He chuckles. “I’m sure it’d look tiny now. My friends and I used to skate there whenever we could.”
He looks through the windshield as if he’s seeing it again. “Then I got into a foundation that helped cover equipment. Eventually… I got scouted.”
I smile. “Do you enjoy it?”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “I do, yeah.” His answer is simple. Certain.
----------
“Let’s get you home.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. You can go back to the party. I’ll figure out how to get home.”
He glances at me before starting the truck. “No.”
I sigh. “Seriously. Tonight is literally about your win. You should be celebrating.”
He pulls out of the parking space. “I celebrated enough.” He shrugs. “Besides…” A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “If I’d stayed any longer, I probably would’ve found Graham and bitched at him for twenty minutes about his privilege, and how he almost cost us the game, and ruin everybody else’s night.”
Despite everything, I let out a quiet laugh. “I believe you.”
Silence settles over the cab.
The snow has already stopped, leaving the roads shining beneath the streetlights. I rest my head against the window, watching them blur past.
After a few minutes, I notice the truck turning. I straighten slightly. “…That isn’t the way to my apartment.”
“It isn’t.”
I look at him.
“We’re getting you something to eat first.”
I frown. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’ve thrown up twice tonight.” He keeps his eyes on the road. “And the last time I saw you eat was at the campus mixer.”
I open my mouth to argue. Nothing comes out.
He notices. “I thought so.”
A few minutes later, he pulls into the parking lot of a small twenty-four-hour diner. The neon sign flickers softly against the dark.
He parks the truck and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Come on. I’ll buy you dinner.”
“I can pay for myself.”
“I know.” He smiles. “I’m still buying.”
---------
We slide into a booth near the window.
The diner is almost empty. Just an older couple in the corner and a waitress wiping down the counter.
Logan grabs the menu for all of five seconds. “I’ll have the burger with fries.” He looks at me. “The same?”
I nod. “The same.”
“And…” He looks back at the waitress. “A vanilla milkshake.” He points at me without looking. “And a chocolate one for her.”
The waitress smiles, writes it down, and walks away.
I raise an eyebrow. “You remembered.”
He smiles. “I know you love chocolate.”
A smile slips onto my face before I can stop it.
“Kind of hard to forget."
He takes off his jacket and hangs it over the back of the booth.
As his hoodie shifts, I catch the purple and yellow bruising blooming across his chest and shoulder.
He notices where I’m looking. “It comes with the job.”
I snort. “You hockey people always use the same excuse.”
“Hockey people?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Allie’s terminology has found its way into my vocabulary.”
He laughs.
Then I nod toward the bruise. “If you ever need help… I know how to patch people up.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I have an older brother. He used to come home covered in bruises after playing rough with his friends. So I got pretty good at it. And I was ridiculously clumsy. My older sister usually had to patch me up.”
He smiles. “‘Usually?’”
“Well…” I laugh to myself. “The last time i was clumsy, was when Hannah tried teaching me how to ride a bike. I fell. A lot. I even rode straight into a bush.”
He laughs. “I wish I’d seen that.”
“I don’t.”
The smile fades a little as I realise I’d mentioned Hannah. The conversation quiets again.
Thankfully, the waitress returns before either of us has to fill the silence. She sets our burgers down, followed by the milkshakes.
The smell alone reminds me how hungry I actually am.
Without thinking, I grab a fry. Then another. Then another. I finish every single fry before even touching my burger. Only then do I unwrap it.
Halfway through my chocolate milkshake, I notice Logan watching me. “What?”
He points at my empty basket. “Did you just eat the fries… before the burger?”
I laugh. “Yeah. My sister hates that I do that.”
He shakes his head dramatically. “That’s exactly how a psychopath eats.”
I take another sip of my milkshake. “Statistically… I’m still less likely to be a psychopath than you.”
He looks offended. “Excuse me? How?”
“You’re a man.”
He stares at me for a beat. Then nods once. “…Fair enough.”
I laugh at that.
--------------
He drives me back to the apartment.
This time, instead of waiting in the truck, he gets out and walks me to the front door.
We stop just outside the entrance.
I turn toward him. “Thank you.”
He tilts his head.
“For the food.” I smile softly. “…For everything.”
His expression softens. “You’re welcome, gorgeous.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “Goodnight, John."
He stills. Like the name catches him off guard. It’s the first time I’ve ever called him that.
Until now, he’d only ever been Logan. A slow smile spreads across his face. “Goodnight, Insaf.”
I return the smile before turning toward the building.
When I unlock the front door, I glance back once. He’s still standing where I left him.
Only after I step inside does he finally turn around and head back to his truck.
---------------
The apartment is quiet. Too quiet.
Allie’s bedroom door is closed. So is Hannah’s. They’re home. Already asleep.
I kick off my shoes as quietly as I can and make my way down the hallway.
For the first time all day, I don’t feel like running from the silence. I simply close my bedroom door behind me.
---------------------------
The next morning, I wake up with the same heavy feeling sitting in my chest.
The fight with Hannah. I rarely argue with my friends. Out of everyone, I never imagined it would be her.
I sigh and drag myself out of bed.
The apartment is empty. Their morning classes. Great.
I get dressed and head to my shift at Malone’s.
-----------
By noon, just as my shift ends, my phone buzzes.
Allie: Can you guys be home?
I answer immediately.
Me: Be there.
------------
When I walk into the apartment, I find Hannah and Allie sitting in the living room.
Allie is crying.
The moment she sees me, she says, “I broke up with Sean.”
I don’t think. I cross the room and hug her. “What happened?”
She wipes at her eyes. “I told him I got an agent.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
“And he kept saying he thought we’d move back to Vermont. That he’d take over his dad’s insurance company. And somehow… I’d outgrow my childhood dream.”
I pull back just enough to look at her. “…What a dick.”
Both Hannah and Allie stare at me.
I blink. “What? You should both be grateful I keep most of my opinions to myself.”
A laugh escapes Hannah despite herself. Then she turns back to Allie. “Are you kidding me? You let me spend weeks stressing over a song…and you got an agent? That’s incredible!”
Allie laughs through her tears. “It is, right? I should be happy.”
“You should,” Hannah says firmly.
The three of us fall into another hug.
When we finally pull away… The room grows quiet.
Hannah and I accidentally meet each other’s eyes. Then immediately look away.
I clear my throat. “…I’m sorry.”
She looks back at me. “So am I. I shouldn’t have hidden it from you. I wasn’t trying to push you away. I just… didn’t want you to carry something else because of me.”
I nod slowly. “I know. I wasn’t angry because you lost the scholarship. I was angry because…” I look down at my hands. “…I didn’t notice. I was so caught up in myself that my best friend was struggling and I never even asked.”
I love the depth of your writing and how you are making it a slow burn. Not rushing things just letting them develop as it goes. Can't wait to read more about her and Logan tho <3
Im so happy you’re enjoying this and I’m excited too <333
I love that you chose the name Insaf - meaning justice (thats what im guessing it means, thats what it means in punjabi) - was there a reason why you chose this name for her?
really enjoying lilac and ice, dying for more logan x insaf moments, loving the slow burn though
It has the same meaning in Arabic too!
The idea behind her name is that she’s fair to everyone except herself. There’s also a cultural layer to it. In Morocco, Insaf is an Arabic name, but my character is Amazigh, not Arab. Historically, many predominantly Amazigh regions in Morocco—including Al Hoceima—went through periods of Arabisation, and there were times when Amazigh families were pressured or even prevented from giving their children non-Arabic names.
So I intentionally gave her an Arabic name rather than an Amazigh one. Symbolically, it represents something that was placed upon her before she had any choice in the matter. Her sense of fairness wasn’t something she consciously adopted—it was engraved into her from the beginning, to the point where she extends compassion and justice to everyone but herself.
I'm absolutely enraptured by your writing! I love Insaf so much and I'm so excited to see where this story goes. It's so well written, I'm hooked and I just want you to unload it all so that I can finally know her story.
I love it I love it I loveeeee it!!! <3
you have no idea how much this means to me :((( thank you so much
warning: heavy talk about sexual abuse, drinking, talks of coercion, shame. this is a heavy chapter
Author's note: we are getting into the canon babyyyy. and you guys can comment if you want to be added to my taglist whenevr i update a chapter.
word count: 7.8k words.
chapter 3<< >>chapter 5
masterlist
Every October, Briar throws the Campus Mixer.
Their logic is simple: get everyone to socialize before November arrives with assignments, midterms, and the slow descent into final exams.
Which, according to Allie, means we have to go. “Maybe you’ll meet someone normal this time.” She winces. “…And hook up with them.” She still feels guilty about the Josh incident.
I refuse to acknowledge that the Josh incident ever happened.
Hannah snorts into her coffee.
Allie points at her. “And you’re coming because Justin will be there.”
Hannah immediately shakes her head. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“You’ve been crushing on him for months.”
“I have not.”
“You absolutely have.” Eventually, Allie wins. She usually does.
So the five of us—me, Hannah, Allie, Sean and Dexter—walk over together.
The mixer is set up outside. Strings of lights hang between trees. A small stage hosts a local band. Food trucks line one side of the field. Students are everywhere. Justin’s band isn’t playing tonight. He’s somewhere in the crowd instead.
Unfortunately… I may or may not have forgotten to eat today. Winter does that to me. The colder it gets, the more I disappear into the library.
Then Allie drags me back into society.
It’s still light outside. We’re listening to the music when Sean offers Hannah a shot. “C’mon.”
“No,” Allie says immediately.
Sean blinks. “What?”
“She doesn’t drink in public.”
He lowers the shot. “Oh.”
“And remember her friend who got roofied in high school?”
Sean immediately nods. “…Right.”
“So we’re not doing the peer-pressure thing.” She turns to Hannah with an apologetic smile. Then her attention catches on someone behind us. Her entire face lights up. “Justin.”
She grabs Hannah’s shoulders. “Go.”
“And say what?” Hannah looks horrified. “I embarrassed myself the last time we talked.”
“You’re gorgeous. You just need to relax long enough for him to notice.”
I quietly watch them. Then I smile at Hannah. “I think she’s right.”
Both of them turn to look at me.
“He’s nice, and not intimidating.”
Allie gasps dramatically. “You agreed with me.”
“What? I’m being truthful.”
She immediately starts taking Hannah’s jacket off her shoulders. “Give me this. Go.”
Hannah sighs. “…Okay. I’m going to the bathroom first. When I come back… I’ll talk to him.” She disappears into the crowd.
A guy I’ve never seen before walks over. Tall. Confident. Wearing the kind of grin that already annoys me.
God. I’m hungry.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
He looks me up and down. “You look good for a girl with a big nose.”
I blink. “…Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Yeah.”
“I meant you’re pretty.”
“Okay.” I point somewhere behind him. “I’m asking you to leave now.”
He stares at me. Looks confused. Then awkwardly walks away.
I turn back around. Allie is staring. Dexter is trying very hard not to laugh.
“…What was that?” she asks.
“What was what?”
“You became a diva.”
I roll my eyes. “He was a dick.”
She narrows her eyes suspiciously.
I sigh. “…Okay. I may or may not have forgotten to eat today.”
Everyone groans at once.
“If I don’t eat in the next five minutes…” I look toward the food trucks. “…I’m committing arson.” A beat. “…Or murder. Or both.”
I start walking toward the ridiculously long queue. Completely unaware that Logan and Tucker heard every word.
Dean is busy making out with a girl against a tree and has missed the entire exchange.
Tucker nudges Logan with his elbow. Logan laughs under his breath. Then follows me.
I reach the queue and quietly wait my turn. A familiar presence stops behind me.
I glance over my shoulder. Logan.
I don’t even greet him. I simply turn back around.
That earns a quiet chuckle.
Before either of us says anything, a girl casually slips under the barrier and tries to cut the queue.
I look at her. “If you cut the line… I’m sacrificing my firstborn on your front porch, and traumatising you for life.”
She blinks. “…What?”
“I said…” I point toward the back of the queue. “…the line starts over there.”
Without another word, she quietly walks to the end.
Behind me, Logan bursts out laughing. A genuine laugh. The kind he can’t quite hold back. He doesn’t tease me. He just keeps laughing to himself while we shuffle forward in the queue.
When it’s finally my turn, the vendor smiles. “What can I get you?”
I don’t even look at the menu. “Your biggest item.”
The vendor nods. “…Yeah. I figured.”
I take my food and walk away without looking back at Logan.
The music gets quieter the farther I go. I find a tree away from the crowd and sit down against it. A few seconds later, someone sits beside me. I don’t have to look to know it’s him.
For the next five minutes, the only sound between us is the music in the distance and me eating.
Slowly. Methodically.
When I finally glance sideways, he’s already looking at me. Not saying anything. Just smiling.
“…You want some?”
He laughs. “I’ve been sitting here for five minutes and now you ask me?”
“I was occupied.”
He nods toward my half-empty plate. “Feeling calmer?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes.”
He smiles. “I never thought I’d see you like that.”
“Like what?”
He raises an eyebrow.
I sigh dramatically. “I’ve been at the library since this morning. I got… absorbed. I forgot myself. So God forbid a girl gets a little grumpy.”
He laughs. “I don’t know. You always seem…” He searches for the word. “…soft.”
I nearly choke on my food. I cough once before looking at him in disbelief. “…Me?” I let out a sarcastic laugh. “My family would laugh in your face if they heard that.”
His eyebrows lift. “Really?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
He studies me for a second. “So… Do you always forget to eat?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s just… Winter has that effect on me.”
“You don’t like the cold?”
“I don’t mind the cold.” I take another bite before answering. “I like cold floors.”
He waits. Clearly expecting an explanation.
I don’t give him one. Instead, I keep eating.
After another moment, he smiles to himself. “…You’re full of unfinished sentences.”
I glance at him. “They’re finished. Just not for you.”
That only makes him smile wider.
I look at him from the corner of my eye. “You always seem…” I pause. “…louder when you’re with your friends.”
He smiles. “I am. Yeah.”
I nod to myself.
Silence settles between us again. Then I quietly chuckle.
He looks over. “What?”
I shake my head. “It’s just…” I smile to myself. “I just realized something.”
“What?”
“The girls have known me for over a year. They’ve never seen me smoke.”
He waits.
“But somehow…” I look at him. “…you did.”
For a second, neither of us says anything.
Then he lets out a quiet laugh. “I guess I got lucky.”
I shake my head.
“No. I think you just have weird timing. Because i don't smoke"
He asks, "Really? Then what made you smoke those times?”
I look ahead instead of answering. The smile stays on my face, but I don’t say a word.
After a few seconds, he chuckles. “You’re not going to tell me.”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You just said nothing.”
“Exactly.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You know… You’re surprisingly difficult to read.”
“I’ve been told that.”
“I believe it.”
I take another bite of my food before glancing at him again. “I still think it was weird timing.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Probably.” A small smile appears on his face. “…But I’m not complaining.”
---
I dust the crumbs off my jeans and stand up.
“You done?” Logan asks.
I nod. “Yeah.”
We walk back toward the crowd together. The music gets louder with every step.
I spot Allie first. Then Dexter. Sean. And… Hannah.
I stop walking.
She’s somehow wearing Garrett’s hockey jersey. It hangs loosely over her frame, the sleeves swallowing her hands.
Garrett is standing close to her, laughing about something. One hand is lightly hooked through one of the belt loops on her jeans, keeping her from wandering off while he points at something across the field.
Justin is standing only a few feet away. Watching.
Instinctively, I glance beside me. At Logan.
His smile disappears. It isn’t dramatic. It’s subtle. His jaw tightens. His shoulders stiffen.
For just a second, he looks like someone punched him square in the stomach.
Last year, he’d looked like a guy quietly nursing a crush from the other side of the room.
Now… He almost looks jealous.
Before I can process it, Allie notices the exact same thing. She follows my line of sight. “…Hell no.” She starts marching toward them.
Dexter catches her wrist before she gets more than two steps. “Wait.”
She turns to him. “No. Hannah likes Justin.”
“I know.”
“So why is she wearing Garrett’s jersey?”
“I know.”
“And why is he holding her like that?”
“I know.” Dexter gently steps in front of her. “Give them five seconds.”
“For what?”
“To figure out whether we’re witnessing flirting… or Garrett being Garrett.”
Allie folds her arms. “I’m giving it exactly five.”
Sean quietly mutters, “This is about to become a nature documentary.”
No one laughs. Everyone is too busy watching the unfolding disaster.
-----------
We walk back to the apartment almost entirely in silence.
Allie is visibly annoyed. She keeps replaying the scene at the mixer in her head. “I still don’t know what the hell Garrett was doing.”
Neither Hannah nor I answer.
After a minute, Allie tries again. “Hannah.”
No response.
“Hannah.”
Hannah sighs. “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. Can we please not do this tonight?”
Allie studies her for a second before nodding. “…Fine.” And, for once, she lets it go.
My headphones are on. A cup of tea sits beside my laptop, slowly growing cold while I work through my notes.
At first, I don’t notice anything. Then, people keep looking at me. One glance. Another. Then whispering.
I slowly remove one side of my headphones. The murmurs become clearer. Not clear enough to understand. Just enough to know they’re about me.
My heartbeat picks up. That familiar feeling crawls up my spine.
Did I do something?
Is there something on my face?
What happened?
I force myself to keep looking at my notes. Then I hear one sentence from a table behind me. One of the puck bunnies says it just loud enough.
“…She was with him at the Campus Mixer.”
Heat rushes into my face. I suddenly want to disappear. To pack my things. To leave.
As if the universe decides that isn’t enough… Someone stops beside my table.
“Hey, Insaf.”
I look up. John Tucker.
He smiles before pulling out the chair across from me. “Mind if I sit?”
Before I can answer, he notices the expressions around us. His smile fades “…Sorry.” He sits anyway.
The whispers immediately become louder. I close my eyes for a second. Just one second.
When I open them again, Tucker is already looking at me apologetically. “I actually came because I needed help.”
He slides his notebook toward me. “There’s one part of this course that’s making absolutely no sense.”
I glance at the page. Then back at him. “…Sure.”
I pull the notebook closer. The whispers don’t stop. I hear another laugh somewhere behind us. I grip my pen a little tighter. Then I deliberately lower my eyes to the page. If they’re going to stare… They can do it while I explain cognitive psychology.
-------------------
Tucker leaves, and for a while I’m alone again.
I try to get back to studying.
A few minutes later, my phone vibrates.
Hannah: Can you come to the gym near the hockey team’s locker room?
I frown.
Me: Is everything okay?
The reply comes almost instantly.
Hannah: Yes. Just be here.
I don’t question it.
I pack my laptop and books into my bag and leave the library, still catching people glancing in my direction.
I keep my eyes on the floor. The whispers are easier to ignore that way.
⸻
The hallway leading to the gym is crowded. Athletes. Students. People walking in every direction.
I weave through them, focused on finding Hannah. Then—
Someone shoves me sideways.
The locker room door swings open behind me, and before I can react, I’m pushed inside. The door slams shut.
Instinctively, I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Important question,” I say immediately. “…Are there any penises out?”
The room erupts into laughter. “No,” someone answers. “You’re good.”
I cautiously open one eye. Then the other. I’m greeted by a room full of shirtless hockey players. I glance around once before leaning casually against the nearest wall.
Logan is staring at me like he’s waiting for me to faint.
“…What?”
He blinks. “You’re okay?”
Dean looks equally confused.
I shrug. “Should I not be?”
He points at himself. “We’re shirtless.”
I look around the room again. Then back at him. “…Yeah?”
Dean stares. “That’s your reaction?”
I laugh. “Is this because you’re shirtless?”
He nods. “Obviously.”
I shrug again. “I’m pretty sure half the girls outside would kill to be standing where I am. It’s just a torso.”
Dean places a hand dramatically over his chest. “Hey. I worked hard for these.” He points proudly at his abs.
I nod politely. “I’m sure you did.”
He narrows his eyes. “So… You don’t find us attractive?”
I tilt my head. “Do you really want your egos to combust?”
A beat of silence.
Then Dean sighs dramatically.
“…Fair enough.”
The room laughs.
I think to myself 'Good God, everyone looks like God took his time into making them.'
Just then, someone finally opens the locker room door from the outside. A group of girls is waiting in the hallway. For a split second, they look almost… expectant. Like they’d been waiting for me to scream. Or blush. Or run away.
Instead, I simply adjust the strap of my backpack. “Thanks.”
I walk past them without another word and continue toward the gym where Hannah asked me to meet her.
Behind me, I hear footsteps. Logan catches up beside me. “You’re weird.”
I glance at him. “I’ve been told.”
“No.” He shakes his head, smiling to himself. “I mean… I genuinely thought you’d panic.”
I keep walking. “I’ve seen shirtless men before.”
He laughs.
We continue down the hallway together toward the gym.
When we reach the gym, Logan pushes the door open first. When we get inside, we find Hannah kissing Garrett.
Both Logan and I freeze. Logan blinks once before saying, “…Well. That’s some good tutoring.”
Hannah immediately pulls away from Garrett. Without saying a word, she walks straight toward us. Or rather… Straight toward Logan.
She stops right in front of him. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
Logan completely freezes. “…What?” Before he can react, she leans up and kisses him.
Then she turns back to Garrett. “Am I blushing now?”
Garrett bursts out laughing.
Hannah nods to herself, completely satisfied with the experiment. Then she takes my hand. “C’mon.”
She starts leading me back out of the gym.
I look at her with mock offence. “Why don’t I get a kiss?”
She doesn’t even look at me. She simply rolls her eyes. “Oh, please.”
I laugh as she keeps dragging me down the hallway, while behind us Logan is still standing exactly where she left him, trying to process what just happened.
————
Hannah and I sit on a bench near campus. Students pass by every now and then, but neither of us speaks.
I know she’s waiting for the right moment.
Eventually, she looks at me. “We promised we wouldn’t tell anyone.”
I nod.
“But I told him you’d keep it a secret.” She pauses. “And Allie too.”
I nod again. “Okay.”
She takes a breath. “Garrett Graham and I decided to fake date.”
I stay quiet, letting her continue.
“It’s to make me more confident. So Justin notices me, and so I finally have the guts to talk to him.”
She smiles sheepishly. “In return, I promised I’d help Garrett pass his philosophy exam.”
I look at her for a moment, then I smile. “Okay.”
She blinks. “…Okay? That’s it?” You don’t think it’s impulsive? Or stupid? Or corny that I’m even talking to Graham?”
I shake my head. “No. I think it’s interesting.”
She waits.
“You watched me and Allie make questionable decisions for the past months.” I shrug. “I think it’s your turn.”
She laughs, the tension visibly leaving her shoulders. “I was expecting a lecture.”
“I’m saving those for when you actually need one.”
She smiles warmly and squeezes my hand. “Thank you.”
I squeeze hers back.
After a moment, she casually adds, “Oh. We’re going to the Halloween party tomorrow. At the hockey house.”
I look at her “…We’re?”
She smiles innocently. “Us. You. Me. Allie.”
I sigh dramatically. “I was hoping to spend Halloween pretending humanity didn’t exist.”
She grins. “Too bad. You’re coming.”
————-
By that evening, we’re all gathered in the living room.
Which, unfortunately for me, has turned into a planning committee.
Allie has already made every decision for herself.
“I’m wearing the Versace dress.”
She points dramatically at a picture on her phone. “The green one. The Jennifer Lopez one. The reason why google images exist.”
Sean sighs from the couch. “And apparently I’m Ben Affleck.”
“You are.”
“I wasn’t consulted.”
“You didn’t need to be.”
Sean mutters something about democracy dying.
Allie ignores him. She spins toward Hannah. “And you.” She claps excitedly. “A puck bunny.”
Hannah laughs. “That’s a little on the nose.”
“Exactly, and considering the whole Garrett situation…” She wiggles her eyebrows “…it’s hilarious.”
Hannah buries her face in a pillow, “Oh my God.”
Allie claps once more. “Perfect.”
Then… She slowly turns toward me.
I immediately point at myself. “No.”
“I haven’t even said anything.”
“I know that look.”
She smiles sweetly. “I already picked yours.”
“…No.”
She holds up another picture. A purple-and-yellow cheerleader uniform. I stare at it. Then at her. “…Absolutely not.”
“It’s Jennifer’s Body.”
“I know what Jennifer’s Body is. I’m not wearing a cheerleader skirt that’s approximately the size of a receipt.”
“It’s iconic.”
“It’s microscopic.”
She dramatically gasps. “It reaches your thighs.”
“Barely.”
“It covers everything.”
“That’s debatable.”
She walks over and sits beside me. “Insaf.”
“No.”
“You’d look incredible.”
“No.”
“It fits your hair. Especially straightened.”
“No.”
“You already have the attitude.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
She starts counting on her fingers. “You threatened to sacrifice someone’s firstborn.”
“I threatened my firstborn.”
“Minor detail.”
“You’ve scared Josh.”
“He deserved it.”
“You accidentally became mysterious.”
“I did not.”
She leans even closer. “And imagine Logan’s face.”
I blink. “…Why would I imagine Logan’s face?”
She immediately smiles like she’s won something. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I didn’t.”
“You weaponized implication.”
Sean, without looking up from his phone, says, “She does that.”
“I know.” I point at him. “Thank you.”
Allie ignores both of us. “Come on. It’s one night.”
“I’ll buy you dinner.”
“I have money.”
“I’ll do your laundry.”
“I do my own laundry.”
She immediately hugs me. “Yes!”
“I didn’t say yes.”
“You were going to.”
“I was going to negotiate.”
“Too late.” She jumps up “Jennifer’s Body it is.”
I let my head fall back against the couch. “I miss when my biggest problem was statistics.”
Sean nods sympathetically. “I’ve watched this happen. Resistance is futile.”
Hannah pats my shoulder. “I’m sorry. You’ll survive.”
I look at all three of them. “I need better friends.”
Allie smiles. “No. You need sluttier costumes.”
I groan loud enough for the entire apartment to hear.
----------------------------------
October 31st — Halloween
I wake up wishing a ghost would snatch me away before tonight’s party.
I lie perfectly still, staring at the ceiling. Then I remember how dramatic that sounds. I sigh to myself.
…Some of my hoodies probably do deserve to be burned. I just don’t say that part out loud.
-----------
My appointment with Dr. Carter is today.
Thursday. Like always. I know this session is going to be different.
Last week, she asked if we’d talk more about the sexual abuse. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.
⸻
I’m sitting in the waiting room, looking down at my hands. I’m too aware of everything. The sound of footsteps. Someone turning a page. The ticking clock. It feels irrational. Like every person in this building somehow already knows.
The office door opens. Garrett steps out. This time, he notices me immediately.
I give him a small, warm smile.
“You come here too?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. What about you?”
He scratches the back of his neck. “I was blackmailed by Coach Jensen.”
I laugh quietly. “I was blackmailed by my professor.”
He smiles. “…Fair.”
A comfortable silence settles between us. Then he nods toward me. “See you tonight, Insaf.”
“See you.”
He leaves just as Dr. Carter steps into the doorway. She smiles warmly. “Come on in.”
---
I walk into her office. Instead of my usual chair… I choose another one.
She notices immediately. “You changed seats.”
I glance down. “…Apparently.”
She doesn’t comment further. After we settle in, she asks, “So… How was your week?”
I tell her about the play party. Josh. The comparison that ended whatever that was.
By the time I’m finished, she’s smiling despite herself. “…That certainly wasn’t the direction I expected that story to go.”
“Neither did I.”
The room relaxes. So do I.
Then she becomes a little more thoughtful. “May I ask you some personal questions about your sexual experiences?”
I nod.
“You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.”
“I know.”
She waits a moment before asking, “Before Josh… when you were sexually intimate with other people, did you ever enjoy it?”
I think about it. “…Yes.”
She nods. “In what way?”
I look down at my hands. “I enjoyed pleasing them.” Another pause. “But… I never really let them do the same for me.”
She waits. “Why?”
The answer sits in my throat. When it finally comes out, it’s quiet. “…Because whenever I did…” I struggle to explain it. “…it was like I wasn’t there anymore.”
She stays completely still.
“It’s like… I’m watching myself from the ceiling.” I swallow. “I can see everything. I know it’s me, but it doesn’t feel like me. And…” I shake my head. “I don’t like what I see.”
The room falls silent.
Dr. Carter speaks gently. “Thank you for telling me that.”
She doesn’t rush to interpret it. She simply lets the words exist.
After a moment, she asks, “When did you first notice that happening?”
I already know the answer. Long before Josh. Long before university.
I take a slow breath. “…After the abuse.” The words barely rise above a whisper.
--------
“Was that with your last boyfriend?”
I look up at her. “…The abuse?”
She gently shakes her head. “No. I mean the feeling of disconnecting from your body during intimate moments.”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Were you comfortable with him?”
“No.”
“Did he know that?”
I think about it, “I don’t know, maybe. He never asked. He just… assumed that’s what I wanted.” I look down at my hands. “And somewhere along the way… I think I assumed it too.”
Dr. Carter lets the silence settle. “Would you like to tell me what happened before that?”
I exhale slowly. “…Yeah. I don’t mind.”
She waits.
“When I was fifteen, my mum and brother opened a bakery in the garage of our house. We lived near several schools, so they thought it’d be a good financial decision. Money was getting tight. I started working there as a cashier to help. They could only afford to hire one employee. My brother hired his friend.”
I pause.
“He was also our neighbour. My brother grew up with him. My sister Ines grew up with his sister. I used to play at their house when I was little. My brother was working incredibly hard because he wanted to finish his studies abroad. My parents couldn’t afford to send him.”
Without realising it, I start rubbing one wrist with the fingers of my other hand.
“It started with him trying to befriend me. He was loud. Really good with customers. He taught me little tricks. How to deal with difficult people. How to remember regular customers.”
I smile faintly at the memory.
“We ended up talking a lot because of psychology. When he found out I wanted to study it, he told me he loved psychology too. So… We talked. A lot. My friends started spending time at the bakery because I was working through the summer. He became friends with them too.”
I pause again.
“I got comfortable. I joked around with him. Roasted him. I treated him the same way I’d treat one of my guy friends. Even though he was ten years older than me.”
I swallow.
“One day I made the mistake of telling him… I don’t talk to you the way I talk to my brother.’”
I shake my head.
“What I meant was… I can’t joke with my brother like that. He’s my older brother. No matter how much we laugh together, there’s still that line. But… He understood something completely different. I think he thought I meant that I had feelings for him.”
The room stays quiet.
“One afternoon there weren’t any customers. I was in the kitchen. The day before, my friends and I had been joking about how ticklish I am. He brought it up. He told me being ticklish was just something your mind convinced you of. That if you stayed completely still… you wouldn’t feel it.”
I stare at the floor.
“So he told me not to move, and… He touched my waist.”
My voice gets quieter.
“It felt like his fingers burned, but… I stayed still. I just… smiled awkwardly. He kept telling me to relax. To stop tensing up. Then he stopped.”
I take a slow breath.
“I didn’t understand it at the time. I thought it was just a weird interaction.”
I shake my head once. “But looking back… I think he was seeing whether I would stop him. Whether I’d pull away. Whether I’d say no.”
I close my eyes for a brief moment. “When I didn’t that was when things started to escalate.”
The room is silent for a long moment.
I keep looking at my hands. “One day… after that, he tried to kiss me.” I swallow. “I was confused, and… He was confused that I was confused.”
Dr. Carter doesn’t interrupt.
“He told me I had been leading him on. That I was the one who said I didn’t see him like I saw my brother.”
I let out a humourless laugh.
“I felt so guilty. I genuinely believed him. I thought I’d somehow misled him. So… I tried to find a middle ground.”
Her expression softens. “What do you mean by ‘middle ground’?”
“I told him… he could hug me, and kiss my cheeks.”
She nods slowly. “And he accepted that?”
“Yeah. He’d tell me… ‘Maybe one day you’ll like me back.’ I just… I felt bad.”
I stare at the carpet.
“I need to make something clear. He didn’t rape me. I said no. The first few times he tried to kiss me. The first few times he touched me. I said no, but… Eventually… He stopped listening.”
I pause.
“And I… stopped being there.”
Dr. Carter waits.
“I don’t remember most of it. I know my body was. I know I was physically there, but… I wasn’t.”
Her voice is gentle. “You dissociated.”
I nod once. “Yeah.”
Silence settles again.
“Does anyone know?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I couldn’t risk it.”
“Risk what?”
“My brother.”
I look up for the first time. “He’d finally found a way to study abroad. My parents couldn’t afford it. He’d worked so hard. If he’d found out…” I stop. “He probably would’ve killed him.”
Another silence. Then Dr. Carter speaks, “Insaf… What I’m about to say may be difficult to hear.”
I nod faintly.
“You were fifteen. He was twenty-five. None of this was your responsibility. You did not owe him affection because he misunderstood your kindness. You did not owe him access to your body because you felt guilty.”
I lower my eyes.
“When you described allowing him to hug you and kiss your cheek… I heard a fifteen-year-old trying to de-escalate a situation with an adult man. You were negotiating for your own safety.”
I don’t answer.
“You also said something important. You said no. The fact that he continued after you said no… means he made a choice. He chose to ignore your boundaries. He chose to continue. That responsibility belongs entirely to him.”
My fingers tighten around my sleeve. She notices. “I also want to say something about your brother.”
I look at her.
“You have spent years believing that keeping this secret protected him.”
I nod.
“Maybe, at fifteen, that felt like the safest decision available to you. I won’t judge that child.”
She leans forward slightly. “But I don’t want adult Insaf to confuse survival with responsibility. You were carrying an impossible choice. In your mind it became… Either I protect myself, or I protect my brother.’”
She shakes her head gently. “A fifteen-year-old should never have had to make that decision.”
I feel my throat tighten.
She lets the silence sit for a moment before asking quietly, “When you think about that fifteen-year-old girl now… What do you feel for her?”
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.
She gives me a small smile. “I think we’ve done enough for today.”
I let out a quiet breath. “Maybe…”
She tilts her head. “…we can talk more about this next session?”
I nod. “I’d like that.”
She stands, and so do I. “I’ll see you next Thursday, Insaf.”
“See you.”
I leave her office.
______________
I thought I’d end up crying. I don’t.
I just… Keep walking. My mind feels strangely quiet. Almost numb.
Somewhere across campus, I hear someone call my name.
“Insaf!”
Carmen. She smiles and lifts a hand.
I look straight through her. Not intentionally.
It’s like I don’t even register that she’s there until I’m already several steps past her. By the time I realise it was Carmen… I don’t have the energy to turn around.
___________
When I get home, I head straight for the shower. The water stays hot. I stay there for nearly an hour. Just existing.
When I finally step out, my hair dripping onto one of my old hoodies, I find Allie and Hannah sitting in the living room.
Hannah looks up first. “That was a long shower.”
I give her a small, tired smile. Then my eyes drift to the notebook resting on her lap. The pages are blank. I nod toward it. “Writing something?”
She looks down. “Yeah. I decided to join the pop competition. They want an original song.” She sighs. “But nothing’s coming. And Garrett suggested I ask Justin to help me write it.” She smiles sheepishly. “So we’d have an excuse to spend time together. I just… I wanted to try on my own first.”
“That’s weirdly smart,” Allie says from the other end of the couch.
Then she looks at Hannah. “You used to write songs in high school, didn’t you?”
Hannah freezes. “…What?”
“You wrote songs. What did you write about?”
Hannah laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of her neck. “I don’t know. Just… Stupid things.”
Allie shakes her head. “Don’t force it. It’ll come.”
She claps her hands once and jumps to her feet. "But! We have much more important matters.” She points dramatically toward our bedrooms. “Halloween. We need to get ready.”
---
Getting ready for Halloween somehow takes longer than getting ready for the play. Mostly because of my hair. I spend almost an hour trying to straighten it.
I have so much of it that halfway through my neck starts going numb from holding the straightener above my head.
Eventually Hannah takes the straightener from my hand. “Move. I’ve got it.”
I gratefully surrender. “You are a saint.”
“I know.”
By the time she’s finished, my hair falls over my waist. I barely recognise myself.
Allie walks over holding a tube of red lipstick. “No moving.” She gently smudges a little onto the corner of my lip. “There. It looks like blood.”
I look in the mirror. “…I hate how good you are at this.”
“I know.” She beams.
Then she drags both Hannah and me against the wall. “Pictures.”
About thirty pictures later, Sean has been promoted to photographer against his will.
Allie looks unbelievable in the green Versace dress. Hannah somehow manages to make a puck bunny costume look classy.
Meanwhile, I keep trying to pull my skirt down.
“It’s not getting longer,” Allie says.
“I know. I can hope.”
------------
Sean drives us to the hockey house.
Music is already shaking the windows before we even get out of the car.
As we’re walking toward the front door, Allie suddenly stops. She slowly turns toward Sean. “…Where’s your Starbucks cup?”
Sean freezes. “…I left it in the car.”
She points dramatically toward the parking lot. “Go get it.”
He sighs. “Allie.”
“Without the cup, you just look like a sad guy from Boston.”
“I don’t think that’s a real costume.”
“It absolutely is.”
“Come on, it’s not that serious.”
“It is that serious.” She gestures toward the house. “With a party like this.” Then toward the music. “A dance floor like that.” Finally, she dramatically gestures to herself. “And a dress like mine?” She shakes her head. “No. The commitment has to be mutual.”
Sean groans and walks back toward the car. Allie smiles triumphantly.
Then she grabs Hannah’s and my hands. “C’mon.”
We step inside.
---------
The house is packed.
Garrett spots Hannah almost immediately. His eyes widen for just a second before he walks over. He barely says hello before he’s completely distracted by her.
I smile to myself. “…I’ll leave you two alone.”
Hannah gives me a grateful look before turning back to Garrett.
Allie doesn’t waste a second. She grabs my wrist. “Dance floor.”
She practically drags me there. I mostly sway beside her while she dances like the music was written specifically for her.
She looks completely in her element. Beautiful. Confident. Like she belongs under every spotlight.
The song suddenly changes. Jennifer Lopez starts blasting through the speakers. Allie lets out a dramatic gasp.
“My song!”
She disappears into the crowd. Laughing, I step off the dance floor. That’s when I spot Carmen. She’s dressed as Lara Croft.
I walk over. “Hi.”
She smiles. “Hi.”
“I called your name earlier today. You didn’t even look at me.”
I wince “…I’m sorry. I was exhausted, and honestly…” I gesture around the party. “I got dragged here.”
She laughs. “Fair enough.”
We spend a few minutes talking.
As we’re chatting, I glance around the room. Jessica is here with Mike. They’re dressed as Bella and Edward from Twilight. I wave. Jessica immediately waves back.
Then my eyes drift toward the dance floor again. Dean has somehow found Allie. They’re laughing while dancing together.
I raise an eyebrow. “…Interesting.”
Before I can think about it any longer, someone walks up beside me. I already know who it is before I look. Logan.
He’s dressed as a Briar Hawk. His biceps are very visible.
He looks me up and down for a second. Then smiles. “…I wasn’t expecting that.”
I look down at myself. “Neither was I.”
He chuckles. “Jennifer’s Body?”
“Yep.” I nod toward him. “Briar Hawk?”
“Yep.”
I smile. “Clever.”
He laughs. “I figured I already owned half the costume.”
A puck bunny hooks her arm through Logan’s and steals him away before we can say anything else.
I simply turn back to Carmen.
We keep talking for a while until I notice Jules weaving through the crowd with their camera, stopping every few seconds to capture another candid moment.
I walk over. “I really like your pictures.”
They lower the camera and grin. “I’m glad someone appreciates my talent.” They sigh dramatically. “Everyone else just wants to know if my brother has a type.”
I laugh. “I imagine that gets old. Very. I could post the most artistic picture I’ve ever taken. And the comments would still be, ‘Is Logan single?’”
I shake my head, smiling. “That’s tragic.”
“It really is.” They lift the camera again. “But thank you. That genuinely means a lot.”
----------
Eventually I drift back toward the edge of the room.
Sean has finally returned with his Starbucks cup and is dancing with Allie, who looks far too pleased with herself.
Dean and Beau are walking around together in their matching Top Gun costumes as Maverick and Goose.
Tucker, still dressed as a bee, is talking to a girl who seems completely charmed by him.
Hannah and Garrett have disappeared. I don’t even want to know where.
Everything feels… Loud. The music. The conversations. The laughter. I quietly slip upstairs.
I find a bathroom. There’s a short line.
I wait patiently until it becomes just me. That’s when someone steps beside me.
Green eyes.
Instinctively, I look away.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“I’m Steve.”
“I’m Insaf.”
He smiles. “Jennifer’s Body?”
I nod once. “Yeah.”
His eyes linger. Not on my face. Lower. I feel them settle on my bare thighs.
The feeling crawls under my skin. I don’t answer.
Thankfully, the bathroom door opens. I step inside immediately. Lock it. I turn on the sink. Cold water. I splash my face once. Then again. A third time. My breathing doesn’t settle.
Someone knocks. “Hey! People are waiting!”
“One second.”
I dry my face as best I can before unlocking the door. As I step back into the hallway, another bedroom door opens.
Logan walks out. A girl follows behind him, fixing her messy hair as she laughs about something.
He notices me almost immediately.
I don’t acknowledge him. I simply walk past. Down the stairs. Through the crowded living room.
Out the front door.
--------
The porch is almost empty.
I forgot my jacket. The October air is cold enough to sting. I wrap my arms around myself anyway. The cold barely registers.
I focus on breathing instead. In Out. In. Out.
A minute passes. Then I hear the front door creak open behind me. Footsteps.
Something warm settles over my shoulders. A jacket.
I glance up. Logan. I don’t say anything.
I just look back out into the dark, my fingers instinctively pulling the jacket closed around me.
I feel awful that he noticed.
That instead of being inside, laughing with everyone else, he’s standing out here because of me.
It’s Halloween. It’s a party. My friends are having fun, and I can’t even function.
The shame settles somewhere familiar. Right at my fingertips. The same place it always does when the weather gets cold.
My stomach twists.
Before I can think about it, I pull the jacket off my shoulders and hand it back to Logan.
“I’m okay.”
The words barely leave my mouth before I turn toward the nearest bush. I don’t make it any farther. I throw up.
I hear him step after me. Then, gently, he gathers my hair away from my face. His hand barely touches me. Somehow, that makes me feel even worse.
Why does he have to see me like this? Why does he have to be kind?
I spend so much time wondering whether people only tolerate me.
And here he is, silently holding my hair while I throw up behind the hockey house. I feel like I’m abusing his kindness.
When I’m finally done, I stay crouched for another second, catching my breath.
He doesn’t rush me.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “…Sorry.” I still don’t look at him.
He speaks quietly. “Are you okay?”
I nod too quickly. “Yeah. I just… I need a drink.”
He watches me for a second, like he doesn’t believe me. But he lets me go.
-----------
I walk back inside. I put on a smile before anyone can ask questions.
Then I find Allie. “Shots?”
She beams. “There you are!”
Before I know it, someone has shoved a shot glass into my hand. Then another.
I laugh. I joke. I even end up taking a shot with Dean.
The room grows warmer. Louder.
I laugh so hard at something Tucker says that I have to grab the counter to stay upright.
For a few minutes… I almost forget.
Then— Two unfamiliar hands wrap around my waist from behind.
My body reacts before my brain does. I shove them away as hard as I can.
“Don’t.” My voice is sharp. “Touch me.”
The guy stumbles back, startled. “…Sorry.” He disappears into the crowd.
No one notices. Everyone is too busy laughing, dancing, drinking.
No one… Except Logan. He’s standing on the other side of the room. Watching. Like he’s making sure I’m okay.
---------
The music suddenly feels too loud again. I slip away to a quiet corner.
A minute later, I hear footsteps. I already know who it is.
Without looking up, I say quietly, “It’s cold.”
He stops beside me. “You need a jacket?”
I shake my head “No.”
A small silence. Then I look down at the floor. “It’s in my bones.”
He doesn’t answer immediately. He just stands beside me. Not too close. Not too far.
Close enough that I’m not alone.
“Would you like to feel a little warmer?” he asks.
I look at him. “…Yeah.”
He gives me a small nod. “Come on.”
He leads me out of the party toward the parking lot. Neither of us says much.
He unlocks his truck. I climb inside while he walks around to the driver’s side.
The moment he starts the engine, he turns the heater all the way up.
Warm air slowly fills the cabin. I stare out of the windshield. “…I’m sorry.”
He glances at me. “For what?”
“That you have to be here.”
He is quiet for a moment. Then he asks, “You’re good at psychology, right?”
I finally look at him. “…What?” My head is spinning just enough from the shots that I’m struggling to follow him.
He smiles faintly. “Answer me honestly. You’re smart.”
I narrow my eyes. “…Okay?”
“So tell me if this sounds true.” He holds my gaze. “I want to be here. I had my fun. The party’s still going, but mine’s over.” He shrugs lightly. “You didn’t ruin Halloween for me.”
I immediately look away. For some reason, that makes it worse.
“…That’s worse.”
The warmth from the heater starts reaching my hands. Then my arms. Slowly chasing away the cold that’s been sitting inside my bones all evening.
He watches me, confused.
I rest my forehead against the dashboard and let out a slow breath.
A moment later, I feel something warm against the side of my neck. His hand. Gentle. Just resting there.
“Look at me.” His voice is quiet.
I lift my head.
His fingers are warm. Warmer than the truck. Warmer than the heater.
He doesn’t speak. He just absentmindedly brushes his thumb once against the side of my neck, like he’s waiting for me to breathe again.
I swallow. “…Don’t be nice to me just because you feel bad for me.”
He lets out a small laugh. “You’re saying that like I’ve been a dick to you before this.”
Despite myself, I laugh. Just a little.
He smiles when he hears it. “There you are.”
The silence that follows is comfortable.
After another minute, he asks, “Do you want to go home?”
I nod. “…Yeah, but I should text the girls first so they don’t worry.”
He nods once. “Good idea.”
I pull my phone from my pocket, my hands finally warm enough to type.
------
The drive home is quiet.
The heater hums softly.
The only other sound is the occasional swish of the windscreen wipers.
Every now and then, I glance at Logan. His hands stay steady on the steering wheel.
His curls have fallen over his forehead, and every so often he impatiently moves one away before it falls right back into place.
His brows are slightly furrowed. Completely focused on the road.
Without thinking, I reach up and absentmindedly touch the side of my own neck. It still remembers the warmth of his hand.
The drinks make the thought leave my mouth before I can stop it. “…Your hair is warm.”
He looks over for half a second before laughing. “You’ve never touched it.”
I shrug lazily. “I can only assume.”
He shakes his head, still smiling to himself. “I don’t think that’s how assumptions work.”
“They do tonight.”
That earns another laugh.
At the next red light, he reaches behind his seat, grabs a bottle of water, and holds it out to me. “Drink.”
I take it without arguing. “…Bossy.”
“Hydrated.” He corrects. “You’ve been throwing up and taking shots. Water.”
I unscrew the cap. “…Fine.” I take a long drink. “Happy?”
He glances at the bottle in my hand before looking back at the road. “…A little.”
-----
When we arrive at the apartment building, he parks by the curb.
Neither of us moves for a moment.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and reach for the door. “…Thank you.”
He looks at me.
“For everything. For the jacket. The ride. The water… Everything.”
He gives me a small nod. “You don’t have to thank me.”
I smile faintly. “I know, but I wanted to.”
I open the door.
Just as I’m about to step out, his voice stops me. “Insaf.”
I look back.
He hesitates for a second before speaking. “We might not be friends…” A tiny smile appears on his face. “…Yet, but… You have people who care about you.”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. “…Yeah… That’s the problem.”
His expression shifts. Like he wants to ask what I mean. But he doesn’t. He simply looks at me for another second.
I step out of the truck. “…Bye, Logan.”
“Bye.”
I close the door gently.
As I walk toward the apartment building, I can feel his headlights still behind me. Only after I unlock the front door and step safely inside does the truck finally pull away.
I stand in the hallway for a long moment, listening to the sound of the engine disappear into the night.
Author's note: I forgot to mention this before but i casted trinity and bryce from LI s8 as jessica and her boyfriend because im obsessed with them. and for quinn and her ex girlfriend as francesca and michaela from bridgerton (im so excited for their season)
warning: mentions of sexual abuse. slight nudity. sexual content (a lil), mention of addiction.
word count: 8.2k words.
chapter 2<< >>chapter 4
Masterlist
Chapter 3:
Sophomore year begins, and with it comes a new Briar U gossip page on Instagram that somehow gains thousands of followers overnight.
Almost every post revolves around the hockey team or the football team. Garrett Graham is the new hockey captain. Beau Maxwell is the football team’s starting quarterback.
Apparently, that alone is enough to keep an account busy.
So I do the most logical thing I can think of. I avoid all of them like the plague. Which isn’t particularly difficult. It’s not like we were friends to begin with, and I’m fairly certain none of them notice.
Life settles back into a rhythm. I still work at Malone’s. I still take the occasional custom cake order—not because I need the money anymore, but because it helps with rent and the apartment.
Allie starts working at Malone’s too. Unlike me, she and Hannah don’t have full scholarships, so I quietly pay a bigger share of our household bills. It lets them spend their money on textbooks, auditions, clothes, and whatever else they need without stressing over groceries or electricity.
Hannah starts tutoring students around campus. Most afternoons, she rides there on her bike that i bought with the money that was left from paying dad's debts. I bought 3 matching bikes for the three of us. Allie insisted on the matching part.
Teaching me how to ride a bike turned out to be a two-hour comedy show. I couldn’t stay upright for more than ten seconds. I crashed into a bush. Then a bench. Then somehow managed to fall over while standing completely still.
By the end of it, I was laughing so hard I started crying. Hannah was laughing too hard to help me up. Allie was filming half of it while yelling, “You’re doing amazing, sweetie!”
Sean was there too watching me tip over, smiling to himself and watching us laugh in silence.
After enough bruises and enough determination… I finally learned.
Campus, however, hasn’t changed. I still accidentally walk past Dean making out with someone in a hallway. Or Garrett against a wall outside a frat house. Or Tucker disappearing upstairs with a girl whose name he probably learned thirty seconds earlier.
Even Logan, well especially Logan and Dean.
They all live together in the hockey house. Basically a whore house.
I’ve stopped being surprised. At this point, I simply step over the emotional debris and continue walking to class.
---------------------------------
September 17th.
My birthday.
I never told anyone when it was. But somehow, everyone knows. I already know the culprit. Ines.
Ever since I made an Instagram account, my family somehow started following my friends too. My sister has apparently decided that my social life is a collaborative project.
The first thing I wake up to is a video call from my oldest sister, Ihsane. Ten years older than me.
Calling from France in the middle of the night, with her eyes half closed. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you.”
“You look sleepy.”
“I am.” She laughs.
We talk for twenty minutes. She tells me about work. I tell her about classes starting again. She asks about Hannah and Allie.
Before hanging up, she points a finger at the camera. “Eat something today.”
“I always eat.”
“Something besides tea.”
“…Fine.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The call ends. I put my phone on the bedside table and stare at the ceiling for a moment.
Then— Knock. Knock.
“Come in.”
The door swings open. Allie and Hannah walk in carrying absolutely nothing. Just themselves.
Before I can even sit up properly, they both climb onto my bed and wrap me in a hug.
“Oh my God,” I mumble into a pillow.
“Happy birthday!” Allie says.
Hannah smiles. “Happy birthday, Insaf.”
They don’t let go immediately. Instead, the three of us end up lying across the bed, half awake.
Allie sighs dramatically. “You are finally nineteen.”
I smile. “I am.”
“How does it feel?”
“I don’t know.” I think about it for a second. “…Pretty much the same.”
“Wrong answer.” She nudges my shoulder. “You were supposed to say, ‘older, wiser, and more mature.’”
“I would’ve been lying.”
Hannah laughs softly. “I appreciate the honesty.”
Allie throws an arm over both of us. “Fine. You may not be wiser, but you’re definitely loved.”
For a moment, none of us says anything. I just lie there between them, smiling at the ceiling. It’s the first birthday in a long time that doesn’t feel heavy. It just feels warm.
--------------------
Later that afternoon, I have my first session with Dr. Carter since the summer break. She only resumed seeing students last week.
I knock lightly before stepping into her office.
She smiles. “Happy birthday.”
I blink. “…Thank you.”
“Come in.” I sit in the familiar chair across from her.
“So,” she says, settling into her seat. “Tell me about your summer.”
I laugh quietly. “Which job?”
She smiles. “I heard there were several.”
“There were.” I tell her about Malone’s. The university maintenance work. Pet sitting. The custom cakes. The wedding cake. My research paper that I’m still writing about addiction whenever I find the time.
She listens without interrupting, occasionally jotting something down. Then I mention paying off my father’s debts.
She pauses. “You paid all of them?”
I nod.
“Why did you take on the responsibility of paying them?”
I look at her for a moment. “Because it’s easier for me.”
“How so?”
“I’m here.” I shrug. “The exchange rate. Dollars to Moroccan dirhams. It goes much further.”
She nods once. Then she stays quiet. Looking at me. Finally she says, “You are the youngest.”
“Correct.”
“And yet you became responsible for solving a problem that belonged to the adults in your family.”
I don’t answer.
She lets the silence sit for a moment before changing direction. “Tell me about your research paper. What made you choose addiction?”
I lean back in my chair. “My mum’s brothers struggled with addiction.” I pause. “And… at one point, my father did too.”
She waits.
“He got sober before my parents had us. He’s been sober ever since he married my mum.”
She nods slowly.
“I’ve been reading papers about addiction. Most of them focus on the environment. How your surroundings shape it. How socioeconomic factors increase risk.” I glance down at my hands. “And I agree, but…” I search for the right words. “I don’t know. It feels incomplete.”
Dr. Carter tilts her head. “In what way?”
“I keep thinking about people who grow up in the same house. The same parents. The same poverty. The same trauma. One develops an addiction. The other doesn’t. So I keep asking myself…” I look back at her. “…What’s the difference? I know environment matters. I just don’t think it’s the whole story. I want more than that. I want to understand why two people can survive the same storm…and only one drowns.”
Dr. Carter doesn’t speak immediately. Instead, a small smile appears on her face. “That’s a research question.”
I blink. “It is?”
She nods. “And a good one. For the first time since we’ve met…” She closes her notebook. “…you’re not looking for an answer because it might save you.” She smiles gently. “You’re looking because you’re curious.”
I sit there for a second. I hadn’t noticed that. She was right.
Dr. Carter lets the silence settle before asking another question. “So…How do you feel about turning nineteen?”
I think about it. “I don’t know.”
She nods. “That’s an acceptable answer.” She rests her notebook on her lap. “How do you think your younger self would feel if she knew you turned nineteen?”
The answer leaves my mouth before I can soften it. “Surprised.”
She waits. “Why?”
I look at the floor. “…That I’m still alive.”
The words hang in the room. I hadn’t planned on saying them.
Dr. Carter doesn’t look shocked. She doesn’t rush to reassure me. She simply asks, very gently, “How old was she?”
I know exactly who she means. “…Fifteen.”
“The version of you that answered that question.”
I nod.
“Did she think she’d make it to nineteen?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“What did she think would happen?”
I swallow. “I don’t think she let herself imagine a future.”
Another quiet moment passes.
Then Dr. Carter says, “And yet here you are.”
I let out a small breath. “Here I am.”
She smiles softly. “I’ve noticed something about you, Insaf. You rarely celebrate what you’ve survived. You move on to the next responsibility. The next problem. The next person who needs you.”
I don’t argue. Because she’s right.
She folds her hands together. “Today isn’t just your nineteenth birthday. It’s also proof that fifteen-year-old you was wrong.”
I feel my throat tighten.
“She couldn’t see this version of you. The one with friends. The one doing research. The one who paid off her father’s debts. The one who laughs while learning to ride a bike.”
A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it.
Dr. Carter smiles—not because I’m crying, but because she knows I’ve finally let myself acknowledge it. “I think,” she says quietly, “if fifteen-year-old Insaf could see you now…” She pauses. “…she’d be very surprised.”
I laugh through my tears. “Yeah. I think she would.”
------------------
I leave Dr. Carter’s office feeling lighter than when I walked in.
Halfway across campus, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I take it out.
Allie Hayes mentioned you in a post.
My eyebrows shoot up. “…What?”
I tap the notification. It’s a photo dump.
The first picture is me laughing with a golden retriever whose leash I’m holding. The next is one Hannah secretly took while I was walking three dogs at once. Then a picture of the ridiculously colourful bird I pet sat one afternoon, perched comfortably on my lap while I read. A candid of me frosting a cake, completely focused, flour somehow on my cheek. Another of me carrying way too many grocery bags. Me in the lilac skirt I wore to the Valentine’s Day party. Me asleep on the couch with a cookbook on my face. A blurry photo of me laughing so hard I nearly fell off my bike the day Hannah taught me how to ride.
Every picture is one I never knew existed.
The caption simply reads: my baby turned 19 today. so, so proud 🤍
I laugh out loud right there on the sidewalk. Then I type a comment: thank you, Allie. Didn’t know I had a secret paparazzi.
Within seconds, she replies: Occupational hazard of loving you.
I shake my head, smiling to myself, and slip my phone back into my pocket.
By the time I reach Malone’s, I’m still smiling. I push open the door.
Della is already behind the counter. She takes one look at me and points toward an empty chair. “It’s your birthday.”
I blink. “…Yeah?”
“So sit your ass down.”
I look around in confusion. From behind the espresso machine, I hear Hannah trying—and failing—not to laugh.
Allie is even worse. She’s practically bent over, giggling.
I narrow my eyes. “…What did you two do?”
Neither of them answers. They just exchange the kind of look that immediately tells me I’m not going to like whatever is about to happen.
I sit on one of the stools by the counter, still suspicious.
Allie and Hannah are doing an awful job pretending nothing is happening.
A moment later, someone approaches me. I don’t recognize them. “Hi. You’re Insaf, right?”
I look up and smile politely. “Yeah. Hi.”
“I’m Jules.” They extend a hand. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you.” I shake their hand before tilting my head. “…Wait. How do you know it’s my birthday?”
They grin. “I saw Allie’s post.”
“Oh.”
“I’m the owner of Fifth Line.”
I stare. “…The gossip page?”
They laugh. “Yeah.”
My eyebrows rise. “Am I in trouble?”
“No!” They wave their hands immediately. “I promise I’m not here to interrogate you.”
I let out a relieved laugh.
“I mostly started the page because my brother plays hockey. Wanted an excuse for people to see the pictures i take."
I blink. “Your brother?”
Before they can answer, another figure walks through the door. John Logan. He’s wearing jeans, a black T-shirt and a dark bandana tied around his head.
He slows when he notices us.
I look from Jules…to Logan. Then back again. Logan does exactly the same.
Jules bursts out laughing. “Yeah.” They point between themselves and Logan. “I’m his younger sibling.”
I look at Logan again. “…Huh.”
“I was just wishing Insaf a happy birthday,” Jules continues. “Don’t worry, I’m not recruiting innocent people for the gossip page.”
Logan lets out a quiet breath through his nose. “Good.”
Jules pats his shoulder dramatically before wandering off toward the pastry display.
Logan looks back at me. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you.”
We exchange a small, polite smile. Before either of us can say anything else— Della appears.
She points directly at me. “You.”
I look up.
“Close your eyes.”
“…Why?”
“Because if your friends had asked, you would’ve said no.”
I glance toward Allie and Hannah. They’re both trying very hard not to smile. “…Fine.” I close my eyes. I hear shuffling.
Someone trying—and failing—to whisper. Then Della says, “Okay. Open.”
I open my eyes. A small chocolate birthday cake sits on the counter. Simple. Covered with chocolate ganache. Exactly the kind I would’ve picked myself.
I stare at it. “…How did you guys know?”
Allie smirks. “Your mum.”
“My… what?”
“She told us your favourite.”
Hannah is already laughing. “And she may have sent us a few pictures.”
My eyes widen. “No.”
“Oh yes.”
Allie unlocks her phone and turns the screen toward me The first picture is toddler me sitting in front of an enormous chocolate cake. My lips are completely covered in chocolate.
The second is little me standing beside my mum in the kitchen, cheeks bright red, watching her frost another cake with the most painfully shy smile I’ve ever seen.
I clap a hand over my mouth. “Oh my God. I can’t believe she sent you these.”
“Oh, she sent more,” Hannah says.
“No!”
“Yes.”
“I’ll never recover.”
Even Logan laughs quietly at that.
Della lights the candle in the middle of the cake and slides it closer. “Go on. Make a wish.”
They all get surprisingly quiet.
I look at the tiny flame. Close my eyes.
Please… Winter, be kind to me this once.
Then I open my eyes and blow out the candle.
---
Jules and Logan settle into one of the booths near the window.
Jules is busy scrolling through their phone, occasionally showing Logan something that earns nothing more than a small shake of his head.
I stay by the counter, quietly eating my slice of chocolate cake while Allie and Hannah go back to their shifts.
For a little while, Malone’s returns to its usual rhythm.
Eventually, Jules stands, “I’m going to the bathroom.”
Logan nods, “I’ll pay.”
He walks up to the register just as I finish the last bite of cake. Della rings up their order before stepping away to help another customer.
For a brief moment, it’s just the two of us. He gives me a small nod. “Happy birthday… again.”
I smile. “Thank you.”
As he reaches for his wallet, my eyes instinctively drift to his hands. The skin doesn’t look nearly as raw as it used to. “How are your hands?”
He glances down at them before flexing his fingers. “They’re being taken care of.”
I nod, satisfied. “Good.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He pays, pockets his receipt, and gives me one last nod. “I’ll see you around.”
“See you.”
He turns and heads back toward the door just as Jules returns, the two of them leaving together.
I watch them go for only a second before Della calls my name from behind the counter. “Birthday girl, break’s over.”
I sigh dramatically. “Yes, boss.”
She smirks. “That’s better.”
---------------------------------------------
September slips by quietly.
Classes settle into a rhythm.
Malone’s gets busy again. The campus slowly forgets summer. The only person who doesn’t seem to slow down is Allie.
As October gets closer, so does the opening night of the theatre department’s first production of the semester. She’s constantly rehearsing.
One evening she casually tells me what the play is. “Antigone.”
I stop what I’m doing. “Antigone?”
She looks at me. “…Yeah?”
“I studied that in high school.”
“You did?”
I nod. “It was part of our French curriculum. I loved it.”
Her eyes widen “Wait… you’ve read Antigone?”
“In French.”
She immediately drops onto the couch beside me. “No way.”
“I practically had it memorized.”
She laughs. “I don’t even have my version memorized.”
The next day she comes home carrying her English script. “Can you help me rehearse?”
“Sure.”
She hands me the script. I read through it once. Twice. By the third scene, I close it.
Allie frowns. “…Why did you close it?”
“I don’t need it anymore.”
“What?”
“I remember it.”
She blinks. “The whole thing?”
“I have a photographic memory.”
She just stares at me. “I keep forgetting that’s a real thing.”
From then on, rehearsals become much easier.
Whether we’re at the apartment or working a slow shift at Malone’s, Allie runs her scenes while I feed her cues without ever looking at the script.
One afternoon she stops in the middle of a monologue. “…Wait.” She looks at me suspiciously. “You’ve literally memorized everyone else’s lines too, haven’t you?”
I shrug. “I read them. Once. Twice.”
She drops her head onto the counter. “I spent weeks trying to memorize this. You accidentally did it in one evening.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose.”
She looks up dramatically. “I need you to promise me something.”
“What?”
“If I ever get amnesia during the play…” She points at me. “…You are legally obligated to stand backstage and mouth my lines.”
I laugh. “I think your director might have an issue with that.”
“I don’t.” She sighs before smiling. “…I’m so glad you’re helping me.”
“So am I.”
Then she straightens her script. “Again?”
I nod. “Again.”
---------------------------
The day of the play arrives.
Hannah and I head backstage about thirty minutes before the curtains open. Mostly to make sure Allie has eaten something. She hasn’t.
We find her pacing in full costume. The moment she sees us, she looks like she’s about to cry.
Hannah and I exchange a look.
“What’s wrong?” Hannah asks.
Allie takes a shaky breath. “Linda.”
“…What about Linda?” I ask.
“She got food poisoning.”
I blink. “…Linda as in Antigone?”
She nods frantically. “Yes.”
“Oh.”
“They’re trying to figure something out.” She starts pacing again. “Oh my God, oh my God…”
Then she freezes. Looks at me. Her eyes slowly widen. “…You.”
I instinctively take a step backwards. “…What?”
She points at me. “You have wavy hair too.”
I stare. “…Allie.”
“We could make this work.”
“No.”
“We’re basically sisters.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“You have the whole play memorized.”
I keep backing away.
“Photographic memory!”
“No.”
“Please!”
I turn around and start walking. She immediately chases after me. “I’ll give you my firstborn child!”
“I don’t want your firstborn child!”
“I’ll stop threatening to burn your hoodies!”
“You can burn them!”
“Please!”
“Allie, you don’t know what you’re asking.” She keeps following me through the maze of backstage corridors. “I literally dropped every prop on stage once because I had to sing one short song.”
“That was years ago!”
“It was traumatic!”
“You’re nineteen now!”
“I have not evolved!”
“Exposure therapy!”
“I would rather choke on my own vomit!”
Stage crew members glance at us as we speed past. Nobody stops us. Apparently this isn’t the strangest thing that’s happened before a production.
I spot the janitor’s closet. Perfect. I dart inside and slam the door shut behind me.
A second later— Knock. Knock. Knock. “Insaaaf.”
Silence.
“You’d save my life.”
Silence.
“You are literally perfect for this.”
“I’m literally not!”
“You know every line!”
“I also know how panic attacks work!”
She sighs dramatically against the door. “You’ll be amazing.”
“I’ll ruin your play.”
“No, you won’t.”
“I absolutely will.”
The hallway goes quiet. Then Hannah’s voice comes through the door. Gentle. Calm. “I think…” She pauses. “If you don’t want to do it…shouldn’t be because people will be watching.” Silence. “It should be because you don’t want to.” Another pause. “You don’t owe anyone bravery. You don’t owe anyone a performance. If the answer is no… then it gets to be no.”
I lean my forehead against the door. My breathing slowly evens out. For a long moment… Nobody says anything.
Then… I unlock the door. It opens just enough for me to look at them.
I look at Hannah first. Then at Allie. “…If I do this…” I point a finger at Allie. “…you are never allowed to threaten my hoodies again.”
----------------
Five minutes before the curtains rise, I’m somehow wearing a full costume.
Someone pinned my hair. Someone else adjusted the sleeves. I honestly don’t remember any of it.
Hannah walks over to me, studying my face. “…Are you okay?”
I stare straight ahead. “I can feel my heart in my ass crack.”
She blinks. “…Oh.” A beat passes before she laughs. “You’ll be fine. I promise.”
“I appreciate your optimism.”
Allie walks over, practically glowing. “I am so excited!”
I look at her. “I’m changing countries after this.”
“I’ll follow you wherever you go.”
I deadpan. “That’s somehow more threatening.”
She grins. “Isn’t it exciting? We’re playing sisters.”
“Yeah…” I adjust the sleeves of my costume. “…But I end up dying.”
“You always focus on the wrong part.”
“I think dying is a pretty significant detail.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “Details.”
I let out a long sigh. “If I pass out…”
“I’ll catch you,” Hannah says.
“If I throw up…”
“I’ll clean it.”
“If I forget every line?”
Allie immediately grabs both my shoulders. “You literally can’t.”
I stare at her. “…Right.”
“Photographic memory.” She beams. “You’ve got this.”
Someone backstage calls, “Places!”
The room instantly shifts. Actors move into position. Crew members hurry past.
My stomach drops.
I look at Hannah one last time. She gives me a small nod. “You don’t have to be fearless. You just have to take one step.”
I nod back. “…One step.”
Then I walk toward the stage.
The curtain rises.
My stomach immediately drops. The stage lights are bright enough that I can’t see every face clearly. But I recognize enough of them.
The hockey team. The football team. Jessica sitting beside Mike. Carmen. People from my psychology classes. People from Malone’s.
For exactly one second… My brain imagines every possible disaster. I could forget every line. Trip over my own dress. Throw up. Pass out while shitting. Somehow do all three at the same time.
I inhale. Slowly. Then exhale.
The maid speaks first. Thank God.
Five seconds. That’s all I need.
When my cue comes, I step forward. And then…
Insaf disappears.
---------
Dean had only agreed to come because there was nothing else to do that night. Garrett had complained. Beau was the one who wanted to come, he loves theater. Tucker shrugged and came along. Logan simply followed.
None of them expected to recognize anyone on stage. Then a girl with familiar wavy hair walked out.
Tucker frowned. “…Hold on.”
Beau leaned forward. “Is that…” He blinked. “No way.”
Logan didn’t say anything. He already knew. The purple dress. The quiet girl at Malone’s. The one who made cakes. Hannah's friend. The girl he shared cigarretes with. The one who cleaned motor oil off his hands.
Insaf. Except, she wasn’t. Not anymore.
The moment she spoke, she became someone else entirely. Her voice carried effortlessly across the theatre. Every word was deliberate. Every movement belonged to Antigone.
Logan found himself leaning forward before he even realised it. He had never heard her speak this loudly. Or this confidently. It didn’t even feel like acting.
It felt like she had disappeared inside the character.
Beau quietly muttered, “I didn’t know she did theatre.”
Tucker shook his head. “I don’t think she does.”
Logan’s eyes never left the stage. “I don’t think any of us know much about her.”
No one answered. Because they were all still watching.
-----------------------
During my first long, angry monologue, I let my eyes drift across the audience.
Only once.
I find Hannah almost immediately. She’s smiling.
Small. Steady. The kind of smile that reminds me to breathe.
I hold her gaze for half a second. Then I turn back to the stage.
And disappear into Antigone once again.
----------
The final scene belongs to Queen Eurydice. I watch from the wings as she quietly walks toward her fate.
By now, everyone in the theatre knows how the story ends. Antigone is gone. Haemon is gone. Creon has lost everything. And then Eurydice disappears behind the palace doors.
The silence that follows somehow feels louder than every argument that came before it.
A few moments later… Blackout.
For a second, nobody moves.
Then the curtains close. Backstage, everyone exhales at once. Some actors hug each other. Others immediately start crying from relief.
Someone whispers, “We did it.”
My heart is still beating so hard I can hear it in my ears.
The stage manager gestures toward us. “Places for bows!”
Everyone lines up. Allie quietly reaches for my hand. I squeeze it back.
The curtains rise one last time. The applause hits us like a wave. Loud. Really loud.
We bow together.
When I straighten up, I finally let myself look into the audience. People are standing. Clapping. Whistling. Some are cheering.
For a second, my brain refuses to believe they’re applauding us. Then it finally clicks.
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. I cover my face with both hands, suddenly embarrassed by the sound of it.
Beside me, Allie laughs too, still holding my hand. She whispers without looking at me “I told you.”
I shake my head behind my hands, laughing even harder. “I know. I know.”
------------
As soon as the curtains close for the final time, the backstage erupts.
People are laughing. Crying. Someone is already taking pictures.
Actors throw themselves into each other’s arms, still half dressed as their characters.
I barely have time to process anything before people start surrounding me.
“You were incredible.”
“Thank you for stepping in.”
“I can’t believe you learned the role in thirty minutes.”
Hands squeeze my shoulders. Someone hugs me. Then someone else.
I’m still holding Allie’s hand so tightly that neither of us has noticed.
She laughs. “I think you can let go now.”
I look down. “…Oh.” I immediately loosen my grip. “Sorry.”
She simply threads her fingers through mine instead. “I wasn’t complaining.”
Before I can answer, Dexter appears. He walks straight toward me and, without saying a word, wraps me in a hug.
I freeze for half a second before awkwardly hugging him back.
“You saved my play,” he says as he pulls away.
“No, I—”
“You did.” He smiles. “You walked into a role with almost no preparation, and no one in that audience would’ve guessed.”
I rub the back of my neck. “I was terrified.”
“I know, and you still did it.” He pats my shoulder. “We’re having a small cast party tomorrow evening. Nothing fancy. Just dinner. I’d really like you to come.”
I hesitate for only a moment before smiling. “…Okay.”
“Good.” He beams. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As he walks away to congratulate someone else, I finally turn around. Hannah is standing a few steps away. The second our eyes meet, I don’t even think. I walk straight into her arms. She catches me effortlessly. I bury my face against her shoulder while she laughs, wrapping both arms around me.
“You were amazing.”
“I almost ran away.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I thought I was going to throw up.”
“You also didn’t do that.”
I laugh into her shoulder.
She gently rubs my back. “I’m really proud of you.”
I close my eyes. “…Thank you.”
-------------
I don’t stay long enough to meet the audience.
The thought alone makes my stomach twist.
I change out of my costume, hug Allie one last time, promise Hannah I’ll text her when I get home, and quietly slip out through the backstage exit.
Halfway back to the apartment, my phone buzzes.
Jessica
INSAF?????
WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME YOU COULD DO THAT?
I laugh to myself.
Me: Neither did I.
A few minutes later, another notification.
Carmen
You were incredible.
I’m genuinely speechless.
I smile at my screen before replying.
Me: Thank you. I was terrified the whole time.
Carmen: Didn’t look like it.
That somehow makes me smile even more.
----------------------------
Back at the apartment, I crawl into bed. Sleep never comes.
Every time I close my eyes, I hear the applause again. I feel it in my chest. In my hands. In my ribs.
I forgot what performing felt like. How alive it made me feel.
At exactly two in the morning, I give up. I glance at the time on my phone. 2:03 a.m.
The apartment is silent. Hannah and Allie are asleep.
Without letting myself think too much, I get out of bed.
I kneel in front of my wardrobe and pull out a sealed box I haven’t opened since moving to Briar. Inside are my skating shoes. I run my fingers over the worn leather.
Then I take them. A jacket. My keys. And I’m gone.
-------------------
The ice rink is still lit. Empty. Perfect.
I stand at the entrance for a long moment. My skates hover over the ice.
Suddenly… I’m scared. Not of falling, but of remembering.
So instead of skating, I simply step onto the ice and walk. Slowly. Carefully.
Listening to the quiet scrape of the blades beneath me. I wasn’t a figure skater. Not really. We didn’t even have an ice rink back home. Al Hoceima is a coastal city.
The closest thing I had was the few winters my father took us to Ifrane. He’d hold my hands. Tell me to trust the ice.
My feet begin moving almost on their own. A small turn. Another.
The movements are clumsy. Rusty, but familiar. Like my body remembered something my mind had forgotten.
I stop trying to think about technique, or whether I’m doing anything correctly.
A melody starts playing in my head. One I haven’t heard in years. I let it guide me.
One turn. Two. A glide. Then another.
Without realizing it I’m dancing. Not for an audience. Just because I can.
I close my eyes. I simply move.
When the music in my head finally ends, I come to a slow stop. Breathing hard. Eyes still closed. A smile finds its way onto my face. I open my eyes.
Someone is standing against the boards. Watching.
John Logan.
Already in full hockey gear. He doesn’t look surprised. He just looks completely captivated.
I slowly glide toward the boards where he’s standing. The closer I get, the more embarrassed I become.
I stop a few feet away. “…Sorry.”
He tilts his head.
“I didn’t know anyone would be here.”
A small smile appears on his face. “Usually there isn’t.”
He gestures toward the empty rink. “I just come here to practice.”
I blink. “…Now?”
He nods simply. “Less people.”
I look around the empty arena. “…Makes sense.”
A comfortable silence settles between us before he asks, “Are you a figure skater?”
The question makes me laugh. “No. We don’t even have an ice rink where I’m from. It’s a coastal city. I only learned how to skate when we travelled.”
He nods, waiting. Like he knows there’s more.
I hesitate, then the words leave my mouth before I can stop them. “…I used to dance.”
He doesn’t interrupt.
“Competitively.”
His eyebrows lift slightly. “You?”
I nod. “Until I was fifteen.”
He looks at me for another second. “I would’ve never guessed.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “Most people don’t.”
“You looked…” He searches for the right word. “…comfortable.”
I smile to myself. “I wasn’t.”
“No?”
“I was terrified.”
“Then why did it look so natural?”
I glance down at the ice beneath my skates. “Because when the music starts…” I shrug. “…my body remembers before I do.”
He follows my gaze to the marks my blades left across the ice. “I’ve seen a lot of people skate.” He looks back at me. “…That wasn’t just someone remembering.”
I don’t know what to say to that. So I just smile. A small one. The kind that says thank you without actually saying it.
I hesitate before speaking. “…Can we keep this between us?”
He looks at me for a long moment. Not confused. Just thoughtful. “You never told anyone?”
I shake my head. “No.”
Another quiet beat passes. Then he nods. “Okay. That’ll be our little secret.”
Something in my chest loosens. I smile. “…Thank you.”
I push myself toward the exit, carefully gliding off the ice so he can have the rink to himself.
I step onto the rubber flooring and start untying my skates.
When I’m finished, I sling them over my shoulder and pull my jacket back on. Before opening the rink door, I glance back. He’s still standing by the boards, watching me.
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “I have a feeling…” I pause with my hand on the door. “…there are going to be a lot of those.”
His expression softens into an amused smile. “I guess we’ll find out.”
I nod once.
Then I push open the door and disappear into the cold October night, leaving the empty rink—and him—to the sound of skates on fresh ice.
---------------------------------------
The next afternoon, I’m back in Dr. Carter’s office.
She smiles as I sit down. “So… Tell me about the play.”
I laugh once. “I survived.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
I tell her everything, How Linda got food poisoning. How Allie chased me backstage. How I hid in a janitor’s closet. How terrified I was. How I somehow forgot about the audience the moment the curtain went up.
She listens carefully. When I finish, she asks, “How did it make you feel?”
“Terrified.”
“What made you terrified exactly?”
I look at the carpet. “…Being watched. I pause. “And… remembering how alive it made me feel.”
She tilts her head slightly. “What do you mean?”
I hesitate. Then I say it. “I used to dance.”
She blinks. “You danced?”
I nod. “Competitively.”
Her eyebrows rise. “You’ve never mentioned that before.”
“I know.”
“What kind of dance?”
I tell her.
For a moment, she simply lets that new piece of me settle into the room.
Then she asks softly, “Why did you stop?”
I stare at my hands. “We were tight on money.”
She nods.
“And…” The second reason is harder. “I went through sexual abuse.”
Her expression remains gentle.
“The person…” I swallow. “…he knew who I was because he’d seen me dance when I was a kid.”
Silence.
“I don’t know…” I shake my head. “I just stopped. I never made a conscious decision. I just… couldn’t go back.”
Dr. Carter stays quiet for a long moment. Then she asks, “When you stepped onto that stage last night… was that the first time you’d performed in front of people since then?”
I think about it. “…Yes.”
“And afterwards?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“So I went to the ice rink.”
“You skate?”
“A little, but…” I smile faintly. “I ended up dancing.”
She smiles back. “It sounds like performing reminded your body of something it loved… and your mind of something it feared.”
I look at her. “I’ve never thought about it that way.”
“I imagine not.” She folds her hands. “Those two things can exist at the same time. You can love something deeply… and be terrified of returning to it because of what became attached to it.”
I nod slowly.
“So the fear doesn’t necessarily mean you don’t belong there. It might simply mean that’s where something important was interrupted.”
The room grows quiet. I let myself sit with that thought.
The session comes to a natural close. I stand, picking up my bag from beside the chair.
Dr. Carter closes her notebook but doesn’t stand immediately. “Insaf?”
I look back. “Yeah?”
She offers me a small, reassuring smile. “I appreciate you telling me what you did today.”
I don’t say anything. I’m not sure what to say.
She continues gently. “I know that wasn’t easy.”
A quiet moment passes. Then she says, “I hope that next session… we can talk a little more about the sexual abuse.” She pauses just long enough to add, “If you want.”
The words aren’t a request, or an expectation. Just an invitation.
I look at her for a second before nodding. “…Okay.”
She smiles. “Have a good week.”
“You too.” I leave her office, closing the door softly behind me.
------------------
When I get to Malone’s, the afternoon rush has already started.
I don’t have a shift today. Allie and Hannah do.
I’m only here because Allie and I are supposed to leave together for the cast party.
The bell above the café door jingles as I walk in.
Della spots me immediately. “You’re off today.”
“I know.”
“So why are you in my café?”
“I’m kidnapping one of your employees.”
She nods thoughtfully. “Fair enough.”
Allie pops her head out from behind the espresso machine. “There she is!” She still looks like she’s riding the high from last night’s performance. “I’ve been counting down the minutes.”
“I can tell.” I lean against the counter while she finishes making a latte.
Hannah is wiping down one of the tables nearby. She looks up. “I have bad news.”
“What?”
She gives us an apologetic smile. “I can’t come tonight.”
Allie’s face falls. “Seriously?”
“I completely forgot.”
“I already promised I’d tutor a group this evening.”
“They have an exam this week.”
I nod. “That’s okay.”
She looks at me. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Money first.”
She laughs. “Exactly.”
Allie sighs dramatically. “So you’re abandoning us for education.”
“I am.”
“What if Insaf gets adopted by the theatre department while I’m not looking?”
Hannah grins. “Then I’ll congratulate her afterwards.”
“I’ll probably just stand in a corner,” I say.
“You’ll make at least one friend,” Allie replies confidently.
“I made one yesterday.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“The director.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“It absolutely counts.”
She points at me. “Today your homework is to voluntarily talk to one new person.”
“I hate this assignment.”
“I know.” She smiles smugly. “That’s why I gave it to you.”
I sigh. “I miss Hannah already.”
Hannah laughs as she hangs her towel over her shoulder. “I’ll see you both when you get home.” She walks over and hugs each of us. “Have fun.”
“I’ll try,” I mumble.
Allie hooks her arm through mine. “Oh, you don’t get to ‘try.’ We’re celebrating.”
Before I can protest, she pulls me toward the door. “Come on, Antigone.”
--------------
Allie and I arrive at Dexter’s apartment just after sunset.
The moment he opens the door, the smell of food spills into the hallway. He really committed. The dining table is covered with homemade food, snacks, desserts and drinks.
Someone has music playing quietly in the background. The atmosphere feels warm. Comfortable.
Dexter spots us immediately. “My stars are here!” He hugs Allie first. Then me. “I’m so glad you both came.”
“Thank you for inviting us.”
“My pleasure.” He presses a glass of red wine into my hand. “Here.”
I look down at it. “…Thank you.”
The second he walks away, I take the tiniest sip imaginable. I immediately regret every life decision that brought me to this moment. It tastes like olive oil filtered through burnt balls’ sweat.
I stare at the glass in mild disgust before quietly abandoning it on the nearest table. Absolutely not.
Within minutes, Allie is absorbed into a circle of theatre students, already laughing so hard she’s nearly spilling her drink.
I smile to myself. Good. She deserves this.
That leaves me standing alone near the kitchen island, pretending to be fascinated by a bowl of tortilla chips.
A voice appears beside me. “Hi, Antigone.”
I turn. Josh. The guy who played Creon. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Still looking far too friendly for someone who sentenced me to death on stage.
He smiles warmly.
“Hi… Uncle.”
His face contorts immediately. “Oh, God.” He covers his face dramatically. “No. That’s weird.”
I can’t help laughing. “It is a little.”
“A little?” He points at himself. “I spent last night telling you not to bury your fictional brother. I don’t want to be anybody’s uncle.”
I grin. “Fair.”
He offers me his hand. “I’m Josh.”
I shake it. “I’m Insaf.”
“I know.”
“Right. You know me.”
“I figured introductions felt less strange than continuing to call you Antigone.”
“I appreciate that.”
He glances around the apartment. “So… Was yesterday really your first time acting?”
I nod. “Yep.”
He stares. “I refuse to believe that.”
“I’ve got witnesses.”
“You didn’t look like someone who’d never been on a stage.”
I hesitate. “I… used to perform.”
“Oh?”
“A long time ago.”
He notices I don’t elaborate. Instead of pushing, he simply nods.
“Well. I’m glad you showed up. The play would’ve been very different without you.”
I smile, a little embarrassed. “I’m glad I didn’t throw up.”
Josh laughs “You know, I was worried about forgetting my lines.”
I blink. “You?”
“I’ve been acting for years.” He shrugs. “It never really goes away.”
That surprises me. “I thought professionals stopped getting nervous.”
“They just get better at pretending they aren’t.”
I smile at that.
Somehow, the conversation shifts. I don’t even notice when it happens.
One moment we’re laughing about the play. The next, he’s standing a little closer than before. Close enough that I can smell his cologne. Close enough that every smile lingers a second longer than it probably should.
There’s something undeniably flirtatious about it. Not overwhelming. Maybe it’s because it’s been months since I’ve hooked up with anyone.
Maybe it’s the warmth of the apartment. The soft music. The wine everyone else is drinking. Or maybe it’s simply because he’s attractive and looking at me like I’m the only person in the room.
I try to ignore the feeling. Then, almost absentmindedly, his hand settles around my waist. Just enough to test whether I’ll move away.
I don’t. Instead, I remind myself of the rule I made.
No hooking up with people from campus.
I look up at him and smile anyway. The truth is I don’t think I’m that sexually attracted to him.
He’s handsome. Easy to talk to. Funny.
But whatever this is, it feels more like circumstance than chemistry.
Even if we were thinking the same thing. We’re at Dexter’s apartment. A one-bedroom apartment. Half the cast is here, and I’m not nearly impulsive enough for that.
Josh studies my face for a second, almost as if he can hear every thought I just had.
A knowing smile spreads across his face. “So…” He tilts his head slightly. “Do you live close by?”
Before I can answer, I hear a familiar voice. “Oh, she does.”
I turn.
Allie is standing a few feet away, sipping from her cup with the most suspiciously innocent expression I’ve ever seen. She isn’t even trying to hide the smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.
I narrow my eyes at her. She simply shrugs.
Josh laughs quietly before looking back at me. “So… Would you want to go there?”
For a heartbeat, the room feels quieter. I meet his eyes.
Then I glance toward Allie, who is suddenly very interested in absolutely anything except looking directly at us.
Then i look back at him, "Yeah i'd like that."
-------------------
We arrive at the apartment I share with Hannah and Allie.
I unlock the door quietly, grateful that neither of them is home. “Come in.”
He follows me to my room. I set my bag down on my desk before turning around.
He’s already looking at me. He cups my face in both hands and kisses me. Slowly. Gently.
My back bumps against the edge of the desk. I smile into the kiss as I sit on it, pulling him a little closer.
I slip his jacket off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor without breaking the kiss.
He smiles against my lips before beginning to unbutton my blouse with careful, unhurried movements.
I help him out of it. Then he takes off my pants. His hands touching my thighs gently.
The room is quiet except for our uneven breathing.
Eventually, I pull away first. I guide him over to my bed and gently push him down to sit. Then I climb onto his lap, facing him.
His hands instinctively settle on my waist, drawing me a little closer. I feel him as he hardens. Heat rushes to my cheeks.
He kisses along my jaw before moving to my neck while my fingers disappear into his hair. He unhooks my bra and he stops kissing me to watch my chest spill out.
After another quiet moment, he looks up at me. His expression changes.
He stares. “…Damn.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What?”
He says it with complete sincerity. “Your boobs look like my mother’s.”
I blink. “…Excuse me?”
He nods, as if doubling down somehow improves the situation. “They really do.”
I stare at him in absolute silence. Then I get off his lap so quickly I nearly trip.
I grab the first oversized T-shirt I can find and pull it over my head that covers me to my mid thighs.
“What?” he asks, genuinely confused.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “…Can you get out?”
“What?”
“Get. Out.”
He starts standing. “Wait, I can explain—”
“No.” I pick up his shoes before he can reach them.
“Insaf—”
“Get out.”
“I’m serious, let me—”
“Out.” I march him through the apartment while he hurriedly gathers the rest of his clothes, still attempting to explain himself.
“Insaf, listen—”
“No.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“No.”
“It just slipped out—”
“No.”
I unlock the front door.
He tries one last time. “Can I just—” I toss his shoes outside.
“OUT.”
He sighs dramatically before stepping into the hallway. I finally look up. Standing there, frozen mid-knock… are Logan and Dean.
Neither of them says a word. Dean slowly looks at Josh. Then at me in the oversized shirt. Then at the pair of shoes lying in the hallway.
Logan clears his throat. “…Bad timing?”
I close my eyes. “Spectacularly.”
Dean clears his throat. “We’re here for Hannah.”
I blink. “What?”
“She was supposed to tutor us.”
“…Right.” I step aside and open the door wider.
Dean gives Josh an awkward nod as he walks past him. “Bye, man.”
Josh rubs the back of his neck. “…Yeah.”
The door closes behind him. I don’t even look back. I head straight for the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror. My wavy hair is a mess. My cheeks are bright red. My lips are flushed.
I splash cold water onto my face. Once. Then again. As if that’ll somehow erase the last ten minutes. It doesn’t.
I let out a long sigh before walking back out.
Dean and Logan are standing in the kitchen like they aren’t sure if they’re allowed to exist.
I gesture toward the table. “You can sit.”
They obey immediately. Without another word, I grab the cookie tin and place it in front of them. Neither of them touches it.
I don’t bother changing. The oversized T-shirt stays exactly where it is. I’m still too warm. Too embarrassed. Too everything.
The silence stretches.
Finally, Logan speaks. “…Did he do something?”
I start pacing around the kitchen. “No. …Yes… I don’t know!”
Dean sits up a little straighter, suddenly invested. “What happened?”
I stop walking. Look at him. Then pour myself a glass of water. I drink the whole thing in one go. Still not enough.
I clear my throat. “Okay… We were supposed to hook up.” Both of them blink.
I pull my hair into a messy ponytail to keep it off my face.
“And?”
I look between them. “He looked at me… and compared my boobs to his mother’s.”
Silence.
I mimic Josh’s completely sincere expression. “‘Your boobs look like my mother’s.’”
Another beat of silence.
I groan and hide my face in my hands. “I wanted to evaporate.”
A snort escapes Dean. Then another.
Within seconds, he’s doubled over laughing so hard he slides right off his chair and ends up sitting on the floor.
“I-” He wheezes. “I’m sorry—” Another laugh interrupts him. “I can’t—”
I stare at him. “I’m glad this is bringing you joy.”
Logan lasts about three seconds longer. He presses his lips together. Looks away. Fails miserably. A laugh escapes him too.
He drops his head into one hand, shoulders shaking as he tries to catch his breath “I am so sorry,” he manages between laughs. “I know I shouldn’t… But…” He can’t finish.
At that exact moment, the apartment door opens. Hannah walks in carrying her backpack. She freezes. Her eyes move across the room. Me. Standing in an oversized T-shirt. Dean on the kitchen floor laughing uncontrollably. Logan trying—and failing—not to laugh.
author’s note: its’s funny how I’m writing a character who’s moving in with 2 girls. Irl i have to pack so i can move in with 2 girls that I don’t know. I want to meet my Hannah and Allie (fingers crossed).
chapter 1.7<< >>chapter 3
masterlist
Summer break starts.
Allie leaves before I move into the apartment.
I pack everything, and by the time I’m done, I’m one of the last few people left on campus. I’m carrying far too many boxes at once. Paying someone to help is expensive, and I’d rather save the money.
Hannah already brought a few of my boxes over earlier. She’s waiting for me at the apartment.
As I make my way across campus, a couple of people offer to help. “You need a hand?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” Another asks if I’m sure. “I’ve got it.”
I take a few more steps before the weight in my arms suddenly becomes lighter. “Hey!”
Three boxes disappear. I look up. Logan. He’s carrying them as if they weigh nothing.
“I was handling it.”
“I’m sure you were.”
He says it with a grin and keeps walking. I sigh quietly and follow him. We ride the elevator in comfortable silence before making our way to the apartment.
Hannah opens the door almost immediately. “You made it!” Then she notices Logan standing beside me. “Oh—hi.”
“Hey.”
“Thank you for helping.”
“No problem.”
He carries the boxes inside and sets them down while Hannah is already opening one labelled
Kitchen.
“I should get going,” he says, brushing the dust off his hands.
“Wait.” He turns back.
“Can you wait one second?”
“Sure.”
As Hannah starts unpacking the kitchen box, I kneel beside another one, pushing books and clothes aside until I find the small paper bag I’d packed separately.
“There you are.” I pick it up and step into the hallway. Logan is still waiting.
I hold the bag out to him. “These are the products I used to clean your hands.”
He looks at the bag before taking it. His eyebrows lift slightly. “…You remembered.”
“I remember everything.” He looks at me curiously.
I shrug. “I have a photographic memory.”
He lets out a quiet laugh. “That explains a lot.”
“It usually does.”
He opens the bag just enough to look inside. The bottle of hand cleaner. The nail brush. The hand cream.
A small smile appears on his face. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
For a moment, neither of us says anything. Then I speak before I have the chance to think better of it. “You know…”
He looks up.
“If you like someone… You should probably tell them.”
He blinks. “What?”
“I’ve seen the way you look at Hannah.”
His expression changes almost imperceptibly. Not angry. Just guarded. He looks away for a second before shaking his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His voice is calm. Certain.
I nod once. “Maybe.”
Another silence settles between us. He looks back down at the paper bag in his hands. “…Thanks again.”
“Take care of your hands.”
A faint smile returns to his face. “I will.”
He gives me one last nod before walking toward the stairs.
I stand there for another second before turning back into the apartment, closing the door quietly behind me.
During that first month, I somehow end up with even more jobs.
Besides working at Malone’s, I start taking custom cake orders.
It turns out that, during the summer, the town is filled with wealthy families staying at their holiday homes. And rich people will celebrate absolutely anything.
Getting a driver’s licence. A two-month anniversary. A promotion. One woman even ordered a cake because she’d finally signed her divorce papers. That one was my favourite to decorate.
The money is ridiculous. Sometimes a custom cake costs over a thousand dollars, and people don’t even blink. Occasionally someone asks for an extra hundred grams of icing and casually hands me another fifty dollars.
I’m beginning to understand why luxury exists.
The families who order cakes also start asking if I’m available to watch their pets while they’re away for the afternoon.
Apparently, once a golden retriever decides you’re its favourite person, word travels fast. So I become a pet sitter too.
On top of that, I join the university’s summer maintenance crew, repainting dorm rooms and assembling furniture before students move back in at the end of August.
Somewhere between all of that, I find a rhythm. Work. Bake. Paint. Walk dogs. Sleep. Repeat.
Whenever I have an hour to spare, I sit down with my laptop and continue writing my research paper on addiction. It’s slow. Research always is.
Living with Hannah quickly becomes one of my favourite parts of the summer. Most mornings, I wake up to her humming in the kitchen before she’s fully awake herself.
One Direction is constantly playing somewhere in the apartment. Normally I’d complain. Instead, it makes me nostalgic.
It reminds me of summer breaks back home with my sister Ines and my cousins, spending entire afternoons watching their music videos on YouTube and arguing over who “claimed” which member.
Louis was always mine. I think I’ve always had a soft spot for people who were a little sarcastic.
By the end of June, Allie’s birthday arrives. Unfortunately, she’s back home, spending the summer auditioning for plays. Since I can’t make her a birthday cake, I do something she’d probably consider even more shocking.
I make an Instagram account.
My first post is nothing but a photo dump of her. Her on stage. Her laughing so hard she nearly falls over. Us shopping. Her with icing all over her face after stealing some from Hannah’s birthday cake. Her concentrating while doing her makeup.
The caption simply reads: she lives on pretty girl avenue.
I post it. Less than a minute later, my phone starts vibrating.
Allie: WHAT???
Allie: INSAF.
Allie: DID YOU JUST MAKE AN INSTAGRAM ACCOUNT???
Another notification.
Allie tagged you in a story. A screenshot of my post.
Across it, in giant letters: SHE LOVES ME EVERYONE. THIS IS HER LOVE LANGUAGE.
Then another message.
Allie: I’M LITERALLY SOBBING.
Allie: THESE ARE MY FAVOURITE PHOTOS OF ME.
A pause. Then:
Allie: Wait…
Allie: HAVE YOU BEEN SECRETLY TAKING CANDID PHOTOS OF ME THIS WHOLE YEAR???
I spend the entire day baking. Five custom cakes. Five different families.
Apparently, everyone decides to throw a party on the same day. They’re celebrating a… complicated holiday.
But hey. At least it’s sparkly with fireworks.
By the time I finish delivering the last cake, I go back home and i count the money.
I kid you not. Seven thousand dollars. For one day.
I blink a few times, convinced I’ve misread one of the numbers. I haven’t.
I quietly open my banking app just to admire it for another second before closing it again.
Maybe rich people really do have too much money.
Later that evening, while eating leftovers on the couch, I finally start using Instagram like a normal person. I follow Quinn. My family. Jessica, whose feed somehow looks like it belongs in a magazine. Carmen.
Then I close the app before it convinces me to spend an hour scrolling. Tomorrow’s another workday.
It’s Ayoub’s birthday. It falls on a Sunday this year. I don’t take any cake orders today. For once.
I wake up early, before Hannah, and scribble a sticky note before sticking it to the fridge.
I’m out on a walk. Text me if you need anything.
The morning air is already warm.
I throw on a pair of shorts, an oversized T-shirt, and my sneakers before heading outside.
It’s too early for the streets to be busy.
I don’t really have a destination. I just walk.
Eventually, I stop by a bakery. Rows of neat pastries line the display case. My eyes land on the most ridiculous cupcake I’ve ever seen. Vanilla frosting. Rainbow sprinkles. Edible glitter.
The cashier follows my gaze. “…That one?”
“That one.”
He chuckles as he places it in a small box. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to buy it.”
“I wasn’t expecting to either.”
A few minutes later, I’m sitting by the lake near campus. I place the cupcake on the bench beside me, the water stretching out quietly in front of me. I take out my phone.
I open our old conversation. I place the cupcake where the lake sits in the background and take a picture.
Then I type: Happy birthday.
I press send. Sent. Not delivered. I lock my phone before I can look at it any longer.
Then I open the little box and start eating the cupcake. It’s painfully sweet. Too much frosting. Too many sprinkles.
Exactly the kind of thing he would’ve laughed at. When I’m done, I sit there for a while. The empty box rests beside me.
The lake ripples gently in the summer breeze. I lose track of time. My eyes stay fixed on the water. My thoughts don’t.
Eventually, I stand up and make my way back to the apartment. I unlock the door quietly.
Soft piano music drifts through the living room. Hannah is sitting at the keyboard. She stops playing the moment she hears the door open.
She turns around. “There you are.”
Her smile fades just slightly as she takes a better look at me. “You’ve been gone for hours.”
I nod. “I know.”
She studies my face for a second. “You okay?”
I think about it. “…I don’t know.”
She doesn’t ask another question. Instead, she pats the empty spot on the piano bench beside her. I walk over and sit down.
The following week, I’m pet sitting a Chihuahua named Mochi.
She belongs to a young couple who live in a beautiful lakeside house that’s somehow bigger than my entire apartment building.
When I arrive, the owner opens the door with an excited smile. “You know…” she says, “we’re getting married next week.”
I smile. “I do. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” She hesitates for a moment before asking, “I heard you take cake orders.”
“I do.”
“Would you take a last-minute wedding cake?”
I think for a second. “When’s the wedding?”
“Next Saturday.”
“…That’s a little tight.”
“I know.” She winces apologetically. “I’d pay fifty thousand dollars because of the time crunch. It needs to be four tiers.”
I stare at her. “…Fifty thousand?”
She tilts her head. “Is that too little?”
I blink. “I… no.”
“Oh, good!” she says with visible relief. “And if you happen to know any local bands looking for a wedding gig, we’d appreciate recommendations.”
I continue staring at her for another second. “Okay.”
She smiles brightly. “Perfect! Thank you so much.”
I nod automatically. “No problem.”
As she walks back inside, I glance down at the tiny Chihuahua sitting at my feet.
Mochi looks up at me. I look back at her. “…Did she just offer me fifty thousand dollars for a cake?”
Mochi sneezes. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
--------------------------------------------
The next day, I’m back at Malone’s.
I clock in, tie my apron, and spot Justin setting up his guitar on the small stage before the lunch crowd arrives.
“Morning.”
“Morning.” He looks up from tuning a string. “What’s up?”
“I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Are you and your band interested in playing at a wedding next weekend?”
He stops tuning. “…A wedding?”
“Yeah.”
“I mean, sure.”
“I have the bride’s number if you want to call her.”
He takes my phone, scrolls to her contact, and steps a few feet away. I busy myself wiping down the coffee machine while he talks. The conversation lasts barely three minutes.
When he hangs up, he just stares at my phone. “…Justin?”
He slowly looks up at me. His eyes are wide.
“What happened?”
“She…” He laughs once in disbelief. “She just offered us a hundred thousand dollars.”
I blink. “A hundred?”
“Yeah.”
“For one night.”
Neither of us says anything for a moment. Then I quietly ask, “…Are rich people okay?”
Justin bursts out laughing. “I genuinely don’t think they are.”
I take my phone back, still trying to process the number. “I charged her fifty thousand for the cake.”
He stares at me. “You what?”
“I thought that was already ridiculous.”
He shakes his head. “I think you accidentally found the right clientele.”
“I think I accidentally found another planet.”
He laughs again before picking up his guitar. “If they know anyone else getting married…”
I point a dish towel at him. “Don’t push your luck.”
“I’m just saying.”
“I know exactly what you’re saying.”
He grins.
-------------------------------------------------
The day of the wedding arrives.
I barely sleep the night before.
Four tiers. Fresh flowers. Hand-piped details. I’ve spent the last three days making sure nothing goes wrong.
Now the cake is carefully secured in the back of Hannah’s Bluebaru with enough towels and boxes around it to protect it from every bump in the road.
“I still think we should’ve rented you a refrigerated truck,” Hannah mutters as she drives.
“I still think that would’ve cost more than my rent.”
“Fair.”
We leave campus behind, trading city streets for winding country roads. The GPS says another twenty-five minutes.
I glance into the back every few seconds. The cake is still standing. Good.
“I’ve never been this stressed over someone else’s wedding,” Hannah says.
“I have.”
“When?”
“I’ve imagined this drive at least twelve times.”
She laughs. “I believe you.”
The road becomes quieter. Fields stretch out on either side of us. No houses. Hardly any traffic. Then–
The engine coughs. Once. Twice.
Hannah’s smile disappears. “…No.”
The dashboard lights flicker. The car jerks. “No, no, no…”
The engine dies completely. The Bluebaru rolls forward on its remaining momentum before Hannah carefully guides it onto the shoulder.
Silence. We both stare ahead. Neither of us says a word.
Then Hannah tries the ignition. Click. Click. Nothing. She tries again. The same sound.
“…Bluebaru.”
Another turn of the key. Nothing. She rests her forehead against the steering wheel. “…You couldn’t wait one more trip?”
I look into the backseat. The cake is still standing. Untouched.
I let out a slow breath. “Well…”
Hannah turns toward me.
“At least the cake made it.”
She snorts despite herself. “I cannot believe that’s your first concern.”
“It’s a fifty-thousand-dollar cake.”
“…That’s actually a very good point.”
She sighs and reaches for her phone. “No signal.”
I check mine. “…Mine too.”
We look at each other. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
--------------------
We wait by the side of the road, hoping someone will eventually drive past.
Five minutes go by. Nothing.
I sigh, walk over to the Bluebaru, and lift the hood. I stare at the engine for a long moment.
Hannah crosses her arms. “…Diagnosis?”
“Dead.” I look over at her apologetically. “Sorry.”
She laughs through her frustration. “You’re the one with a fifty-thousand-dollar cake. My Bluebaru has been dying for years. It’s honestly a miracle it lasted another six months.”
I close the hood. “I liked your car.”
“So did I.”
Another five minutes pass. Then, in the distance, headlights appear. The truck slows. Then pulls over beside us.
The passenger window rolls down. I recognize them immediately. Beau Maxwell is driving. John Tucker is in the passenger seat.
“You guys need help?” Beau asks.
Hannah hesitates before answering. “…Yeah. Our car died. We have a wedding cake to deliver, and there’s no service out here.”
Beau looks from the Bluebaru to the boxes in the back.
“Get in, Insaf. We’ll get you there.” Tucker says
I look at him, then at Hannah. She’s still hesitating.
Beau notices. “You can drive.”
“What?”
“We don’t know where the venue is anyway.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “…Really? You’d trust me with your truck?”
He shrugs as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s either that or somebody doesn’t get married with a cake.”
He steps out, tossing her the keys. She catches them instinctively. “Thank you.”
Meanwhile, Tucker walks over to the back of the Bluebaru. “I’ll help.”
The moment he sees the cake, he whistles quietly. “That’s… huge.”
“Please don’t breathe too hard near it.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Together, we carefully lift the cake. Beau opens the back of his truck. “I’ve got a beer fridge back here.”
I stare at him. “…If you ever need a kidney, I’m your person.”
He bursts out laughing. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
We slide the cake into the refrigerated compartment. I let out the breath I’d apparently been holding.
When everything is finally secured, I climb into the passenger seat beside Tucker while Hannah settles into the driver’s seat.
As we pull back onto the road, Hannah glances at them in the rear-view mirror.
“So…” She smiles. “What are you guys doing all the way out here anyway?”
“We were fishing,” Beau says.
“You fish?” I ask.
“Barely.” Tucker laughs. “He caught exactly one.”
“It was a good fish.”
“It was tiny.”
“It had heart.”
“It had delusion.”
I smile to myself.
Beau shakes his head. “Ignore him. We figured we’d make the drive before everyone gets busy again. Last free weekend before summer jobs take over.”
“What about you?” Tucker asks, looking over at me. “Still working at Malone’s?”
“And apparently every other job in town.” Beau says.
I laugh. “Sounds about right.”
“We’re delivering a wedding cake worth fifty grand,” Hannah says.
Both of them go quiet.
“…Fifty?” Beau repeats.
“Yeah.”
He lets out a low whistle. “I don’t think my truck has ever carried anything that expensive.”
“It hasn’t,” I answer. “So please don’t hit a pothole.”
“I suddenly feel a lot more pressure.” Hannah says.
“You should.”
“I was trying to make her feel better,” Beau says.
“It’s not working.” Tucker replies.
“No,” I admit. “It isn’t.”
The truck fills with quiet laughter as the venue finally comes into view in the distance.
Once we finish delivering the cake, Beau and Tucker are already waiting for us outside the venue.
The bride and groom thank me one last time before we head back to the truck.
This time, Beau gets behind the wheel while Hannah sits in the passenger seat to guide him back to where the Bluebaru is stranded.
None of us talks much. The stress is over. Now we’re all just tired.
When we reach the Bluebaru, the tow truck is already there.
The driver lowers the ramp while Hannah gathers the last few things from inside her car. She takes one last look at it before handing Beau his keys back. “Thank you. Seriously.”
He slips the keys into his pocket and smiles. “It was no trouble.”
“I’m sorry we borrowed your truck for half the day.”
“I’ve had worse Sundays.”
Tucker glances over at me. “Did the cake survive?”
“It did.”
“And?”
“The bride cried.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Happy tears?”
“Happy tears.”
He smiles. “Mission accomplished.”
Once the Bluebaru is secured onto the tow truck, Beau offers to drive us back to our apartment. The ride back is much lighter than the drive there.
The cake is delivered. The crisis is over. When we pull up outside our apartment building, Hannah and I climb out.
I lean back toward the open passenger window. “Thank you. Really.”
Both of them look over.
“You guys saved my day.”
Beau gives me an easy smile. “Glad we could help.”
Tucker nods. “See you around.”
“See you.”
I wave as Beau pulls away from the curb, the truck disappearing down the street.
Hannah watches it go before letting out a long sigh. “…We definitely owe them cookies.”
I smile. “Definitely.”
-------------------
When we get inside, I set my laptop on the living room coffee table and open the spreadsheet I’ve been updating all summer.
Hannah lingers by the doorway, watching me. She hesitates, as if she’s trying to decide whether I want to be alone.
I glance up and smile. “You can stay.”
She smiles back and quietly sits on the other end of the couch.
I enter the payment from the wedding. Another fifty thousand dollars. Then I recalculate everything. The exchange rate. My savings. The debts.
I stare at the screen. I calculate it again. Then a third time. Just to make sure.
Hannah watches me in silence. After a while, she asks softly, “Can I ask what all of this is for?”
I keep looking at the spreadsheet. “My dad’s debts.”
She nods.
“He’d been really stressed about them.”
Silence settles between us again. Then she asks, “…So what’s the update? How much is left?”
My eyes stay fixed on the final number. The words don’t come out immediately. My vision starts to blur.
I blink once. Twice. A tear lands on the trackpad before I even realise I’m crying.
Hannah’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Insaf?”
I let out a shaky laugh. “…It’s done.”
“What?”
“I can pay all of them.” I cover my mouth with my hand, laughing and crying at the same time. “All of them.”
Hannah doesn’t say anything. She just moves closer and wraps her arms around me.
I don’t think I’ve ever cried because of relief before. But I do now.
I let out another shaky laugh through my tears. “And…”
I wipe at my eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie. “I think I’ll have enough left to buy us bikes.”
Hannah lets out a teary laugh.
“And…” I smile despite myself. “Maybe when Allie comes back, we can all go shopping together.”
She laughs again, her eyes still glossy. “I think she’d love that.”
A beat passes. Then another thought crosses my mind. “…Oh.”
Hannah looks at me.
“I don’t actually know how to ride a bike.” She stares at me for a second.
Then she completely loses it. She laughs so hard she starts crying all over again, burying her face in my shoulder. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You’ve done all of this…” She gestures vaguely toward my laptop. “…and you don’t know how to ride a bike?”
I shrug helplessly. “It never came up.”
She laughs even harder before pulling me into another hug. “I can teach you.”
I don’t answer. I just let her hold me.
--------------------------
By the end of July, the university’s maintenance work is finished.
The dorms are freshly painted, the furniture is assembled, and the campus is slowly preparing for students to return in August.
Which means I’m out of a job. Well. One of them.
I still take custom cake orders. I still work shifts at Malone’s.
And every now and then, I spend an afternoon walking someone’s dog or looking after their cat while they’re out of town.
It’s quieter than the beginning of summer.
For the first time in weeks, I occasionally have an afternoon with nothing planned.
I start calling my mom more often. Not because I suddenly have more free time, but because, for the first time in a long time, I have good news.
I send her the money little by little, asking her to handle the payments quietly. “Don’t tell Dad it came from me.”
She understands immediately. She never asks why.
She simply nods. “Okay.”
A few days later, she calls me while I’m on my lunch break at Malone’s. “The biggest one is paid.”
I close my eyes for a second. “Okay.”
“He’s been smiling more.” I smile too.
Another payment. Another phone call. Another debt disappears.
Each time, my mom gives me the same small update. “He slept well last night.”
“He doesn’t look as worried.”
“He stopped talking about selling things.”
Eventually, there are no more payments to send. Just one final phone call. “It’s done,” my mom says quietly. “All of it.”
I don’t say anything for a moment. Then I hear her laugh softly. “He keeps saying he doesn’t know how everything suddenly worked out.”
I smile to myself. “Let’s keep it that way.”
She laughs. “Your secret is safe with me.”
We hang up a few minutes later. I sit there for a while, looking out the café window.
---------------------------------------------
August arrives almost without me noticing. The campus slowly starts coming back to life.
Moving trucks. Parents carrying mini fridges up the dorm stairs. Orientation leaders wearing matching T-shirts. Suitcases rolling across sidewalks.
It feels strange to watch everyone arrive when, for once, I never left.
A few days into August, my sister Ines turns twenty-one. I call her that evening while Hannah is making dinner. “Happy birthday.”
She laughs. “Thank you.”
We talk for almost an hour. She tells me about home, about my cousins, about my mom insisting everyone eat more than they’re physically capable of.
I tell her about work. The cakes. The dogs.
She still refuses to believe someone paid fifty thousand dollars for a wedding cake.
Halfway through the call, Hannah walks into the living room with a wooden spoon still in her hand.
“Is that Ines?”
I nod and put the call on speaker.
“Ines!” Hannah says excitedly.
“Hannah!” my sister laughs. “You’re stealing my little sister.”
“I’m just borrowing her.”
“Take good care of her.”
“I will.”
The two of them talk for a few minutes while I quietly listen. It still surprises me how naturally Hannah fits into my life.
Before hanging up, Ines says, “I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
“And tell Hannah I said goodbye.”
“I heard that,” Hannah shouts from the kitchen.
The next afternoon, I’m frosting cupcakes when my phone starts ringing.
John Tucker.
I answer. “Hello?”
“Hey, Insaf.”
“Hi.”
“I have a favor to ask.”
“Go ahead.”
“Dean’s birthday is next week, and we wanted to order a cake.”
I smile. “Of course.”
He tells me roughly how many people will be there, what flavor Dean likes, and finishes with,
“Oh—and you and Hannah should come if you want. It’ll be at the hockey house.”
“I’ll let Hannah know.”
“Perfect.”
There’s a brief pause.
“So… how much do I owe you?”
I don’t even think about it. “For free.”
Silence. “…What?”
“It’s Dean’s birthday.”
“Insaf—”
“I’ll see you next week.”
Before he can argue, I hang up. I set my phone back on the counter.
From the kitchen, Hannah looks over. “…Did you just refuse money?”
“Yes.”
She stares at me. “I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed that before.”
I laugh. “I can be generous occasionally.”
“Mark the calendar.”
“I think we should.”
She points her wooden spoon at me. “You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
-------------------------------------
Allie comes back a few days before Dean’s birthday. The apartment immediately feels louder. She hugs Hannah.
Then she hugs me so tightly I almost lose my balance. “I missed you guys.”
“We noticed,” Hannah laughs.
The next morning, I wake up to Allie standing in my doorway. “Wake up losers, we’re going shopping.”
“For what?”
“For celebrating.”
“What are we celebrating?”
She gives me an incredulous look. “You paid off your dad’s debts.”
“…You make it sound like it’s a national holiday.”
“It is to me.”
Before I can protest, she grabs my wrist and pulls me out of bed.
A few hours later, the three of us are wandering through the mall. For the first time in my life… I don’t look at the price tags first. I still glance at them. Instinct. But I don’t immediately put things back.
Allie notices. She doesn’t say anything. She just smiles.
She spends the afternoon handing me dresses I would’ve never picked for myself. “This one.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“It’s a dress.”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t wear dresses.”
“You can.”
“I don’t like them.”
She points at me “No, you don’t. You just don’t like attention.”
Hannah quietly laughs as she flips through another rack.
Eventually, Allie holds up a pretty purple dress. “This.”
I hesitate. “…Maybe.”
She gasps dramatically. “Hannah, she said maybe!”
“I heard.”
“I’ve won.”
“You haven’t won anything.”
“I absolutely have.”
I disappear into the changing room. When I come back out, both of them go quiet.
Allie folds her arms with a smug smile. “There she is.”
I look down awkwardly. “It’s… okay.”
“It’s beautiful,” Hannah says softly.
“It looks like you.”
I smile. “…I like it.”
“We know.”
When we reach the register, Allie reaches for her purse. I gently stop her. “I’ve got it.”
“You’ve already done enough.”
“I know.”
“But I want to.”
She looks at me for a second before smiling. “You sure?”
I nod.
“I’m sure.” So I pay. For my dress. For Hannah’s. For Allie’s. Then I insist on buying us icecream afterwards.
Allie shakes her head with a grin. “I liked you before you became rich.”
I laugh. “I’m not rich.”
“No.” She links her arm through mine as we walk out of the ice cream shop. “You’re just finally letting yourself enjoy the money you worked ridiculously hard for.”
I think about that for a moment. “…Maybe.”
And somehow, buying my best friends dresses feels just as good as paying off the debts.
-----------------------------------
Dean’s birthday arrives.
The hockey house is already loud before we even reach the front door. Music spills outside.
Someone is laughing somewhere upstairs. The smell of pizza and beer hits us the moment we walk in.
I carefully carry the cake through the crowd until I spot Tucker.
He notices me almost immediately. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
His eyes drop to the cake. “You actually did it.”
“I said I would.”
He takes the cake from my hands carefully. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
He opens the box just enough to peek inside before quickly closing it again. “…This looks expensive.”
“It would’ve been.”
He laughs softly. “I still feel bad you wouldn’t let me pay.”
I shrug. “It’s a birthday cake.”
“But still.” He looks genuinely appreciative. “Thanks, Insaf.”
I nod. “I figured Dean deserved a nice cake.”
“He’s going to love it.”
“I hope so.”
Tucker smiles. “I’ll hide this before he finds it.”
“Probably for the best.”
“He has the patience of a five-year-old around cake.”
“I believe that.”
He laughs. “I’m glad you came.”
“So are we.”
He gives us a small nod before disappearing toward the kitchen with the cake.
Allie watches him leave before leaning toward me. “He seems nice.”
“He is.” Hannah nods.
“I like him.” Allie adds.
“Didn't you hate hockey players, calling them hockey people”, I laugh.
“Well, i'm trying to follow Dexter's belief that we should all be above stereotypes,” Allie says. “And he seems nice.”
“I think that’s just called having good manners.”
Allie shrugs. “Still counts.”
I laugh and let the conversation drift as the music grows louder around us.
-----------------------
Beau is the first familiar face I run into. He’s standing near the kitchen talking to a couple of football players when he notices me. “There she is.”
I smile. “Hi.”
“How’s the millionaire baker?”
I laugh. “I don’t think millionaires still work shifts at Malone’s.”
“Fair enough.” He takes a sip of his beer. “So… did the newlyweds ever calm down?”
I laugh. “Not really, the bride hugged me three times before I left.”
“I told you they loved it.”
“You did.”
He grins. “I still can’t believe that cake was worth fifty grand.”
“I can’t either.”
A brief silence settles between us. Then I say, “I never properly thanked you.”
“You did.”
“I know, but… thank you again.”
He shrugs. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“It was to me.”
He smiles, a little awkwardly. “I’m just glad we happened to drive by.”
“So am I.”
Someone from the football team calls his name from the living room. He points his bottle toward me. “See you around, baker.”
“See you around.”
-----
About an hour later, Tucker carries the cake into the kitchen.
Dean notices it immediately. “No way.”
He walks over like a kid on Christmas morning. “You actually got me a custom cake?”
Tucker points toward me. “She made it.”
Dean looks over. “Oh.”
He walks over with an easy grin. “…Thanks, uh…”
“Insaf.”
“Right.” He offers me a fist bump. “Thanks, Insaf.”
“No problem.”
He heads back to the cake without another thought. It’s obvious he doesn’t remember me. Which is fine. I never expected him to. I don't want him to remember that i got pranked on my 2nd day, and almost saw them naked.
After someone insists on birthday shots, everyone gathers around while Dean cuts the first slice.
Garrett takes one bite. Stops. Looks down at the cake. “…What the hell.”
“What?” Dean asks.
Garrett points his fork at him. “This is the best birthday cake I’ve ever had.”
Beau nods immediately. “He’s right.”
Someone else reaches for seconds before they’ve even finished their first slice.
Dean watches people line up for more cake with an expression that says this is exactly how birthdays should be. “I’m hiding the rest.”
“You’ve had one slice,” Tucker points out.
“My birthday. My rules.”
---------------
Later in the evening, I’m talking to Allie when I glance across the room.
Logan is standing beside Hannah. He isn’t flirting. At least not obviously. He’s just… trying.
He says something. Hannah smiles politely. They talk for a minute. Then someone calls Hannah from the other side of the room. She apologizes, pats his arm absentmindedly, and walks away to join another conversation.
Logan watches her leave for a second before grabbing another drink. That’s the end of it.
I don’t think Hannah noticed anything beyond an ordinary conversation.
-------------------------
Near midnight, Dean decides it’s time for a speech. Which means he’s had far too many shots.
He climbs onto the coffee table. “Everybody!”
The room slowly quiets.
Dean spreads his arms dramatically. “I just wanna thank…” He pauses. “…all of you.”
People cheer.
“And…” He squints across the room until he finds me. “…Cake girl!”
I look up. He points straight at me.
“Best birthday cake…” Another dramatic pause. “…ever.”
A chorus of cheers follows. Dean raises his bottle. “So!” He grins. “A toast.”
Someone yells, “To Dean!”
Dean shakes his head. “No.” He points toward the kitchen. “To cake.”
The room bursts into laughter. Then, almost immediately, everyone raises their drinks. “To cake!”
“To cake!”
“TO CAKE!”
Dean beams proudly, convinced he’s just delivered the greatest speech of his life.
I can’t help but laugh. Somehow, being remembered as cake girl feels oddly fitting.
Author’s note: and with that, freshman year is over.
chapter 1.6<< >>chapter 2
Chapter 1.7
April slips away before I even notice.
Then May follows right behind it.
Somewhere between lectures, therapy appointments, shifts at Malone’s, and studying, I find a rhythm that finally works for me.
Wake up. Classes. Study. Work. Sleep. Repeat.
The exams come and go in a blur.
When the last one ends, I walk out of the building with the strange feeling that I’d forgotten what free time looked like.
The hockey team wins their final game of the season. A few days later, the football team does too. Campus is buzzing with celebrations. Everyone seems lighter now that there’s nothing left to study for.
Nothing left to hand in. Nothing left to worry about. Well, almost nothing.
Move-out week arrives. Cardboard boxes begin piling up in the dorm hallways. Parents wander around campus helping their kids pack. Suitcases line every corridor.
Jessica is already making lists of everything she needs to take home.
Meanwhile, I still haven’t figured out where I’m staying for the summer. That’s a future me problem. Present Me refuses to acknowledge it.
Because today, after an unreasonable amount of convincing from Allie and Carmen, I agreed to attend one last party before everyone disappears for the summer.
One final night. One final excuse for everyone to pretend they aren’t about to miss each other.
I end up wearing a loose white linen button-up over a black tank top, paired with light-wash baggy denim shorts that reach just above my knees and my usual worn-out Converse.
Comfortable. Practical.
Apparently, according to Allie… “Progress.”
I look down at myself. “It’s literally baggy.”
“But your knees are visible.”
“My knees?”
“Yes.”
“They’ve always been there.”
“I know.” She beams. “I’m proud of them.”
I snort. “I’ll make sure to congratulate them.”
—-------------
The party is at one of the fraternity houses again.
As soon as we step inside, warm air and deafening music hit us. I instinctively wince. Some habits don’t disappear. But It feels different this time. It’s the atmosphere. Nobody is introducing themselves anymore. People hug each other a little longer than usual. Phones are out constantly, taking photos and videos.
Someone has already started a wall where everyone is signing goodbye messages with permanent markers. Groups of friends stand in circles reminiscing about things that happened months ago, laughing over stories they’ve clearly told a hundred times already. The end of the academic year hangs over everyone’s heads.
Some people won’t see each other again until September. Others, meybe never.
I glance around the room. The hockey team occupies one side of the living room, celebrating another successful season. The football players have somehow merged into the same crowd. Justin is arguing with someone about music near the speakers. Carmen waves at me from across the room before disappearing into another conversation.
I realise something. I’m… not anxious. Maybe exposure therapy does work.
I should probably never tell Dr. Carter that a fraternity house accidentally helped prove her point.
I spend most of the evening with Allie and Hannah.
At one point, Hannah quietly grabs a bottle of beer from the cooler. Closed.
She catches me looking. “What?”
I smile. “Nothing.”
She shrugs. “I figured I’d try one.”
“In public?”
She nods toward the bottle. “It’s still closed.”
That makes me laugh.
Hannah has a rule. She doesn’t drink around people she doesn’t trust. The only place she’ll actually have a drink is in her apartment—with me and Allie there. Baby steps, I guess.
The night drifts by in conversations. Carmen finds me near the kitchen. “I can’t believe we’re done with first year.”
“I know.”
“I’m going to miss seeing you every day.”
“You’ll survive.”
“I won’t.”
“You absolutely will.”
She smiles sadly before pulling me into a hug. “Text me over the summer.”
“I will.”
Later, Jessica finds me. “I’m going to miss my weird roommate.”
“You called me emotionally constipated yesterday.”
“I can miss you and insult you.”
“Fair.”
She hugs me anyway. “I’ll see you next semester.”
“You better.”
As people talk about flights home and long drives back to their families, I glance at Hannah. “So… you’re heading home this weekend too?”
She looks at me for a second before giving me a look that very clearly says, don’t ask. “I’m staying here this summer.”
I don’t press her. Instead, I smile. “I’m happy you’ll be here too.”
The tension leaves her shoulders. “Me too.”
—----------------
Later, I drift away from the crowd.
I’m standing near the back porch when someone walks over.
“Hey.”
I look up. She’s Black, with long braids pulled back into a ponytail and a warm smile that makes approaching strangers seem effortless. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”
I smile politely. “Yeah. I barely come to parties.”
“I figured.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Quinn.”
“Insaf.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
She leans against the porch railing. “So… where are you from?”
“Morocco.”
“Where in Morocco?”
“The north.”
She tilts her head. “Like Tangier?”
I shake my head.
“No. The Rif.”
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
I blink.
“I actually wrote a paper about the historical and political context of the Rif.”
For a second, I just stare at her. “…Seriously?”
She laughs. “I’m a political science major.”
“I’ve never met anyone here who even knows what the Rif is. They usually know Marrakesh,” I continue, “or Casablanca.”
She nods knowingly. “Because of the movie.”
“Exactly.”
She smiles. “I’ve always been interested in Africa as a whole.”
“What got you into it?”
She thinks for a moment. “It started with learning more about my own history." She glances out at the garden. “And then it just… expanded from there. Different liberation movements, colonial history, political transitions. The more I learned, the more I realised how much I didn’t know.”
I can’t help smiling. “That’s refreshing.”
“What is?”
“Usually when people hear ‘Morocco,’ they ask me if I’ve ridden a camel.”
She laughs. “I can confidently say that wasn’t going to be my first question.”
“I’m relieved.”
She grins. “So… are you a freshman?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “What about you?”
She smiles. “I was a sophomore.”
She pauses before correcting herself. “I guess I’m a junior now.”
I smile back. “Congratulations.”
“You too.”
We keep talking. At some point, the conversation circles back to the Rif.
Quinn hesitates before asking, “…Were you there?”
I know exactly what she means. I nod. “Yeah. I was.”
She doesn’t respond immediately.. She doesn’t ask me to explain. She simply nods, as though acknowledging that the answer carries more weight than the word itself.
“I hope,” she says after a moment, “that one day we can talk more about it.”
I smile. “Me too.” I look down for a second before meeting her eyes again. “This is the first time I’ve met someone who even knows about it.”
She gives me a small smile. “It’s… refreshing.”
“It is.”
The words leave my mouth before I overthink them. “I enjoy talking to you.”
Her smile grows a little wider. “…Me too.”
For a moment, neither of us says anything. The silence isn’t awkward. She tilts her head slightly.
“So,” she says, “what else should I know about you besides the fact that you’re from the Rif and don’t go to parties?”
I laugh. “That’s already most of my personality.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“No?”
“No.”
She crosses her arms playfully. “You’re observant.”
“I am.”
“You listen more than you talk.”
“…Sometimes.”
“And every answer you give makes me think there are at least three more you’re not saying.”
I blink. “You’re analysing me now?”
“I’m a political science major.”
“As if that explains anything.”
“It explains everything.”
I laugh again. “Okay, then tell me something about yourself.”
She pretends to think. “I like old bookstores.”
“So do I.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
“You absolutely did not.”
“I didn’t.” She smiles. “But I’m glad you did.”
I shake my head. “That’s cheating.”
“It worked.”
I look at her for a second. She has an easy way of talking. Like she isn’t trying to impress me. Just trying to know me.
“So…” she says, “are you always this difficult to read?”
“I’ve been told I am.”
“I think it’s intentional.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You think?”
“I think you reveal just enough to keep people curious.”
“And is it working?”
She smiles—slowly this time. “I haven’t walked away yet.”
I can’t help smiling back.
“No… you haven’t.”
The music from inside fades into the background for a moment. Neither of us seems to notice. She glances toward the crowded living room before looking back at me.
“I’m glad I came over to say hi.”
“I’m glad you did too.”
For a second, we simply look at each other.
Then she laughs softly. “I was actually nervous.”
“You?”
“Yeah.”
“You walked up to a complete stranger.”
“I know.”
“It felt less scary after you smiled.”
I look away for a second, trying not to grin too much. “So… I have a confession.”
“What?”
“I almost didn’t come to this party.”
She chuckles. “Then I’m really glad you changed your mind.”
“…Me too.”
She reaches over almost absentmindedly and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. My breath catches. I can feel the warmth creeping into my cheeks. I smile, looking down for a second before meeting her eyes again.
“So…” I ask, “are you going back home?”
She nods. “Yeah, what about you?”
“I’m staying here over the summer.”
A small frown appears on her face. “That’s a shame.”
“Why?”
“I wish I’d met you earlier.”
I laugh softly. “We can still hang out after summer break.”
“I guess we can.”
“What do you miss most about home?” I ask.
“My grandmother’s cooking. Everything tastes so bland when I eat out here, and I don’t feel like cooking every day.”
I laugh “Oh, tell me about it.”
Her smile widens. For a moment, she simply looks at me. Then her eyes drift down to my lips. When she looks back up, there’s guilt written all over her face.
“I would really like to kiss you.”
I blink.
“But…” She sighs. “It wouldn’t be fair to you.”
I know my expression gives me away before I can hide it. A flicker of disappointment.
“…Why wouldn’t it be fair?”
She rubs the back of her neck. “I broke up with my girlfriend.” She pauses. “And I think I made a mistake.”
The disappointment fades. Instead, I nod. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She looks almost surprised I’d asked. “…Can I?”
“Of course.” I smile. “I should probably get some use out of being a psychology major.”
That earns a small laugh. Then she looks down at the drink in her hands. “When we were together…” She swallows. “She’d pray for forgiveness before she’d kiss me.”
I don’t interrupt.
“Every time.” Her voice is quieter now. “She loved me. I know she did, but she’d cry afterward sometimes.”
I feel my chest tighten.
“I couldn’t stand watching someone I loved believe they were doing something unforgivable just by loving me.” She shakes her head. So I ended it. It’s been three months, and I still don’t know if I did the right thing.”
I stay quiet for a few seconds. Not because I don’t know what to say, because I want to say it carefully. “I think…” I choose my words. “I understand her.”
Quinn looks at me.
“I grew up religious.” I lean back against the porch railing. “Not anymore, but I remember what it feels like to believe that every thought is being judged.” I look out at the garden. “When you’re taught from a young age that something about you might disappoint God…” I pause. “That feeling doesn’t disappear just because you meet someone you love.”
Quinn nods slowly. “No. It doesn’t.”
“I don’t think she chose to feel guilty.”
“No.”
“And I don’t think you chose to be hurt by it either.”
She lets out a long breath. “I kept thinking that if she loved me enough…” Her voice trails off. Then she shakes her head. “That’s not fair.”
I look at her. “No, it isn’t. You shouldn’t have to compete with someone’s fear.”
She closes her eyes for a moment. “I didn’t want to become another thing she asked forgiveness for.”
Something about that sentence makes my chest ache. “I don’t think ending it means you stopped loving her.”
She gives me a sad smile. “I don’t think so either.”
“I think…” I glance down at my hands. “…sometimes love isn’t enough to fix something that wasn’t created by either of you.”
She doesn’t answer immediately. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper. “I’ve never thought about it like that.”
“You can love someone…” I continue quietly. “…and still recognise that they’re hurting in a way you can’t heal for them.”
A tear slips down her cheek before she wipes it away with a laugh. “I came over here to flirt with you.”
“I noticed.”
“And somehow I’m getting free therapy.”
“I should start charging.”
She laughs—a real laugh this time. “I’d probably pay.”
“I’m kidding.”
“I know.” She looks at me for a long moment before smiling. “I still think you’re really interesting.”
I smile back. “I still think you’re interesting too.”
She nods to herself, almost as if she’s made up her mind. “I don’t think I’m ready for anything romantic.”
“I don’t think you are either.”
She laughs softly. “…Probably not.”
A comfortable silence settles between us. Then she holds out her hand. “But, i would love to be your friend.”
I look at her hand for a second before taking it. “I’d like that.”
She squeezes my hand once before letting go. “So after summer?”
“After summer.”
“It’s a date.”
I raise an eyebrow. “A friendship date.”
“There you go.”
I laugh. “I can do friendship dates.”
“Good.” She smiles. “I have a feeling we’re going to have a lot to talk about.”
“I think so too.”
We exchange numbers before she leaves.
“I’ll text you after summer.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” She smiles one last time before disappearing back inside the house.
I stay on the porch. The night air feels cooler now.
I pull out my phone. A new message from Mom. It’s a video. I already know what it is before I even press play. Curiosity gets the better of me anyway.
The video opens to me dancing in our living room back home while my siblings laugh in the background. I watch exactly one second before closing my eyes with a long sigh.
“…Why?” I mumble to myself.
I lock my phone and lean back against the railing. Only then do I realise someone else is sitting a few feet away.
Garrett Graham.
He glances over. I glance back. Then we both look away at the exact same time.
Well. This is awkward.
He sits on the wooden steps, quietly working his way through a bottle of beer with considerably more determination than enjoyment. The silence stretches long enough that I decide I’d rather go back inside.
I walk toward the back door. Just as I reach for the handle— It doesn’t budge. I frown. Then I hear muffled laughter.
A guy and a girl are pressed against the other side of the door, making out like they’re the only two people at this party.
I let out a quiet sigh. “…Seriously?” I mutter under my breath. “Find literally anywhere else.”
The kissing continues. I look at the closed door. Then back at Garrett. Then at the door again.
Garrett takes another long drink before speaking without looking at me. “…I’ll be gone in a minute.” He lifts his beer slightly. “Just gotta finish this.”
I nod once. “No rush.”
With the door still occupied, I give up on going inside and lean against the porch railing instead, waiting for either the couple to discover basic public etiquette… or for Garrett to finish his beer.
Trying to ease the awkward silence, I nod toward him. “Congratulations on winning.”
He looks over, surprised. “…You were there?”
I smile. “No. But I heard.”
He lets out a quiet laugh through his nose. “That’s not usually how congratulations work.”
“I heard you were the reason your team won.”
His expression changes. His eyes drop to his right hand. More specifically, to his bruised knuckles wrapped in white athletic tape.
“I also heard you scored the game-winning goal.”
He stays quiet.
“You should be proud of yourself.”
He looks back at me. For a second, he just… stares. Like I’d said something he wasn’t expecting to hear. “…Thanks.”
His voice is quieter than before. “People mostly congratulated me by asking if I was buying drinks.”
I laugh. “Well…” I glance at his hand. “I figured your hand deserved some recognition too.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You notice a lot.”
“I study people.”
“Psychology?”
“Psychology.”
He nods slowly, as if that explains something. “I was just wondering why you are looking at me for a second before answering.”
I blink. “…You noticed that?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought I was being subtle.”
“You weren’t.”
I sigh dramatically. “There goes years of hard work.”
That earns another laugh. I nod toward his hand. “Does it hurt?”
“Not as much as it will tomorrow.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
He smiles. “It comes with the job.”
A comfortable silence settles between us. Then he holds out his hand. “I’m Garrett.”
I look at it for a second before shaking it. “Insaf.”
“It’s nice to properly meet you.”
“You too.”
Before either of us can say anything else, the back door finally swings open. Not because the couple moved. Because someone pushed through them. A blonde girl steps onto the porch. Kendall. She spots Garrett immediately. “There you are.”
He looks over.
“I’ve been looking everywhere.” She notices the nearly empty beer bottle in his hand. “Oh. So this is where you disappeared.”
He stands, tossing the bottle into a nearby bin. “I just needed some air.”
Her hand slips naturally around his arm. “You done hiding?”
He glances at me for a brief moment before looking back at her. “Yeah. I think so.”
Kendall smiles. “Good.” She starts leading him back toward the house.
As they reach the door, Garrett looks over his shoulder. “See you around, Insaf.”
I give him a small nod. “See you around.”
Then he disappears inside with Kendall, the music swallowing them as the door closes behind them.
For a moment, the porch is quiet again. I look down at my phone again. Mom’s video is still open. I still don’t press play. It’s frozen on a frame of me dancing with my eyes closed, completely unaware she was filming. For some reason, just looking at it makes my stomach turn. I lock my phone and shove it into my pocket.
I need a distraction. I reach into my jacket and pull out my cigarette pack One left. Figures.
I slip it between my lips and flick the lighter. Nothing. I try again. Still nothing.
“…Come on.”
A hand reaches into my line of sight. Before I can react, someone gently takes the lighter from my hand. I look up.
Logan.
His baseball cap is turned backwards, a few strands of hair escaping underneath it. For once, he doesn’t look drunk. He flicks the wheel once. A steady flame appears. He cups his hand around it against the breeze and holds it up for me. I lean in, lighting the cigarette.
When I look back at him, I realise he’s already watching me.
“…Thanks,” I mumble.
He shrugs, handing the lighter back. “Can I have one?”
I glance down at the cigarette between my fingers. “It’s the only one I’ve got.”
He looks at it. Then back at me. “That one’ll do.”
Before I can answer, he plucks it from between my fingers. He takes a slow drag, never breaking eye contact. The tip glows orange. He exhales to the side.
Then, without saying a word, he places the cigarette back between my lips “…Thanks.”
He smiles, just barely. “You’re welcome.”
I finish the cigarette, crushing the filter beneath my shoe. He doesn’t move. He’s still looking at me. The silence isn’t uncomfortable. But i feel his intense gaze.
“So,” he says after a moment, “are you going back home?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I need to work.”
He frowns slightly. “I thought you had a full scholarship.”
I look at him. “How do you know that?”
“Hannah.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “Of course.”
He smiles too.
“I still need money.” I don’t elaborate. I don’t have to.
He nods once, like the explanation is enough. “Yeah. I get that.”
A breeze passes between us, carrying the faint smell of smoke and freshly cut grass. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“What about you?” I ask. “Going home?”
He nods. “For a few weeks. Then I’ll be back.”
“Working?”
“Yeah.”
“At the garage.”
I smile. “The one on Route 6?”
He looks at me with mild surprise. “You know it?”
“My roommate got her car fixed there.”
He chuckles. “Hopefully we didn’t overcharge her.”
“I don’t think she paid much attention to who fixed it.”
“Probably for the best.”
We both laugh quietly.
“Do you like working at the garage?” The question leaves my mouth before I can think about it.
He looks at me. Not offended. More caught off guard. Like I’d asked him something no one else had.
He lets out a quiet breath. “No. I don’t think I do.”
I nod. “I figured.”
He raises an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
“What did you expect me to say?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. ‘You should quit.’”
I shake my head. “I’m not going to tell you that.”
He waits.
“That would sound privileged.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “…That would be a first.”
“I don’t know your life.” I lean back against the railing. “So I’m not going to pretend I know what you should do.”
He studies me for a second.
Then I glance down at his hands. His fingernails still have traces of motor oil caught around the edges. “You know… I could give you the products I use to clean grease off your hands.”
He looks down at them too.
“So you wouldn’t need weed just to cover the smell.”
He laughs quietly. “You’d do that for me?”
“Yeah.” The answer comes before I’ve even thought about it.
He looks at me for a long second. “…Thanks.” His smile is smaller this time and more genuine. “I’d like that.”
“I should probably get back to the girls.”
He nods. “Thanks for the cigarette.”
I raise an eyebrow. “It was half a cigarette.”
“Still counts.”
I smile to myself and turn toward the back door. Just before I reach it, I glance over my shoulder. “And, Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“You have lipstick on your neck.”
He instinctively reaches for the side of his neck. I don’t wait to see if he finds it. I open the door and slip back inside, leaving him alone on the porch.
-----------------
I find Allie and Hannah near the kitchen. The second they spot me, they exchange a look. Both of them are smiling.
Hannah’s smile, however, comes with a healthy amount of panic. I stop in front of them. “Is everything okay?”
Hannah nods a little too quickly. “Yeah. Well… maybe.”
I wait.
“So… you remember Becca?”
“Our roommate?”
I think for a second. “…The one with seven alarms?”
“That’s the one.”
“Yeah.”
“She graduated.”
I blink. “…Congratulations?”
Allie groans dramatically. “No, silly, it means she’s moving out.”
I look between them, “…Oh.”
Hannah takes a breath, “So…” She fidgets with the sleeve of her jumper. “Would you… want to move in with us?”
I stare at her.
She rushes to continue. “I know you were going to have to find somewhere to stay over the summer anyway, and we thought…” She glances at Allie. “…maybe the timing worked out.”
Allie throws both hands into the air. “I literally manifested this!”
I can’t help laughing. “Of course you think you did.”
“I know I did.”
I look back at Hannah. “You guys are sure?”
“Very.”
“Absolutely.”
I think about it for a moment. Then I nod. “Okay.”
Both of them light up immediately.
“But…” They both freeze.
“I cook. A lot.”
Allie nods enthusiastically. “I see no downside.”
“I also bake. Sometimes at… questionable hours.”
“Still no downside.”
“And…” I scratch the back of my neck. “This isn’t intentional, but if someone tries to wake me up…” I pause. “…I instinctively kick them.”
There is a beat of silence. Then Allie looks at Hannah. “We’re putting her in the room furthest from ours.” Hannah nods immediately. “I was thinking the exact same thing.”
I laugh. “That’s probably for the best.”
Allie throws an arm around my shoulders. “Our apartment just got significantly better.”
“I haven’t even moved in yet.”
“Exactly.” She grins. “Imagine the potential.”
Hannah smiles, looking noticeably more relaxed. “I’m really glad you said yes.”
I smile back. “…Me too.”
--------------------
I hug everyone goodbye. Carmen. Jessica. Allie. Even Sean. By the end of the week, they’ll all be home.
The only person I’ll still see over the summer is Hannah. Somehow, that feels comforting.
The walk back to my dorm is quiet. Campus is almost empty, giving me too much room to think.
My mind drifts back to Quinn. More specifically, to what she told me about her ex-girlfriend.
The religious guilt. It’s one of the oldest feelings I know. Even now, long after I stopped believing, I still recognize it when I see it in someone else. It was never just about being queer. It was about your whole existence. Growing up believing that one wrong thought, one wrong feeling, one wrong version of yourself could condemn you forever. That kind of fear doesn’t disappear overnight. It lingers. Not as loudly as it used to. I’ll give Dr. Carter credit for that. She reminded me that there is room for joy.
That healing isn’t always loud. Sometimes it looks like baking bread. Playing the piano when Malone’s is empty. Calling your family more often. Letting yourself imagine a future that doesn’t revolve around surviving.
My thoughts drift to Dad. His debts. The promise I made to myself before I boarded the plane to Briar. One day, I’ll help him carry them. I don’t know how yet. This summer will be the start of making that promise happen.
Author's note: i'm lowkey spamming right now, because i started writing this a while back. I do not schedule when i release. I just try to correct my grammar and everything so if something slipped lmk.
masterlist
chapter 1.5<< >>chapter 1.7
Chapter 1.6
Spring break also means Malone’s hosts more live music. One afternoon, Justin Kohl arrives carrying his guitar case.
He spots us behind the counter. “Hey, Hannah.”
She nearly drops the mug she’s drying. “H-hi.”
He smiles. “Could I bother you for a coffee before I play?”
“Y-yeah. Of course.” She rushes to the espresso machine so quickly that she almost walks into me. I catch the mug before it falls. She mouths a silent thank you. Justin doesn’t seem to notice.
Over the next week, we end up talking whenever he finishes rehearsing. Mostly about music.
“So you play piano?” he asks one afternoon.
“A little.”
“What kind of music?”
“Mostly classical.”
He nods approvingly. “I always wanted to learn.”
“I always wanted to learn guitar.”
“Trade?”
I laugh. “I think you’d regret that.”
“Why?”
“I’m not a very patient teacher.”
“I don’t know…” He grins. “You explained statistics with cookies.”
“That was a one-time miracle.”
“I still think it’s impressive.”
The conversations stay easy. Comfortable. Nothing more than two people killing time between shifts. From behind the espresso machine, Hannah pretends not to watch us. She fails miserably. Every time Justin walks away, I find her looking at him for just a second too long before forcing herself back to work.
“You know,” I say quietly while stacking clean plates, “he seems nice.”
“He does.”
“You’ve spoken to him three times this week.”
“I know.”
“…And?”
She sighs. “I still can’t do it.”
“Do what?”
“Actually have a conversation.”
I blink. “You’ve literally had conversations.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I’ve taken his order.”
“That’s… technically true.”
“I panic.”
“You hide it well.”
“I absolutely do not.”
I smile. “One day.”
She looks toward Justin, who’s laughing with another musician while tuning his guitar. “…Maybe.” For now, that seems like enough.
---------------------------
Spring break passes by surprisingly quickly. I enjoy every second of the quiet before campus fills up again. Jessica went to a trip she took with her boyfriend and a few classmates. She’d invited me to go with them, but I’d already started working at Malone’s. I don’t regret it.
The café had become one of the few places that made Briar feel familiar. I also call my family more than I usually do. I’d spent months blaming the time difference.
This week, I stop using it as an excuse. Mom mostly asks whether I’m eating enough. My older brother complains that I never answer his texts. And Ines—my sister, two years older than me—tells me Dad hasn’t been in the best mood lately.
“The debts are stressing him out again,” she says.
I close my eyes for a second. “…Is he okay?”
“He will be.” She pauses. “He just doesn’t want you worrying while you’re studying.”
I let out a quiet hum. “Too late.”
----------------------------------------------
Sunday arrives.
The last day of spring break. Campus comes back to life almost overnight. Cars fill the parking lots. Suitcases roll across the sidewalks.
And naturally, there’s a frat party. We don’t go.
Allie spends the evening rehearsing for her stage play the following week. Hannah picks up a shift at Malone’s. So I stay in my dorm room.
After thinking about it for a while, I decide tonight is movie night. I make a bowl of popcorn, cut up some fruit, grab a bag of chips, and pour myself a glass of lemonade.
Sweet and savoury. Perfect balance.
After taking a shower, I change into a pair of soft black sleep shorts and an oversized grey T-shirt. Comfortable.
The movie starts. Five minutes into Superbad— A knock sounds at my door. I pause the film.
When I open it, I find John Logan standing in the hallway. His cheeks are flushed. His pupils are slightly unfocused. Drunk.
He looks down at me. It takes him a second to realise who he’s looking at. “…Uh…” He squints past me into the room. “Is this Jason’s room?”
I blink. “This is the girls’ dorm.”
He looks around the hallway. “…Right.”
A beat passes.
“Sorry.” He turns as though he’s about to leave, then stops. “Hey…” He scratches the back of his neck. “Can I borrow your phone for a second?”
I study him for a moment. Then I step aside and open the door a little wider. “You can come in.”
He hesitates. “…Really?”
“You’re drunk.”
“I am.”
“If you fall over in the hallway, I’d rather it not be outside my room.”
He laughs quietly to himself before stepping inside, looking around with obvious curiosity. His eyes land on the paused movie. “…Superbad?”
“My favourite.”
He nods with complete seriousness. “Good choice.”
I hand him my phone. “Who are you calling?”
He unlocks it long enough to punch in a number from memory. “…Tucker.”
He lifts the phone to his ear while I quietly sit back down on the floor beside my snacks, giving him some privacy as the ringtone echoes through the room.
He dials the number and waits. The ringtone echoes through my room. Once. Twice. Three times. Then voicemail.
He lets out a sigh and lowers the phone. “It’s probably too loud at the party.”
I nod. “Probably.”
An awkward silence settles between us. Neither of us seems to know what to say. Then, out of nowhere, he speaks, “…It’s my birthday.”
I look up at him, surprised. “It is?”
He nods.
“Happy birthday.”
A genuine smile appears on his face.“Thanks.”
“So…” I tilt my head. “I’m assuming the party is for you.”
“That was today’s excuse.”
I laugh. “So what were you looking for Jason for?”
He shrugs. “He sells weed.”
“…Right.” The answer catches me off guard. For a moment, neither of us says anything.
Then an idea pops into my head. “Wait here.”
I walk over to the tiny fridge in my dorm room and open it. Earlier that afternoon, I’d bought a small cupcake from the campus bakery because it looked good. I take it out, place it on a plate, and walk back over. “Here.”
He looks from the cupcake to me. “…What’s this?”
“It’s a birthday cake.”
He raises an eyebrow. “It’s just… very small.”
“It’s economically sized.”
He laughs. I hold the plate out again. “Happy birthday.”
For a second, he just stares at it. Then he takes the plate carefully, almost like no one’s handed him something this thoughtful in a long time. “…Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
He looks down at the cupcake again and smiles to himself. “I don’t think I’ve ever had someone give me a random birthday cupcake.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
He lets out another quiet laugh before peeling back the wrapper. “I was just looking for weed.”
“And instead you found dessert.”
“I think this is probably the healthier outcome.”
“I’d hope so.”
He takes a bite, and his expression immediately softens. “…This is actually really good.”
“I had high standards.”
“I can tell.”
For the first time since he’d knocked on my door, he doesn’t look like someone who accidentally wandered into the wrong building. He just looks like someone enjoying a cupcake on his birthday. He takes another bite of the cupcake before speaking again.
“I wanted to smoke weed so I’d have a stronger smell in my nose.”
I look at him. “Stronger than what?”
“Motor oil.”
He glances down at his hands. Dark streaks of grease are still caught beneath his fingernails and in the lines of his knuckles. He lets out a quiet sigh.
For a second, I just watch him. Then I stand up. “I’ll be right back.”
He looks up, confused, as I walk over to my desk. I pull open one of the drawers and take out a small nail brush, a packet of cotton pads, a bottle of micellar water, and a tube of hand cream. From my bathroom caddy, I grab a small bar of soap and a damp washcloth.
When I return, he watches me with obvious confusion.
“…What are you doing?”
“Give me your hand.”
He hesitates before holding it out.
I wet the nail brush with a little water, rub it against the soap, and begin gently scrubbing the grease from around his fingernails. He doesn’t say a word. He just stares at me.
I wipe away the loosened oil with the damp cloth before using a cotton pad soaked with micellar water to get the stubborn stains off his fingertips. Finally, I dry his hand and rub a little hand cream over his knuckles. His hands are rough. Covered in tiny cuts. They look like they’ve spent years around engines.
He keeps looking at me as if he can’t quite believe what’s happening. I don’t look up. “I used to clean my dad’s and my hands after we finished fixing our car.”
His eyebrows lift. “You fix cars?”
“Barely.” I smile faintly. “I mostly handed him tools and got in the way.”
He chuckles. “So… you were his assistant.”
“That’s a generous way of putting it.” I take his other hand. “I just helped him out.”
He watches quietly as I scrub another streak of motor oil from beneath his thumbnail. “…You’re full of surprises.”
“I’ve been told that.” When I finish, I hold his hands up for inspection. “There.”
He turns them over slowly. Most of the grease is gone now, leaving only the marks that had worked too deeply into the skin to disappear in one wash. He flexes his fingers before looking back at me. “…Thank you.”
I simply shrug. “It would’ve bothered me more than it bothered you.”
That earns a genuine laugh from him.
“Are you still going back to the party?” I ask.
He looks up from the now-empty plate. “…I can.” The way he says it makes me realise he thinks I’m kicking him out.
I shake my head immediately. “No, that’s not what I meant.”
He pauses.
“You can stay.”
His eyebrows lift. “Really?”
I’m just as surprised as he is that those words came out of my mouth. “Yeah.” I glance at the paused movie on my laptop. “I think you’ve partied enough for one night.” A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “You can watch Superbad with me.”
He studies my face for a second, as if trying to figure out whether I’m joking. Then he nods. “…Okay.”
I reach for the laptop. “I should warn you.”
He looks over.
“I talk during movies.”
“…Even when you’re by yourself?”
“Especially when I’m by myself.”
He laughs.
“It annoys my siblings so much.”
“How many do you have?”
“Three.”
“You’re the oldest?” I shake my head. “The youngest.”
He blinks. “Really?”
I laugh. “I know.”
“I would’ve guessed oldest.”
“Everyone does.”
“What about you?”
“I’m the middle child.” He leans back against my desk chair. “There’s three of us.”
“So you’re the forgotten one.”
He lets out a laugh. “Exactly.”
“I’ve heard middle children complain about that.”
“It’s a real condition.”
“I don’t think it is.”
“It absolutely is.”
I grin. “I’ll ask my psychology professors.”
“They’ll tell you I’m right.”
“I somehow doubt that.”
He smiles, and for the first time since he’d stumbled into the wrong dorm building, he doesn’t look drunk. Just relaxed.
I press play.
Five seconds into the movie, I point at the screen. “This scene is so stupid.”
He looks at me. “The movie literally just restarted.”
“I know.”
“I’m preparing you.”
“For what?”
“For my commentary.”
He shakes his head, laughing. “I think your siblings had every right to be annoyed.”
“They did.”
“I’d still rather watch it with commentary.” That catches me off guard.
I glance at him. “…Really?”
He shrugs. “Yeah.” “It’d probably be more fun.”
I smile to myself before turning my attention back to the screen. “Good. Because you’re getting the director’s commentary whether you like it or not.”
“I’m starting to think you invited me to this movie against my will.”
“I absolutely did.”
“Guess I’m trapped.”
“You could leave.”
“I could.” A beat passes. “…I’m gonna stay.”
I nod toward the screen. “Good choice.”
Then, as the opening scene continues, I immediately start talking over it. “I quote this movie way more than I’d like to admit.”
“I can already tell.”
“You haven’t even seen the worst of it yet.”
He chuckles, settling further into the chair as the movie plays on. Somehow, without either of us noticing, the distance between us keeps shrinking. At first, he’s sitting in my desk chair. Then he moves to the floor because he says it’s “closer to the snacks.”
Somewhere between sharing popcorn, stealing my chips, and arguing over which Superbad scene is the funniest, our shoulders are almost touching. I don’t think either of us notices. Or maybe we do. Neither of us says anything.
Every now and then, he laughs at one of my running commentaries during the movie, and I silently celebrate every time I manage to make him laugh harder than the film itself.
Halfway through, he reaches for another handful of popcorn at the exact same time I do.
Our hands bump. “Sorry.” “It’s fine.”
Neither of us moves our hand for a second. Then we both pull away at the same time.
“…You can have it.”
“You touched it first.”
“So?”
“So it’s yours.”
He rolls his eyes dramatically before taking it anyway.
--------------
The movie is nearing the end when the door suddenly swings open. Jessica stumbles inside. Very drunk. She freezes in the doorway. Her eyes slowly move from me… to Logan.
“…Am I too drunk,” she asks after a long pause, “or is that John Logan?”
I don’t even look away from the movie. “I think you’re too drunk.”
Jessica considers that very seriously. “…Right.”
She nods to herself as though that makes perfect sense. Then she shrugs. “Goodnight.” She wanders into the bathroom, humming to herself. The bathroom door clicks shut. Silence. Logan lets out a quiet laugh. “I should probably get going.”
I pause the movie again. “Are you sober enough?”
He smiles. “Yeah.”
He stands, stretches slightly, then looks back at me. “Thanks…” He gestures vaguely toward the laptop. “…For the movie.” Then toward the empty plate still sitting on my desk. “And the cupcake.”
I smile. “You’re welcome.”
As he reaches the door, I add, “And… happy birthday.”
He glances back over his shoulder. A genuine smile spreads across his face. “Thanks, Angel.”
The door closes softly behind him. For a few seconds, I just stare at it. He remembers.
Then I hear Jessica call from the bathroom.
“…If that’s not John Logan, my hallucinations are getting too specific."
I can’t help laughing. “They’re definitely improving.”
“Good.” A beat passes. “…Can you bring me aspirin tomorrow?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s a yes.”
I shake my head, smiling to myself as I press play and let the last few minutes of the movie finish.
Thursday comes, which means another session with Dr. Carter.
“So,” she says as I settle into the chair across from her. “How was your week?”
“It was… good.”
She smiles. “That’s becoming your default answer.”
“I know.”
“And?”
I think about it for a moment. “I made a friend.”
“Tell me.”
“Justin. He plays at Malone’s sometimes.”
“The musician?” I nod. “We just… talk.”
“And how does that feel?”
“Easy.”
She smiles knowingly. “You’ve used that word before.”
“I have?”
“Mhm.”
“When you describe people you feel safe around.”
I think about that. “…I guess you’re right.”
“What else?”
“I’ve been playing piano again.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Really?”
“Malone’s has one.”
“So when the café gets quiet…”
“I play.”
“How does that make you feel?”
I look down at my hands. “I forgot how much I missed it.”
She lets the silence sit for a moment. “I’m glad.”
“So am I.”
—————————————-
By the weekend, everyone is talking about Allie’s play.
The theatre is packed. Sean sits beside her dad. Hannah squeezes my arm as the lights dim.
When the curtain rises, Allie walks onto the stage. Within minutes, she isn’t Allie anymore. She’s completely transformed into someone else. Still her confident self. Expressive. Completely at home.
I don’t know much about theatre, but I know talent when I see it. She has it.
When the curtain falls, the audience erupts into applause. I stand with everyone else. Hannah whistles so loudly I think she might lose her voice. “That’s our girl!”
-------------------
Afterward, we all meet outside the theatre. People keep stopping Allie to congratulate her. She’s practically glowing.
“I messed up one line,” she says for what must be the fifth time.
“No, you didn’t,” Hannah replies.
“I definitely did.”
“No one noticed.”
“I noticed.”
Sean slips an arm around her waist. “You were fine.”
She frowns slightly. “Fine?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “It was just a student play.”
The smile slowly disappears from her face. “…Just a student play?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I spent months rehearsing.”
“I know.”
“And you watched me spend months rehearsing.”
“I did.”
“So why would you call it ‘just a student play’?”
Sean sighs. “Allie, you’re overthinking it.”
She blinks. “I am not overthinking it.”
“I was complimenting you.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “You dismissed it.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I said you were good.”
“You said it was just a student play.”
Sean rubs a hand over his face. “Can we not do this right now?”
She lets out a short laugh. “There it is.”
“What?”
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“The second I tell you something upset me, you act like I’m creating a problem.”
“I never said that.”
“You don’t have to.”
She folds her arms. “You make me feel stupid for caring.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
He opens his mouth again, but she cuts him off.
“I wanted tonight to matter.”
“It does matter.”
“Not to you.”
“Allie—”
“No.” Her voice is calm now. Calmer than I’ve ever heard it during one of their arguments.
“I’ve spent two years trying to convince myself that wanting reassurance isn’t asking for too much.” She shakes her head. “I’m done doing that.”
Sean looks genuinely stunned. “You’re breaking up with me?”
“I think we should stop trying to force something that keeps making us both unhappy.”
A long silence settles between them.
Finally, Sean nods once. “…Okay.” He turns and walks away without another word.
Allie keeps watching him until he disappears around the corner. Nobody speaks. Then she exhales sharply. “…Can someone please tell me I was amazing?”
Hannah immediately throws her arms around her. “You were spectacular.”
I smile. “You stole the entire show.”
A watery laugh escapes Allie. “Thank you.”
This time, neither of us tries to convince her to go after him.
This breakup lasts thirty-six hours. Then they’re back together. Neither, Hannah nor I says anything. We simply support her. There are a hundred things I want to say.
You’re so confident. Why are you settling for someone who keeps making you doubt yourself?
He’s nice, but he can’t handle all… this.
Instead, I keep my mouth shut. Hannah notices. She always does. One look from her is enough to tell me she’s thinking the exact same thing.
The weeks settle back into their usual rhythm. Classes. Malone’s. Therapy every Thursday. Movie nights when everyone is free.
I keep finding couples making out—or doing far more than making out—in places that should never be romantic. Empty classrooms. Practice rooms. The theatre storage closet. Once, even between the library shelves.
College students have absolutely no shame. Somewhere along the way, I realise I really am sexually frustrated.
A couple of impulsive encounters over the following week scratch that itch well enough; like once i stayed late at the library and it ended with my face between a girl's legs; and another encounter of giving a guy who came to visit his friend a handjob at the janitor's closet, and afterward I don’t think much about it again.
When I mention it to Allie, she nearly falls out of her chair “You have a secret life!”
“I don’t.”
“You absolutely do!”
“I just make questionable decisions every few months.”
“That’s literally a secret life!”
Hannah buries her face in her hands. “I know better than to ask.”
Which means one thing. Hannah’s birthday. I’ve already decided I’m not buying her something. I’m making it.
Over the next couple of weeks, I spend my evenings putting together a handmade scrapbook. I print photos we’ve taken together, save little things like coffee sleeves from Malone’s and theatre ticket stubs, and leave blank pages at the end with handwritten notes titled Future Adventures for memories we haven’t made yet.
On the front cover, I paint a small sunflower. It’s simple. But it feels like Hannah.
One afternoon, I’m working a shift alone at Malone’s.
The hockey team wanders in after practice. Tucker notices me first. He gives me a small nod. I smile politely before grabbing a pot of coffee.
Logan is with them, talking animatedly to Dean while Garrett looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.
I leave them to it and head toward another table. I don’t recognize the group sitting there.
“Hi,” I say with my usual smile. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
After taking their order, I head back to the kitchen. A few minutes later, I return with their food.
As I set the last plate down, one of the guys clears his throat. “Uh… excuse me, miss?”
“yes?”
“Can I ask you something?”
I nod.
“…Do you have a BBL?”
I blink. “A… what?”
He suddenly looks much less confident. “You know…” He awkwardly gestures with both hands. “…A Brazilian… lift?”
I stare at him. “I’m Moroccan… so… no?”
His face turns bright red. “Oh… sorry.” He looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole.
Behind me, someone snorts. Then another. Within seconds, the hockey table is trying—and failing—not to laugh. Dean is practically choking on his drink.
I ignore them and carry my empty tray toward the stage, where Justin is tuning his guitar before tonight’s live set.
“Hey, Justin?”
He looks up. “What’s up?”
I lower my voice. “…What’s a BBL?”
He stares at me for exactly one second. Then he bursts into laughter. “A Brazilian Butt Lift.”
“…”
I look at him blankly. “…People pay for that?”
Justin laughs even harder, having to wipe tears from his eyes. “Oh my God…”
I sigh. “I’m never beating the ‘confused international student’ allegations, am I?”
“No,” he says between laughs. “I don’t think you ever will.”
From across the café, I can still hear Dean laughing loud enough that Tucker tells him to shut up.
-----------------------------------------------
A few days before Hannah’s birthday, Allie drags me to the grocery store. Technically, we’re shopping for Hannah’s cake. Realistically, I’m shopping for the cake. Allie is there for emotional support.
“And what does emotional support look like exactly?” I ask as I compare two brands of butter.
She grabs the shopping basket from me. “I carry things.”
“I’ve been carrying them.”
“I encourage you.”
“You’ve been eating grapes.” She pops another grape into her mouth.
“I encourage myself too.”
I roll my eyes. As we wander through the baking aisle, I remember the incident at Malone’s. “Oh. I forgot to tell you something.”
“What?”
I look at her. “Someone asked me if I had a BBL.”
She stops walking. “…What?”
“I didn’t even know what it meant.”
“No.”
“I asked Justin.”
She bursts into laughter so suddenly she has to grab the shopping cart for support. “You asked Justin?”
“I thought it was some American slang.”
“Oh my God…”
She’s laughing so hard tears gather in her eyes. “What did you tell the guy?”
“I said, ‘I’m Moroccan… so no?’”
She doubles over. “INSAF!”
“I genuinely thought it was a cultural thing.”
She can’t breathe. “I’m going to die.”
“I still don’t understand why he asked.”
She wipes a tear from her eye. “I’m never letting you live this down.”
“I figured.”
“I love that your first instinct wasn’t ‘What’s a Brazilian Butt Lift?’”
“It was ‘I’m Moroccan.’”
“I panicked.”
“You absolutely panicked.”
-----------------------------------------
Two days pass.
Hannah’s birthday arrives. Malone’s is busier than usual, so neither of us has much time to think about it.
I’m carrying a tray of coffees when I notice someone walking through the front door.
John Logan. He’s still wearing his practice jacket. He spots Hannah behind the counter and walks over with that easy, effortless smile of his.
“Happy birthday.”
Hannah looks up in surprise. “Thank you…”
She tilts her head. “…But how did you know it was my birthday?”
“We’re mutuals on Facebook.”
She blinks. “…Oh, yeah thanks."
He smiles once more before ordering a coffee. I watch the interaction from across the café. He’s lying. Not badly.
Hannah accepts the explanation without another thought. I don’t. But I also don’t say anything.
-------------------------------
By the time we lock the doors that evening, it’s just the three of us. The café is quiet. Della lets us stay a little longer after hearing it was Hannah’s birthday. I disappear into the kitchen and come back carrying the cake I’d made the night before. A simple vanilla sponge layered with strawberry jam and whipped cream, decorated with little buttercream sunflowers around the edges.
Hannah gasps. “You made this?”
“I did.” She looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“…When?”
“Last night.”
Allie dramatically places both hands over her heart. “She’s making us all look bad.I helped,” she says proudly.
I raise an eyebrow. “You sampled the frosting.”
“I was quality control. Tomato, tomahto.”
Hannah laughs, covering her face with her hands. “You guys…”
I set the cake down. “Make a wish.”
“There aren’t any candles.”
“I forgot them.” Allie says.
“Typical.”
“So make one anyway.”
She closes her eyes for a few seconds. Neither of us asks what she wished for.
When she opens them again, she’s smiling. We cut the cake into uneven slices.
Allie immediately steals frosting from mine with her finger.
“Hey.”
“It was too much frosting.”
“It was the perfect amount.”
“It was excessive.”
“I baked it.”
“So?”
“So I decide what’s excessive.”
Once we’ve finished eating, I reach into my bag. “I have one more thing.” I hand Hannah the wrapped package.
She carefully peels away the paper. Inside is the scrapbook. The painted sunflower on the cover makes her smile immediately.
She opens it.
The first page is a photo of the three of us outside Malone’s, with handwritten words underneath.
The family I accidentally found.
She turns another page. Ticket stubs. Coffee sleeves. Tiny doodles I’d added in the corners. Photos. Little notes describing moments she’d probably forgotten.
By the time she reaches the blank pages at the end titled Future Adventures, her eyes are glossy. She closes the book carefully. Then she stands up and hugs me without saying a word.
I hug her back. “…Happy birthday, Hannah.”
Her voice is quiet against my shoulder. “…This is my favourite gift I’ve ever received.”
Across the table, Allie sniffles dramatically. “I’m not crying.”
“You are,” Hannah says, laughing through her tears.
“I’m appreciating handcrafted art.”
“You’re crying.”
“I contain multitudes.”
The three of us stay in Malone’s long after the cake is gone, talking about nothing in particular. It isn’t a big celebration. It was intimate. The very person i avoided when I came back is in front of me with her bright smile, and i'm celebrating her birthday with her.
Two days pass. By Monday afternoon, Allie and Sean are back together. I don’t even ask how.
Hannah catches my expression and laughs. “You’ll get used to it.”
“They do this often?”
She nods. “Unfortunately.”
I glance at Allie, who’s happily telling Sean about a play she’s auditioning for as if Friday night never happened. “…Huh.”
“I’m telling you,” Hannah says. “Give them forty-eight hours after every breakup.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
—-------------------------------------
Wednesday.
“I’m so happy!” Hannah blurts out the second I walk into Malone’s.
“What happened?”
“I finally got my car fixed.”
I smile. “Really?”
She nods enthusiastically.
“Yeah! I took it to a garage on Route 6, and they figured out the problem almost immediately.”
“That’s great.”
“I know! It drives perfectly now.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“So am I,” she says with a grin. “No more spending half my paycheck on Ubers.”
I laugh. “Definitely a win.”
---------------------------------
Thursday.
I settle into the chair across from Dr. Carter. She closes my file after scribbling down a few notes.
“So,” she says, looking up at me. “How was the party?”
I smile to myself. “It was… eventful.”
“I had a feeling.”
“What gave it away?”
“You aren’t wearing your ‘everything is okay’ smile today.”
A small laugh escapes me. “I guess I’m not.”
She waits. She’s become very good at waiting.
“I kissed someone.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly. “Was this the impulsive decision you told me about last week?”
I nod. “It was.”
“And?”
I think back to the party. “It wasn’t what I expected.”
“In a good way or a bad way?”
“In a… human way.”
She smiles.
“What does that mean?”
“I thought I wanted to kiss someone because I hadn’t kissed anyone in over a year.”
“But?”
“I think I wanted to prove to myself that intimacy didn’t have to feel… transactional.”
She nods thoughtfully. “Tell me about them.”
I glance up at her. “Her name was Claudia.”
Dr. Carter doesn’t react beyond a small nod. “What happened?”
“I met her upstairs while I was trying to find the bathroom.”
“And?”
“We started talking.”
“About?”
“I don’t even remember how we got there.” I smile faintly. “Impulsive decisions.”
She smiles back.
“I told her I came to the party to make one.”
“What kind of impulsive decision?”
I look away for a second. “I told her I wanted to kiss a stranger.”
“And how did she respond?”
“She told me maybe I should.”
A quiet laugh escapes Dr. Carter. “That sounds straightforward.”
“It was.” I tell her about the kiss. How awkward it wasn’t. How calm it felt. Then I tell her about Claudia asking me to stop.
Dr. Carter’s expression softens. “What happened then?”
“I stopped.”
She nods. “As anyone should.”
“I asked her if she was okay.”
“And?”
“She apologized.”
Dr. Carter tilts her head. “For asking you to stop?”
I nod. “She said she was used to being coerced into things.”
Silence settles over the room.
“I told her she didn’t have to apologize.” I look down at my hands. “I told her she had every right to stop.” Another pause. “I told her intimacy should always be her choice.”
Dr. Carter lets the words sit between us. “How did she respond?”
“She cried.” I swallow. “I don’t think anyone had ever told her that before.”
Dr. Carter is quiet for a long moment. “How did that make you feel?”
“…Heavy.”
“In what way?”
I stare at the floor. “Because everything I told her…” I laugh softly, though there isn’t much humour in it. “…I wished someone had told me those things years ago.”
Dr. Carter doesn’t interrupt.
“I believed every word I said. I still do. I just…” I shrug helplessly. “I’ve never believed those words applied to me.”
She nods slowly. “Do you think they do?”
“Yes.”
“And do you feel that they do?”
I don’t even have to think. “No. Only logically.”
“Yes.” She smiles gently. “That’s actually more common than you think.”
I raise an eyebrow. “It is?”
“Mhm. Sometimes our minds understand something years before our hearts catch up.”
I sit with that.
“You know,” she says, “psychology students tend to make very good therapists for everyone except themselves.”
I laugh. “That feels painfully accurate.”
“They spend years learning how to show other people compassion.” She pauses. “And then forget to show themselves the same kindness.”
The room falls quiet again. My mind drifts back to Claudia. To the bedroom. To her apologizing. To me telling her she had every right to change her mind.
Dr. Carter notices the shift in my expression. “You look sad.”
“I think I am.”
“Because of Claudia?”
I shake my head. “No. Because I realized I still don’t talk to myself the way I talked to her.”
Dr. Carter nods. “That’s a very important realization.”
“I don’t know what to do with it.”
“You don’t have to do anything with it today.” She offers me a reassuring smile. “For now, just notice it.”
I nod. The silence between us feels comfortable now.
She glances at the clock. “We’re almost out of time.”
I stand, slipping my jacket back on.
Just before I reach the door, she speaks again. “One last question.”
I turn around.
“Do you think kissing Claudia was the impulsive decision?”
I think about it. Then I shake my head. “No.”
“What was?”
A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “I think… listening to her was.”
Dr. Carter smiles. “I think that sounds much more like you.”
Ever since I disappeared for that month, I’d thrown myself so far ahead in my coursework that there isn’t much left to do. Every assignment for the semester is finished, and I’ve already started preparing for finals.
For the first time in months… I have free time.
Dr. Carter doesn’t let that go unnoticed.
“I want you to do something this week that serves no purpose,” she’d said during our last session. “You have no assignments left.”
The assignment leaves me completely dumbfounded. I spend the evening scrolling through my phone, trying to remember what I used to enjoy before university became my entire personality. Buying classic books.
Writing songs. I used to write music all the time, but I don’t think I have the emotional capacity for that anymore.
I still doodle. I paint every now and then.
Then it comes to me. Baking. I haven’t baked since I came to Briar. The thought alone makes me smile.
So I text Hannah.
Me: Any chance I could borrow your kitchen tomorrow?
She replies almost immediately.
Hannah: Of course!
Hannah: What are we making?
Me: I haven’t decided yet.
Allie: WAIT WE’RE BAKING???
I blink.
“…How did she already know?”
Hannah’s next message appears.
Hannah: She’s looking over my shoulder.
---------------
The next afternoon, the three of us head to Target. The moment the automatic doors slide open, I’m hit with another culture shock.
Since coming to Briar, I’d always gone grocery shopping with Carmen at the farmers’ market near campus. Fresh fruit. Vegetables. Bread. A handful of local vendors who recognized us after a while.
Target is the exact opposite. The aisles seem endless. Every shelf is overflowing with different brands of the same thing.
I stop in front of an entire wall of breakfast cereal. “…Why?”
Allie looks at me “What?”
“There are at least fifty kinds.”
She glances at the shelves. “…That’s actually less than usual.”
I turn to her. “Less?”
Hannah laughs. “You’re going to have a heart attack when we get to the sauce aisle.”
“I don’t think I want to.”
Unfortunately, we do. I stare at an entire section dedicated to ketchup. “…Why are there so many kinds of ketchup?”
“America,” Hannah answers.
“I can see that.”
“I’ve never heard anyone sound offended by ketchup before,” Allie says.
“I’m not offended.” I keep staring at the shelves. “I’m… confused.”
She hooks her arm through mine. “Come on, Moroccan. We still need flour.”
As the three of us disappear down the next aisle, a few rows over, four hockey players pause beside a freezer.
Dean glances around the corner first. “Is she… arguing with ketchup?”
Garrett follows his gaze. “I think she’s genuinely trying to understand it.”
Logan leans his cart against the shelf, watching for another second. “I mean…” A grin slowly spreads across his face. “…She’s got a point.”
Dean snorts. “There are way too many.”
Neither of them makes any move to interrupt.
Instead, they continue shopping, their conversation drifting elsewhere as our laughter echoes faintly from the next aisle over.
By the time we reach the baking section, they’re already gone. I never notice they were there.
Back at the apartment, Hannah hands me an apron while Allie immediately appoints herself the official taste tester.
“I have very important responsibilities,” she says.
“You haven’t done anything.”
“I’ve boosted morale.” Hannah laughs as she starts pulling mixing bowls out of the cupboards.
I tie the apron around my waist and, for the first time in what feels like forever, my hands know exactly what to do.
Measure. Mix. Knead. Wait. The dough comes together beneath my palms almost automatically.
“You’ve definitely done this before,” Hannah says, watching me work.
“A lot.”
“Family recipe?” Allie asks.
I nod. “My mom owned a bakery back home.”
Both of them look up.
“I used to work there as a cashier when I was a teenager,” I continue. “Whenever it got busy, I’d help my mom in the kitchen. I learned most of it just by watching her.”
“That explains why you look so confident,” Hannah says.
“And here I thought you were going to pull out a recipe book,” Allie says.
“I have one.”
“You’ve looked at it exactly zero times.”
“Correct.”
Allie slowly reaches for the bag of chocolate chips.
“I wouldn’t.”
She freezes dramatically. “…You know, at first I thought you had eyes in the back of your head.”
“And now?”
“I’ve accepted that you’re just weirdly observant.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was meant as one.”
By late afternoon, the apartment smells like butter, cinnamon, and fresh bread. The first loaf comes out of the oven with a perfectly golden crust. The cinnamon rolls follow, their filling bubbling around the edges. The cookies are last.
Allie grabs one before it’s even had time to cool. She blows on it twice before taking a bite. Then she goes completely silent.
Hannah looks at her. “…Good?”
Allie slowly turns toward me. “I owe your mom an apology.”
I laugh. “For what?”
“For raising someone who makes cookies this good and never making them for us sooner.”
“I’ve only known you for a month.”
“Exactly.” She points at me with the half-eaten cookie. “That’s four weeks of missed opportunities.”
Hannah tears off a piece of the warm bread. “Oh…” She closes her eyes for a second. “This is incredible.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “Thanks.”
The three of us spend the next hour dividing everything up.
A loaf of bread, a few cinnamon rolls, and a handful of cookies stay in the apartment.
I wrap another loaf with a few cinnamon rolls and cookies for Carmen. The rest goes into containers for Jessica and me.
By the time we’re done, the kitchen is dusted with flour, there are chocolate chips scattered across the counter, and Allie somehow has icing on her sleeve.
She plants her hands on her hips proudly. “I think we made an excellent team.”
Hannah looks around the kitchen before looking at me. “I think Insaf baked everything…” She points at Allie. “…while you ate half the chocolate chips.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“And she did all the cleaning as she went,” Hannah continues. “She even packed everything.”
Allie waves a dismissive hand. “Tomato, tomahto.”
Hannah laughs. “That’s not how that expression works.”
“It works for me.”
I shake my head, smiling as I wipe the last bit of flour off the counter.
The week before finals settles over Briar like a heavy blanket. The library stays open later. Coffee becomes a food group. Even the frat houses seem quieter.
I’d already finished most of my revision weeks ago, so my days are surprisingly calm. I still review my notes from time to time, but nowhere near as intensely as everyone else.
Instead, I become everyone’s unofficial support system. I help Carmen whenever she gets stuck on our psychology coursework, usually over coffee in the library. Hannah and Allie, on the other hand, are both art majors. There’s very little I can explain to them. So I support them the only way I know how. Food.
Every other day, I show up at their apartment with fresh bread, cookies, or whatever else I feel like baking.
“You know,” Allie says one afternoon through a mouthful of cinnamon roll, “if psychology doesn’t work out, you have a backup career.”
“I already had one.”
“What?”
“My mom owned a bakery.”
“…Right.” She takes another bite.
“I would’ve inherited that bakery.”
Hannah looks at me. “Would you have wanted to?”
I think about it. “…Maybe.” The answer surprises me as much as it surprises them.
As I approach one of the corner booths, I recognize the guy sitting there.
John Tucker.
He’s surrounded by notebooks, loose sheets of paper and a half-finished coffee. His dark curls are slightly messy from running his hands through them, and the tired expression on his face makes it look like he’s been staring at the same page for hours.
He looks up when I stop beside the table. “Need a refill?”
He smiles politely. “Please.”
I top up his mug before moving on to the next customers.
Nearly half an hour later, I find myself drying mugs behind the counter. I glance toward Tucker’s table. He’s staring at a page so intensely you’d think it had personally insulted him.
I debate whether to leave him alone. Then curiosity wins. I walk over. “You look like you lost a fight.”
He looks up, surprised. “…Is it that obvious?”
“A little.”
He rubs a hand over his face. “I’m usually good at this.”
“What happened?”
“I’ve been juggling practice, games and studying.” He gestures helplessly at the open textbook. “I think I fried my brain.”
I glance at the page. “What class?”
“Statistics.”
“I know a little.”
His eyebrows rise. “What major are you?”
“Psychology.”
He blinks. “…Statistics is ‘a little’?”
“I was a maths and physics student in high school.”
“Oh.”
He immediately slides the textbook toward me. “…Please help.”
I laugh quietly before looking over the problem. After a minute, I look back at him. “I was going to explain it using hockey…”
“You know hockey?”
“No.”
He smiles.
“So that’s out.” I tap the page with my pencil. “Is there something else you like?”
He thinks for a moment. “…Cooking.”
I smile. “Perfect.” I draw two circles on the corner of his notebook. “Imagine you’re testing two chocolate chip cookie recipes.”
He leans forward. “Okay…”
“One recipe uses brown sugar. The other uses white sugar. You bake a hundred batches of each and ask people to rate them.”
He nods slowly.
“The statistics are basically asking whether the difference in ratings happened because the recipes are actually different…” I point between the two circles. “…or because sometimes people just randomly prefer one cookie over another.”
His expression changes. “Oh.”
I continue the analogy, replacing formulas with ingredients, recipes and taste tests. Every few sentences, he nods a little faster. Then, halfway through the page— “…Wait.”
He reaches for the pencil. “I think I get it.”
He works through the next question by himself. I don’t interrupt. When he reaches the final line, he stares at the answer for a second before looking up at me. “…I actually got it.”
“You did.”
He laughs, equal parts relieved and exhausted. “I’ve spent two hours trying to understand that.”
“Sometimes you just need someone to translate it.”
He closes the textbook with a satisfied thud. “I’m stealing the cookie explanation.”
“I don’t think your professor will appreciate that.”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
I stand, collecting his empty mug. “Good luck on your exam.”
He smiles. “Thanks… and thanks for not explaining it with hockey.”
“I would’ve embarrassed both of us.”
He laughs as I head back behind the counter, where Della catches my eye from the espresso machine. She gives me a knowing smile. I simply shrug and go back to work.
----------
The bell above the café door jingles. I glance up. John Logan walks in.
For a brief moment, our eyes meet. The last time I’d seen him was on Valentine’s Day, drunk on a fraternity porch while we shared a cigarette.
If he remembers that night, he doesn’t show it. Then again, I don’t think it had been significant enough for him to greet me even if he did.
He gives Tucker a lazy nod, drops his backpack beside the booth, then disappears toward the bathrooms.
A second later, Tucker catches my attention and gestures for me to come back over. I walk to his table.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I completely forgot to ask.”
“What?”
“Your name.”
“Insaf.”
He smiles. “I’m John Tucker.”
“I know.” He laughs. “Fair enough. You can call me Tucker, though. That’s what everyone else calls me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He closes his statistics book with a relieved sigh. “Seriously… thank you.”
“For what?”
“For saving me from failing statistics.”
“I don’t think one conversation is enough to save your grade.”
“It saved my afternoon.”
I smile. “You’re welcome.”
Just then, Logan returns from the hallway, running a hand through his hair as he heads back toward the booth.
I glance toward another table where a customer is looking around for service. “I should get back to work.”
Tucker follows my gaze and nods. “Right.”
As I turn to leave, he calls after me. “Hey, Insaf?”
I look back.
“You should come to one of our games next week.” I raise an eyebrow.
“We’ve got a big one coming up.”
I hesitate for only a moment before smiling politely. “Sure.”
“Great.”
I nod once before making my way to the waiting customer, unaware that as I walk away, Logan’s gaze lingers on me for a second longer than before.
He doesn’t say anything. Neither of us does.
-----
Logan drops into the seat across from Tucker and notices the statistics book lying open.
“You look less miserable.”
“I am.”
“What changed?”
Tucker nods in my direction. “She helped me.”
Logan follows his gaze to where I’m refilling a customer’s coffee. “Helped you with what?”
“This.” Tucker taps the textbook. “I was completely stuck.”
“You?”
“I know, right?”
Logan smirks. “So…” He leans back in his chair. “You like her?”
Tucker blinks. “…What?”
“You invited her to our game.”
“No, dude.” Tucker laughs “She just explained statistics to me.”
Logan raises an eyebrow.
“Remember last night when the three of us almost fried our brains trying to understand this chapter?”
“…Unfortunately.”
“She explained it in, like, five minutes.”
“How?”
Tucker grins. “Cooking.”
“What?”
“She figured out I like cooking and explained statistics using cookie recipes.”
Logan lets out a surprised laugh. “…That’s actually kind of genius.”
“I know.”
Logan glances back toward me. I’m busy topping off another customer’s mug, completely unaware of the conversation. “Huh.”
------------------------
A little before my shift ends, Della finishes counting the till. “You know,” she says casually, “if you ever need a job, you’ve got one here.”
I stop wiping the counter. “…Really?”
She nods. “I’ve seen you work twice now.” She gestures around the café. “You’re quick, you’re polite, and nobody has had to remind you to do anything.”
A smile spreads across my face. “Thank you.”
“I mean it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good.”
I untie my apron, say goodbye, and step outside. It’s still too early to head back to my dorm.
Instead, I wander toward an old second-hand bookstore a few streets from campus. The little bell above the door chimes as I walk in.
Immediately, I’m met with the familiar smell of old paper and worn bindings. I smile to myself.
As I wander between the shelves, I hear the faint sound of tools clinking together. I glance up.
John Logan is standing on a small stepladder near the back of the shop, sleeves rolled up, tightening the hinges on a leaning bookcase. He hasn’t noticed me.
I quietly continue browsing.
A few minutes later, I’ve become completely absorbed in reading the back of a novel when I sense someone beside me. I look up.
Logan.
He slips a screwdriver into the pocket of his jeans. “Angel.”
I stare at him.
“…”
He reaches toward the shelf beside me and pulls out a worn paperback. He turns the cover so I can see it.
The title reads: Angel.
“This one looks good.” I look from the book to him.
“…Right.” I nod thoughtfully. “You just judged a book by its cover.”
For a second, he simply looks at me. Then he laughs. A genuine one. “You got me.”
Of course he doesn’t remember Valentine’s Day. Or maybe he does. Either way, he isn’t acting like someone who shared a cigarette with me on a porch.
I offer him a polite smile before tucking the novel I’d chosen under my arm. “I’ll let you get back to work.”
He gives a small nod. “And I’ll let you judge books in peace.”
“I appreciate that.”
I make my way to the register, the old floorboards creaking beneath my feet, while Logan returns to the crooked bookshelf he’d been fixing only moments before.
Campus changes overnight. The library stays full until two in the morning. Students walk around carrying enough coffee to medically concern me. Conversations become less about life and more about survival.
Oddly enough… I’m calm. I’d spent months preparing for this. Each exam comes and goes without much trouble. I leave every classroom feeling lighter than when I walked in.
On Thursday, I stop by Dr. Carter’s office.
“I brought you something.”
She looks at the small paper bag in my hands. “…Am I allowed to accept gifts?”
“They’re cookies.”
She smiles. “I think cookies are within ethical guidelines.”
I laugh as she peeks inside.
“You baked?”
“I started again.”
She looks genuinely pleased. “How was it?”
“I forgot how much I enjoyed it.”
She nods. “I had a feeling you would.”
I lean back in my chair. “I think your assignment worked.”
“It wasn’t really about baking.”
“I know.”
“It was about proving to yourself that your life can have room for joy.”
I don’t answer. Because she’s right. Before I leave, she takes one cookie from the bag.
“I’ll save the rest for after my last appointment today.”
By the time the weekend arrives, everyone looks like they’ve collectively survived a natural disaster. The atmosphere around campus feels lighter. Students are laughing again. Music spills out of dorm windows.
The hockey game that Tucker invited me to is Saturday evening. Hannah and Allie agree to come. Sean tags along, naturally.
“I cannot believe,” Allie says as we walk toward the arena, “that your first hockey game is because you accidentally tutored one of the hockey people.”
“It wasn’t accidental.”
“You accidentally met him.”
“That’s fair.”
Sean chuckles beside her. “You’ll like it.”
“I’m still not entirely sure how hockey works.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“I explained statistics with cookies.” I glance at the rink through the glass. “I’m sure someone can explain hockey.”
--------------------------
The arena is louder than I expected. Much louder. The moment the players skate onto the ice, the crowd erupts. I instinctively flinch.
“You okay?” Hannah asks.
“Just… adjusting.”
The whistle blows. The game starts. I spend the first five minutes trying to keep track of the puck. “I’m losing it.”
Sean laughs. “Everyone does.”
“I don’t think I’ve actually seen it.”
“It’s over there.”
“Where?”
He points.
“Oh.”
A minute later, I’ve lost it again. Somehow, despite barely understanding the rules, I find myself leaning forward every time Briar gets close to scoring.
“Okay,” I admit quietly. “This is more entertaining than I expected.”
“I told you,” Sean says proudly.
Halfway through the second period, a loud collision echoes through the arena. One player slams into the boards.
The crowd cheers. I glance beside me. Hannah has gone completely still. Her shoulders are tense. Her hands are gripping the edge of her seat.
I lean closer. “…You okay?”
She blinks, as though I’d pulled her out of another room. “Yeah.”
“You don’t look okay.”
She forces a small smile. “I just…” Her eyes drift back to the ice. “I hate watching people get hurt.”
I follow her gaze. Another hit. Another roar from the crowd. “It makes me nervous.”
I nod. “We can leave if you want.”
She looks at me. “No, no.”
“You don’t have to stay because of us.” She hesitates.
Then sighs. “…Could we?”
“Of course.” I look toward Allie. She notices immediately. “Hannah?”
Hannah gives her an apologetic smile. “I think I’ve reached my hockey limit.”
Allie doesn’t hesitate. “We’re leaving.”
Sean nods too. “No problem.”
The four of us quietly slip out during a stoppage in play.
None of us notices that, during the final minutes of the third period, Logan glances toward the section where we’d been sitting.
His eyes scan the rows. Empty. He looks away just as the final buzzer sounds. Briar wins.
The arena explodes into celebration. Players crowd together at centre ice. Tucker laughs as someone tackles him into the glass. Logan joins the pile before looking back toward the stands one last time.
The seats are still empty. He frowns for the briefest moment. Then the feeling passes as his teammates pull him into the celebration.
------------------------
That night, just as I finish changing into my pajamas, my phone buzzes.
Carmen: Please come to the hockey party.
I smile.
Me: Why?
Three dots appear almost instantly.
Carmen: Because finals are over.
Because they won.
Because I don’t want to be the only sober person there.
Please.
I laugh quietly and open the group chat with Hannah and Allie.
Me: Carmen is trying to convince me to go to the hockey party.
Not even five seconds later, Allie replies.
Allie: I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS.
Hannah: ?
Allie: This is the second time Insaf has willingly agreed to go out.
Me: I didn’t agree yet.
Allie: The fact that you’re considering it is enough.
Hannah: Progress.
I shake my head, smiling at my phone.
Me: Dr. Carter told me to do things that serve no purpose.
Allie: Then she definitely meant parties.
Me: I don’t think that’s what she meant.
Hannah: Probably not.
A few seconds pass before Hannah sends another message.
Hannah: I’m in if you are.
Allie: Same.
I smile to myself.
Me: Okay. See you in thirty minutes.
---------------
The weather has finally started to warm up. Not enough to leave my jacket behind. Just enough that I don’t need the oversized hoodies I’d been living in all winter.
Instead, I pull on a pair of dark jeans and a fitted lilac long-sleeved top that slips just slightly off one shoulder. I throw on my black leather jacket, lace up my boots, and leave my hair down.
When I meet the girls outside the hockey house, Allie gives me an approving once-over. “See?” she says triumphantly.
“Cute.”
“I’m wearing jeans.”
“Exactly.”
-----------------
The hockey house is loud. But nowhere near as chaotic as Valentine’s Day. I can actually hear myself think.
As soon as we step inside, I take in the room. Tucker is across the living room, his lips firmly attached to a girl I’ve never seen before.
“…Well,” I mumble. “So much for inviting me to a hockey game.”
Hannah snorts beside me.
Near one corner, I spot Jessica curled up beside her boyfriend on a couch. Across the room, Carmen is chatting animatedly with a group of girls from the engineering department.
Dean Di Laurentis is somehow louder than the music itself. “IF YOU LOVE BRIAR, YOU TAKE THE SHOT!”
A chorus of cheers answers him. He starts handing out plastic shot cups with the enthusiasm of a game show host. Standing beside him is Logan. He’s laughing just as hard, clapping one of his teammates on the shoulder before throwing back his own shot.
On the opposite side of the room, Garrett Graham is leaning against a wall, talking quietly to a beautiful blonde puck bunny. She laughs at something he says. I vaguely remember Carmen mentioning her name once. Kendall.
We slip into the kitchen before Dean notices three new people to recruit for his drinking games.
Allie opens the fridge. “Closed bottles only.”
“Agreed,” Hannah says.
I grab a bottle of cider while Hannah picks up sparkling water. Allie chooses a hard lemonade.
She raises her bottle. “To surviving finals.”
“To surviving finals,” Hannah echoes.
I clink my bottle against theirs. For a few minutes, we simply stand in the kitchen, sipping our drinks while watching the party unfold around us.
---------------
I look for the bathroom when Tucker greets me, the girl still glued to his side. “Hey, Insaf, you came!”
I smile politely. “Congratulations on the game.”
“Thanks,” he says, while the girl continues kissing his neck.
“Uh, can you tell me where the bathroom is?”
“Yeah. It’s upstairs, first door on your right.” I nod and head upstairs.
I find the bathroom door closed. I hope no one’s hooking up in there again. Then again, I’m in a hockey house. I don’t think I’d find it as clean as I’d like anyway.
As I wait, footsteps approach me. “Who got your panties in a twist?”
I know who it is without even looking up. Fuckass Brad Smith.
“Your mom,” I answer.
At that exact moment, the bathroom door opens. Beau Maxwell, one of the Briar football players, steps out laughing at what he just heard. “Damn, dude.” He walks away still chuckling.
I slip into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. When I come back out, Brad is still waiting. I gesture toward the bathroom to let him know it’s free, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he just looks at me, almost hesitantly. I raise an eyebrow.
As I’m about to leave, he says, “I’m pretty sure it’s been a long time since you did anything sexual. So… how about we do something, and I won’t annoy you ever again?”
I give him a puzzled look. As I turn around, I see Dean disappearing into his room with a girl before closing the door behind them.
I sigh. “Get inside.”
We walk into a room I recognize as Tucker’s. It’s surprisingly neat and clean. I feel a little guilty that we’d be doing anything in here, but… he did invite me to the game.
So it’s fine… Right?
Brad tries to kiss me. I push him away. “No kissing.”
He smiles at that. I unbuckle his jeans. “I have a request.”
I look at him, raising my eyebrows.
“Could you just keep looking at me like that? You don’t have to touch me. You don’t have to do anything.”
I stare at him. “Excuse me?”
“I can handle myself. I just need you to keep looking at me like that.”
I glance at the mirror beside him and realize I’m wearing the same judgmental expression I usually reserve for him. I shrug. “Okay.”
He starts, and I simply stand there. I can hear his breathing change.
I ask myself whether I feel uncomfortable. I don’t. It’s just… weird. But I’m not exactly surprised either. I don’t want to psychoanalyse the dude. Good for him, I guess.
Two minutes pass before he exhales. “Okay… I’m done.” He lets out a relieved laugh. “Thank you.”
I shrug. “You’re welcome.” Then I leave the room.
----------------
I go back downstairs to the girls. None of them questions why I took so long. Technically… That had gone by pretty quickly. And I don’t bring it up either.
A little while later, Dean comes back downstairs, his hair noticeably messier than before. He claps his hands together. “Alright! Truth or dare!”
A chorus of groans and cheers fills the room as everyone gathers in the living room. The bottle starts spinning. When it lands on me, Dean grins.
Logan immediately sighs. “…What did you come up with?”
“You have to give her a hickey.” Dean points directly at me.
“And we’ll decide whether you do it in the closet, Garrett’s room…” He pretends to think. “…Or somewhere else.”
The room erupts into laughter. I stare at him. The girls stare at me. Across the circle, a few puck bunnies look less entertained by the idea.
I gulp.
Five minutes later, I find myself standing inside a tiny storage closet with Logan. At least there’s a light. I can actually see his face. For a few seconds, neither of us says anything.
Then I laugh. “So…”
“So.” He rubs the back of his neck. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
I look at him. “What made him give you a dare like that anyway?”
He lets out a breath through his nose. “I may or may not have forgotten to warn him that Coach Jensen was standing right behind him while he was talking shit about him.”
I blink. “…Yeah.” I nod thoughtfully. “I think you deserve a dare worse than this.”
He places a hand over his chest. “Ouch.” Then he smiles. “But seriously…” He gestures toward the door. “We could just stand here for a couple of minutes and pretend.”
I glance around the tiny closet. “I don’t think anyone’s going to believe you gave me a hickey if we come out of a broom closet looking exactly the same.”
He laughs quietly. “…Fair point.”
I hesitate for a second before lowering the collar of my jacket and moving my hair away from the left side of my neck. “There.”
His expression softens. “Are you sure?”
“Yep.”
He leans closer slowly, giving me every opportunity to change my mind. I don’t.
His lips brush lightly against my collarbone. My breath catches for just a second before I relax. He’s careful. Deliberate. I catch the scent of his cologne, mixed with the faint smell of motor oil that always seems to follow him. A few moments later, he leans back.
“There.”
I glance down. A small mark. Barely noticeable. Before either of us can say anything else— A loud knock rattles the door. “You better have given her that hickey, Logan!”
Dean. Without waiting for an answer, he swings the door open. His eyes immediately land on the faint mark near my collarbone. He nods approvingly.
“Okay.” He points at it. “Fair enough.” Then a grin spreads across his face. “So…” He looks between the two of us. “Was it awkward?”
Logan doesn’t miss a beat. “Not as awkward as when Coach Jensen heard you talking shit about him.”
The entire room bursts into laughter. Dean points an accusing finger at him. “I said I was sorry!”
“You also tried to blame Tucker.”
“I panicked!”
Tucker, somewhere across the room, throws a pretzel at Dean’s head. “You absolutely did.”
The conversation instantly derails into everyone arguing over Dean’s worst decisions, and just like that, the attention shifts away from me.
Spring break arrives, and for the first time since coming to Briar, campus feels… quiet. Half the students go home. The other half seem to disappear into internships, road trips, or sleeping until noon. Since I don’t have anywhere to go, I take Della up on her offer. I start working at Malone’s alongside Hannah. Working with her is surprisingly easy. By now, we don’t even have to ask who is taking which table. We naturally fall into a rhythm.
“If I have to refill one more coffee…” Hannah mutters one afternoon.
“I’ll do it.”
She gives me a grateful smile.
“I love you.”
“I know.”
“You say that like Han Solo.”
“I’ve never seen Star Wars.”
She stops in the middle of wiping a table. “…Insaf.”
