"Motion Sickness" - Phoebe Bridgers
“Nobody” – Mitski
“Nothing New” – Taylor Swift ft. Phoebe Bridgers
If Paige Bueckers had known skipping the school assembly would land her in this situation, she might’ve at least gotten extra sauce for her nuggets.
It had seemed like a flawless plan at the time. Assembly days were a waste anyway — long speeches, awkward performances from the school choir, and Mr. Reynolds giving his annual “You Are the Future” TED Talk to a crowd of half-asleep teenagers.
So when Jada had slid her a note during second period that read:
“Chick-fil-A. 10:30. You in?” Paige didn’t hesitate.
Thirty minutes later, they were in Jada’s beat-up Honda, speeding through a drive-thru, laughing about how Dev nearly tripped, sneaking out behind them. Paige had never eaten waffle fries so fast in her life.
Unfortunately, Principal Thompson didn’t find it quite as hilarious when they strolled back into school mid-fourth period, smelling like spicy chicken sandwiches.
Paige barely had time to get to her locker before she was called to the guidance counselors office the next morning.
She slouched into the chair across from Mr. Reynolds’ desk, arms folded, expression bored.
“Is this going to take very long? Because I have important things to do,” she said with a dramatic sigh.
Mr. Reynolds didn’t look up from his computer screen. “Well, today we have a new student—”
“No,” Paige said automatically, already standing up. “Whatever it is, no. I have a calc test and—”
“You don’t take calculus.”
“Okay, well, I have a vibe to maintain. It’s fragile.”
Mr. Reynolds finally looked at her, unimpressed. “You can either serve detention this week… or help out with a new student who just transferred in. Give her the tour. Help her adjust. Be a face of leadership.”
Paige blinked. “So… be a glorified tour guide or miss practice and risk running laps until my legs fall off?”
He nodded, deadpan. “Exactly.”
So now here she was—leaning against the row of blue lockers outside the main office, spinning the lanyard of her student ID around her index finger, waiting for the new girl. This was her punishment: babysitting some random transfer student from Tennessee.
The door to the office opened with a soft creak, and Paige straightened up.
And there she was.
Presley James. Wavy dark brown hair tucked under a worn Vanderbilt cap, black hoodie, oversized jeans. No smile. No makeup. Not anything. Just quiet and still and somehow managing to look like she already hated everyone in the building.
Which was kind of impressive.
“Presley James?” Paige asked, standing up straighter and flashing the trademark Bueckers grin—the one that made local reporters call her “effortlessly charismatic” and teachers forgive half her missed homework.
Presley blinked. “Yeah?”
“I’m your tour guide,” Paige said, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. “Congratulations. You hit the Hopkins High jackpot.”
Presley gave her a once-over that wasn’t exactly impressed. “Great,” she said flatly. “Let’s get it over with.”
Paige’s smile twitched. Okay then.
They started down the main hallway, Paige walking backward for dramatic effect.
“So this is the Hall of Fame,” she said, gesturing to a wall filled with trophies and photos. Her own face was up there—twice, actually. “That’s me,” she added, pointing to one. “State champs. MVP. No big deal.”
“Cool,” Presley muttered, not even looking.
Paige frowned slightly. “Usually people ask for autographs by now.”
“Yeah, i'll pass." Presley said, stepping around her to keep walking.
Okay, rude.
“Alright, Miss Nashville,” Paige said, catching up. “What’s your deal? You allergic to fun, or just really into ignoring greatness?”
Presley stopped and turned, finally looking her in the eye.
“My deal is I’m not here to make friends, follow you around like a fan, or hear your highlight reel. So maybe just show me where the hell the library is, and we’ll be good.”
Paige blinked. Hard.
She didn’t get talked to like that. Ever. Most people either crushed on her, wanted to be her, or tried to use her for a social boost. But Presley? Presley looked like she’d rather be anywhere else—like Paige was just another loud noise she wanted to mute.
And for some reason, Paige found that wildly interesting.
“Oh,” Paige said, eyebrows raised. “You’re one of those.”
Presley crossed her arms. “One of what?”
“You think you’re above all of this,” Paige said. “You’ve got that whole tortured-artist, don’t-look-at-me-but-actually-look-at-me vibe.”
Presley laughed, but it wasn’t nice. “Trust me, I’ve been around real egos. You wouldn’t make the top twenty.”
Paige put a hand to her heart, mock offended. “Ouch.”
Presley turned and started walking again. Paige followed.
“Just so we’re clear,” Presley added without turning around, “I’m not interested in school royalty, or your basketball legacy, or whatever charm thing you think you’re doing.”
Paige caught up again, walking beside her now. “You sure? It’s a good charm thing. Award-winning, even.”
“Pass.”
They walked in silence for a minute, weaving through the crowd.
Paige shoved her hands in her hoodie pockets, eyes darting sideways. Most girls didn’t talk to her like this. Hell, most people didn’t look at her like this.
Presley was guarded like Fort Knox. Every answer clipped. Every look distant. And for some reason that only made Paige more curious.
“You know,” Paige said slowly, “you might be the first person in Hopkins who doesn’t want something from me.”
Presley finally glanced over. Her voice was low. “Yeah, well. You might be the first person ever who thinks that’s a bad thing.”
Touché.
They reached the library. Presley opened the door and stepped inside without saying anything else.
Paige stood there for a second, half-expecting a “thank you” or a “see you around.” But Presley didn’t even glance back.
The door swung shut behind her.
Paige grinned.
This was going to be fun.
Teachers stared.
Students whispered.
A few bold ones didn’t even pretend to be subtle about it.
“Wait—is that her?”
“Dude, I swear that’s Faith James’s kid.”
“My mom listens to her music when she’s sad-drunk.”
Presley didn’t hate people.
She just strongly preferred not to be around them.
Especially the ones who thought charm was a personality or that confidence was a substitute for humility. Paige Bueckers—Miss Minnesota Basketball or whatever—was exactly the kind of girl Presley had spent her whole life trying to avoid.
Loud. Adored. Too comfortable in the spotlight.
And way too used to getting what she wanted.
Presley slipped into the corner of the cafeteria, dropped her backpack next to a window seat, and pulled out a battered copy of The Bell Jar. She’d read it before but re-reading felt easier than pretending to care about whatever calculus syllabus she’d been handed this morning.
Hopkins wasn’t the first school where the whispers followed her down hallways, and it wouldn’t be the last.
It wasn’t like she didn’t know what they were whispering about. She’d lived with it long enough.
Her fingers tightened around the worn edges of her book, and before she could stop herself, the memory slipped in—bright and sharp, like it had just happened.
Nashville, age fifteen.
The CMA Awards carpet had smelled like perfume, hairspray, and nerves. Presley’s mom—Faith James herself—floated through interviews in a glittering gown, the flash of cameras popping like fireworks. Presley stood with her younger sister, Lindsey, both of them shoved into designer dresses picked out by a stylist who had never asked if Presley liked sequins.
Lindsey twirled, beaming for photographers, already a natural. Presley held her ground, smile practiced and thin, shoulders stiff in a gown that glittered louder than she ever wanted to.
When she slipped up—when her smile cracked or her gaze darted away—her mom didn’t look twice. Faith was too busy answering questions, too busy dazzling the press with that trademark laugh, too busy being “Faith James” to notice her daughter shrinking beside her.
The next morning at school, everyone had seen.
“You were on TV!”
“Did you meet Kacey Musgraves?”
“Was your mom really sitting next to Reba?”
Her classmates crowded her locker, voices bubbling with questions, their eyes wide with envy. They didn’t want her—they wanted the story she carried, the proximity to fame.
Presley gave them scraps. Shrugged. Nodded. Tried not to flinch when they told her how “lucky” she was.
That night, she opened her phone.
The headlines hit harder than she expected:
“Faith James's Daughter Takes On CMA Red Carpet — Future Star or Forgettable Nepo Baby?” “Presley James Looks Nervous and Out of Place Beside Mom and Sister.” “She Used to Smile More — Childhood Photos Show Presley James Once Loved the Spotlight.”
The comments cut deeper: strangers dissecting her face, her body, her hair. Comparing her teenage awkwardness to old pictures of her at seven, eight, nine years old—smiling on her dad’s shoulders at the CMAs, laughing with Lindsey in matching dresses, wide-eyed under stage lights. Back when she hadn’t known any better.
Presley remembered staring at one headline in particular:
“Even Faith James’s daughter can’t fake happy forever.”
She wanted to scream. Instead, she closed her laptop and went to bed. Her mom never brought it up. Didn’t ask how she was handling it. Didn’t notice that Presley had stopped smiling in pictures altogether.
At fifteen, Presley learned three things:
Her classmates would always want the fantasy version of her.
The world preferred the younger, happier version of Presley James.
Her mom wasn’t going to protect her from any of it.
She blinked, pulling herself back into the cafeteria at Hopkins. A page of The Bell Jar blurred in front of her, unread.
Minnesota wasn’t Nashville. The faces were new. But the whispers? The staring? The expectation?
That was the same. Always the same.
Minnesota already sucked.
Hopkins High was clean and shiny and packed with people who stared at her like she had glitter on her forehead. Not because of her—because of her mother.
Faith James. Country music royalty. Queen of the heartbreak ballad. Three-time CMA winner and four-time cautionary tale.
She had mastered the polite shrug when people asked what it was like to be raised by someone who could sell out an arena in three minutes.
The truth?
It was exhausting.
So no, she wasn’t about to fall all over herself because some blonde basketball phenom thought she was hot shit.
Presley didn’t care if Paige Bueckers walked on water or dunked from half court. She could keep her MVP trophies and her smug little smirk.
Presley flipped a page, refusing to let the memory of Paige’s grin crawl back into her head.
Paige tossed a grape into the air and caught it in her mouth without breaking eye contact.
“Showoff,” Dev said, flicking a pretzel at her.
“What can I say? Excellence is a lifestyle.”
Jada rolled her eyes. “Did your new little sidekick enjoy the royal tour, Your Majesty?”
Paige leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “She hated it. And me. Possibly the entire school.”
Dev smirked. “She’s the Nashville girl, right? I heard her mom’s, like, crazy famous.”
“She is,” Jada said. “Faith James. My aunt cries to her music every Thanksgiving.”
“Well, Presley James doesn’t want anyone talking to her. Trust me.” Paige grabbed her water bottle. “I said six words and she nearly murdered me with her eyes.”
“Oh, Paige thinks someone’s interesting,” Jada said, mock-gasping. “Stop the presses. Someone write this in her motivational journal.”
Paige threw a grape at her.
“She called me out,” Paige admitted after a beat. “Didn’t care about basketball, didn’t care about my face being on the wall, just—” she shrugged, “—brushed it off. Like I was some annoying mall kiosk worker trying to sell her hand lotion.”
Dev laughed. “Damn.”
“And she’s not even rude in a dramatic way. She’s just… cold. Like, ice bath cold. Like Elsa if Elsa had a resting murder face.”
Jada raised an eyebrow. “And yet here you are. Talking about her.”
“I’m not—ugh, whatever.”
She didn’t know why she couldn’t stop thinking about that moment in the hallway. Or how Presley hadn’t flinched under her usual charm routine. Or the way she said “I’m not here to make friends” like it was a weapon.
Most people melted under attention. Presley acted like it burned her.
Paige glanced across the cafeteria—casually, not too obvious—and spotted her. Presley was sitting alone near the back, earbuds in, head bent over a paperback. Same hat, same black hoodie, same don’t-even-think-about-it posture.
A few freshmen passed her table and did a double-take. One of them actually turned to say something, but Presley didn’t even look up.
Untouchable.
Paige tilted her head. “What’s she reading?”
Dev looked over his shoulder. “No idea. Looks old.”
“It’s The Bell Jar,” Jada said. “I had to read it last year. Super depressing.”
“Sounds fun,” Paige muttered.
Jada leaned forward. “You should leave her alone, you know.”
“I am.”
“No, you’re talking about her, watching her, trying to make her laugh in the hallway. That’s not leaving someone alone.”
Paige didn’t answer.
Because she had tried to make her laugh.
And now, sitting in the middle of the lunchroom with her usual fan club and MVP shine, all she could think about was the girl in the back corner who wanted absolutely nothing to do with her.
The rest of the day was uneventful, which was exactly how Presley liked it. A few kids tried to talk to her—one girl in chem class asked if she was the Presley James, but Presley shut it down with a tight-lipped “no relation” and a look that could chill soup.
After school, she ducked into the parking lot and spotted her dad’s truck near the curb. She climbed in, slamming the door shut behind her.
“You survive?” her dad asked, glancing over with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Barely.”
“You meet anyone?”
Presley stared out the window. “Just my tour guide. Queen of the court.”
“Oh yeah, I read about her in the school pamphlet. She’s the one with a ton of scholarship offers, right?”
“I didn’t ask,” Presley muttered.
Her dad chuckled. “That bad, huh?”
“She thinks she’s charming.”
“Well, maybe she is.”
Presley shot him a look.
He raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll shut up.”
They pulled out of the lot, gravel crunching under the tires. Presley tried to let her mind wander, but instead it kept circling back to her.
Paige.
The way she’d smiled like the world was a game she’d already won. The way she didn’t back off when Presley shut her down.
The way she’d looked… interested.
Presley hated that look. That curiosity. Like she was some riddle to be solved or a challenge to be won.
People like Paige always wanted something. Attention. Approval. A reaction.
Presley had already given her all to being the perfect daughter and she had nothing left to give anymore.
Not to anyone.
And especially not to some cocky golden girl with a highlight reel and a million-watt smile.
Presley shut her bedroom door with a quiet click, leaned against it for a second, and let out a long breath. She kicked her shoes off into the corner, tossed her backpack down, and slid onto the floor beside her bed.
She pulled out the leather-bound journal she never let anyone touch. The cover was worn soft, the edges stained with ink and coffee. It wasn’t for homework or diary entries—it was where she put everything she couldn’t say.
She flipped to a blank page.
Her chest felt heavy in the way it always did after school—too many eyes, too many whispers about her last name, her mom, the spotlight Presley hadn’t asked for. Faith James. Beloved country star. Untouchable to everyone else. But to Presley? Just another storm cloud hanging over her life.
Her pen hit the page before she could stop it:
I hate you for what you did, and I miss you like a little kid.I faked it every time, but that’s alright.I can hardly feel anything, I hardly feel anything at all…
The words felt jagged and sharp, too close to the bone. Presley pressed harder, her handwriting slanting, the ink bleeding into the paper.
She could still see flashes of her mom dazzling and smiling like the world revolved around her. Meanwhile Presley had been shoved into the public eye, shoved into photographs she didn’t ask for. People always wanted her to smile wider, look happier, be the daughter of Faith James.
But none of them saw the way her mom brushed past her in the green room, too busy fixing her lipstick, or checking her phone to notice Presley becoming a shell of herself.
Presley swallowed hard. She didn’t hate her mom. Not exactly. It was worse than that—she wanted her. Wanted the version of her who used to braid Presley’s hair before kindergarten, who used to make pancakes on Sundays before everything got loud and expensive and untouchable.
By the time she finished the page, her chest felt cracked open. She snapped the journal shut, shoved it under her bed, and wiped her face with the sleeve of her hoodie.
No one could ever see that. Not Lindsey. Not her dad. Definitely not her mom.
Series summary: After years of building your band’s reputation as one of the most influential in the metal scene, you and your bandmates move to Los Angeles. What you don't expect, however, is that your new neighbors are none other than Bad Omens, and that Noah is a huge fan of your band.
Series masterlist
The moment you walked into the music store, the scent of wood, metal, and leather hit you, immediately transporting you to memories from your childhood. The sound of strings being tuned, the hum of drums being tested, and the rhythmic tapping of keys filled the air, and you couldn’t help but smile.
It was like stepping into a sanctuary, the kind of place you’d lost yourself in for hours when you were younger. Back then, you used to wander between the rows of guitars, basses, drums, and amps, feeling like the world outside could wait. It was always easier to breathe in a music store. The chaos of the world seemed so much quieter when surrounded by instruments.
You took a deep breath, soaking in the atmosphere. The walls were lined with guitars—some old and worn, others gleaming with fresh paint. Amps of all sizes were stacked along one side of the store, while the percussion section was neatly organized just ahead. It was impossible not to be overwhelmed with a sense of nostalgia.
Noah, walking in beside you, caught your eye with a grin. “Looks like you enjoy this place,” he said, his voice light, but there was an understanding in his tone.
“Yeah,” you replied, running your fingers over the smooth surface of a guitar, “it takes me back."
Noah nodded, a quiet smile on his lips.
"I'm sure I'm gonna come back here often." You added.
“Well, I’m glad we’re doing this today,” Noah said, looking around. “Let’s find that drum head and those sticks, yeah?”
You nodded, already feeling that familiar thrill of being surrounded by equipment you had no real need for but wanted anyway. You led him toward the percussion section, where you found a display of drum heads. They were all neatly stacked, with each one bearing different designs, sizes, and materials.
“Okay, so Jake mentioned he needed a new drum head,” you said, scanning the selection. “And he loves his gear to look good, so we need something that'll catch his eye. He’s really into the red and black combo these days. Literally, his entire wardrobe is those colors."
Noah’s eyes lit up when he saw the perfect one. It was a deep red with a black snake designed on it. “This one. This is perfect for him. It’s bold, but not too much. And the red and black thing? It’s spot on. I don't really know him but this thing screams Jake.”
"Oh, I like this one."
“I’ve been around Folio long enough to know what looks cool,” Noah said with a shrug, grabbing the drum head off the display and holding it up in front of you. “This one’s definitely the vibe.”
He handed it to you, and as your fingers brushed his, a jolt of electricity shot through your hand, making your pulse quicken. You smiled as if nothing had happened, your mind already working on what else you needed. “Now we need the sticks.”
You walked a few feet to the stick display, where a wall of different brands and styles greeted you. You picked up a few pairs, testing their balance in your hands, feeling the weight of them.
“Red and black?” Noah asked, still standing by the drum head section.
“Yeah,” you said, tossing a pair of black sticks back onto the shelf and picking up a set with a bright red finish. “These could work.”
Noah walked over, inspecting them as he grabbed a matching pair. “They feel good. Solid grip, and the weight’s pretty spot on. They’re not too light, but not too heavy either.”
"Since when are you also a drummer?"
"Trust me, you don't want to see me play. I only know a few things."
“Alright,” you said, nodding. “I hope he's gonna like these.”
You walked to the counter, briefly talking with the cashier and then you both made your way out of the store. The late afternoon sun had dipped low in the sky, casting a soft golden hue over everything as you stepped back into the parking lot.
As you climbed into Noah’s car, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment. There was something about being in a music store that always grounded you, and today, with Noah by your side, it felt even more meaningful.
He slid into the driver’s seat, tossing the keys onto the dashboard.
“Thanks for helping me pick this stuff out, Noah.”
“No problem,” Noah said, “It’s always good to help a friend."
The drive back from the record store was relaxed, the warm glow of the setting sun stretching across the road as you and Noah talked. Music hummed softly in the background, a low rhythm filling the spaces between easy conversation. The city rolled by outside the car window, but you barely noticed, too caught up in glancing at Noah from time to time.
At one point, as the playlist shifted to something slower, Noah glanced over at you, his expression curious. “You play guitar, right?”
You blinked, surprised by the question but not by the certainty in his voice—like he already knew. He was a fan, after all.
“Kind of,” you admitted with a small shrug. “Alex tried to teach me a bunch of times. He was really patient about it, but…” You grinned, “He never got far with me. I’m not exactly a natural. I'm probably better with a microphone.”
Noah raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “That’s not what it looked like.”
You frowned, genuinely curious. “What do you mean?”
He chuckled softly, his gaze flicking briefly to the road before returning to you. “I’ve seen you play. Acoustic sets. You did that version of Ghost a few times.”
You felt a sudden, warm flush creep up your neck. “That barely counts,” you said with a laugh. “It’s just one song. And I stopped playing it a couple of years ago.”
Noah shook his head, smirking. “Doesn’t matter. You still did it. And you didn’t look half bad doing it, either.”
You scoffed lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, well, I’d love to actually know what I’m doing someday.”
He didn’t reply, but his smile lingered, as if he knew something you didn’t. The music shifted again, the notes matching the golden haze outside, and for a while, neither of you spoke.
"Friend." That word kept echoing in his mind. He had said it so casually, without thinking twice. But now, it lingered with him.
It felt too much and not enough at the same time.
He had known you for just a little over a week, yet it felt like he had known you for years. And in some ways, maybe he had. But now that he was seeing you in person, talking and joking, everything felt so easy, so natural. It was effortless, like the two of you just fit. Like this was something that had been waiting to happen all along.
He loved the way you sang that song with him so much that he almost thought about taking a wrong turn to make the journey last longer. That song that in one way or another described you a little and that he knew he would never listen to in the same way again.
The front door creaked open, and Noah stepped inside his house, glancing around as he tossed his jacket onto the coat rack.
“Hey, already back from your date?” Nicholas asked from the couch, his legs stretched out lazily. He was lounging next to Matt, who was looking at his phone, but as soon as Noah closed the door behing him, his attention was on Noah.
Noah ran a hand through his hair, feeling the warmth rush to his cheeks. “It wasn’t a date,” he replied, trying to brush it off as casually as possible.
“Right, it wasn’t a date,” Matt chimed in “But you sure would’ve liked it to be.”
Noah shot him a quick glare, but his heart beat just a little faster at the idea. He didn’t want to think about that right now.
“We’re just friends,” he said firmly, hoping that would put an end to the conversation. But his voice faltered slightly.
“Yeah, you’re just friends…” Nicholas smirked, “But you sure as hell want it to be more than that, don’t you?”
Noah exhaled sharply, his brow furrowing as he leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling a little cornered by their teasing. “Hey, you two. Did you just team up against me or something?”
Nick chuckled softly. “I’m just saying,” he said, his tone light but laced with amusement, “you don’t come home with a smile on your face like that after spending time with a girl unless you’re really feeling something. And this hasn't happened in a long time.”
Noah paused. He knew what they were saying was true. He did feel something. Something he couldn’t quite put into words. It was too early for him to even figure it out, but there was no denying the way his pulse quickened whenever you laughed, the way his thoughts lingered on every conversation you had. The way he’d caught himself smiling after the drive back even if none of you was speaking.
But there was also the fact that you’d only just moved to LA. You were still getting settled, still figuring things out. He couldn’t assume anything, especially not after just one week. Besides, you had been nothing but kind to him, offering your company, your time—just as a friend. You didn’t give any indication that you felt the same way.
“She just moved here, you know? She’s probably just being nice, trying to make some friends. I don’t want to mess that up.”
As Noah moved toward the kitchen, he heard Nicholas mumble, “Dumbass,” under his breath, and Noah couldn’t help but shake his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t ready to admit anything, not even to himself—and for now, he’d take it slow.
You took a deep breath as you climbed the stairs, still holding the bags in your hands. You entered your room and set the items down on your bed. First, you carefully unpacked the drum head, the red snake design standing out vividly against the plain brown wrapping paper. It was perfect for Jake, and you couldn’t wait to see his reaction.
You set it aside before moving on to the sticks. They felt solid, the red finish a nice complement to the rest of the gift. You placed them neatly next to the drum head, the items now ready to be wrapped.
Once everything was in order, you headed downstairs, hoping to get some rest before you had to start working on the shirt designs again. As you entered the living room, you spotted Alex lounging on the couch, his usual smirk in place as he glanced up from his phone.
"So," he started, his voice teasing, "What did you do today? Besides, you know, buying gifts for our lovely drummer?"
You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you took a seat on the armrest of the couch. "I just went out with Noah," you said, trying to keep your tone casual. "We went to a music store to pick up some things for Jake's birthday."
Alex’s eyes lit up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Oh, so you and Noah spent the day together, huh?" he teased, leaning forward slightly. "Was it a… fun outing?" He dragged the words out, clearly enjoying how the situation sounded.
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. "It was just a trip to the store, Alex," you said, trying to play it off as no big deal. "He was just being kind, helping me pick out the right stuff for Jake."
Alex’s grin widened, clearly not buying it. "Uh-huh, sure. Just 'helping' you out. Look at you, getting all cozy with the neighbor." He leaned back against the couch, still smirking.
You shook your head, laughing lightly. "It’s not like that," you insisted. "We’re just friends. He’s just a nice guy, and I needed help picking out some gifts. That's all."
Alex raised an eyebrow, his teasing tone never faltering. "Friends, huh?" he said, dragging out the word.
You shot him a playful glare, not willing to admit anything. "I swear, you’re impossible," you said, standing up from the couch. "It’s literally nothing. We just went out to get some stuff for Jake’s birthday. End of story. I don't like him that way."
Alex chuckled softly, clearly enjoying teasing you. "Sure, sure. If you say so."
"Alright, enough," you said, rolling your eyes. "Now that I’ve dealt with your teasing, I’m gonna work on the merch. In my room. Alone."
You heard the blonde's laughter follow you until you closed the door behind you.
In the following days, things passed by in a calm, pleasant rhythm. You spent a few afternoons wandering around Los Angeles with Sam, Jake and William, exploring the city in ways that felt both casual and exciting. One afternoon, you strolled through Melrose Avenue, checking out the cool, vintage stores that lined the street.
There was this one shop, Wasteland, that had the most amazing collection of secondhand leather jackets and band tees from decades past. You spent a good chunk of time browsing through the racks, finding the occasional gem, and laughing at some of the ridiculous fashion choices from the ‘80s that seemed to make their way back in style.
Another day, you went to The Last Bookstore in downtown LA. The towering shelves of books, the hidden nooks, and the whimsical vibe of the place were exactly the kind of escape you craved when the city felt a little overwhelming. Sam had picked up a graphic novel while William flipped through a music history book, but you found yourself drawn to the vinyl section, running your fingers over the old records with a soft smile. It was a little treasure trove, tucked away in the heart of the city, and you found a kind of peace there among the pages and music.
As you walked through these different parts of the city, you were starting to notice something. More and more often, people would recognize you—fans of the band, or sometimes just music lovers who happened to spot you. It wasn’t something you had ever been used to, but it was happening now, and you couldn’t help but feel a little thrill every time someone would call out your name.
It would start with a hesitant wave, and then someone would ask, “Hey, are you Y/N from Dark Waves?” Or “Are you a singer?” And before you knew it, you’d end up posing for a selfie, or signing a quick autograph, exchanging a few words with a fan. It was always brief, always pleasant, but it made you feel something inside, like you were on the right path.
It was a little surreal, honestly. Growing up, you never really expected to be recognized in places like this—walking through crowded streets, sitting in cafes, or shopping in quirky stores. Yet there you were, in LA, where it seemed like everyone had a chance to run into someone they admired. Each time someone approached you, you felt a deep sense of gratitude. It reminded you of how far you’d come, of the countless hours spent working on music and building your career, and most importantly, it reminded you of the people who had helped get you to where you were now—your fans.
They were the reason you were living this life, the reason you had the privilege of playing music for a living. They were the ones who had supported Dark Waves through everything, and now, it was starting to feel real. You weren’t just in the band anymore—you were part of something much bigger, something that had a life of its own.
You had continued your routine of leaving food for the stray cat, just outside your garden. Every morning, without fail, the food would be gone, and you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction knowing the cat was eating. There was something comforting about it, even though you didn’t know much about the cat or its life. You just hoped that, at least for a while, it could count on the food you left out.
One night, as you sat on the couch, flipping through your phone, you heard a noise outside. It was faint at first, just a soft rustling, but it was enough to catch your attention. You froze, listening, and then the sound came again—louder this time. It was as if something had knocked into something else. Curious, you stood up, slipping into your comfortable hoodie to shield yourself from the chill of the night air, and made your way toward the door.
You stepped outside, the darkness of the night surrounding you. The street was quiet, save for the occasional distant car or the rustling of leaves in the wind. Your garden was still, and the only thing that seemed out of place was a small vase that had been knocked over by something. Your gaze darted toward it, and that’s when you saw him.
The orange cat, the one Noah had talked about, was there, darting away from the mess it had caused. His fur was a bit scruffy, and he looked thin—almost gaunt, as though he hadn’t been eating enough. There were patches of dirt on his fur, and his eyes darted nervously, as if he were expecting someone to chase him away. He was hungry. You could tell. And he looked like he hadn’t had an easy time of it.
Without thinking, you stepped forward, calling out softly to him. “Hey, it’s okay. Come here.” You crouched down, hoping to show him you meant no harm, that you just wanted to help. But before you could even take another step, the cat whipped around and bolted, darting across your yard toward the fence that separated your garden from the next.
“Hey!” you called after him, instinctively trying to catch up. “It’s okay, come back.” But your words fell on deaf ears. In the blink of an eye, the orange cat had jumped up and over the low brick wall separating your yard from the neighboring house—the one you’d started calling "Omens house". You watched helplessly as he disappeared behind a little brick wall in the corner of their garden.
Just as you were about to turn back toward your house, a low creak behind you made you jump. You spun around, heart thudding, to see the door of the Omens house opening slightly. Standing there, bathed in the soft glow of the porch light, was Noah. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, his voice thick with sleep as he drawled, “Are you trying to break in and rob us, or…?”
His long hair was a tousled mess, falling in loose waves over his shoulders, and his t-shirt hung rumpled, like he had been asleep minutes ago. His eyes, heavy with sleep but laced with amusement, regarded you with a sleepy kind of curiosity. The sight of him—barefoot except for a pair of ridiculous flip-flops with fake green grass covering the soles—almost made you burst out laughing.
You raised your hands in mock surrender. “No, no robbery plans tonight, I swear.” You gestured behind you toward the wall. “The cat—the orange one you told me about. He was in my yard, knocked over a vase, and when I tried to calm him down, he jumped into your garden.”
Noah chuckled, stepping closer until only the iron bars of the gate separated you. He squinted toward the wall you pointed at, as if expecting the cat to appear just because he was looking. “Yeah, he does that. Skittish little guy. He’ll come out when he’s ready. He always does.”
His calm certainty made you smile, but your eyes drifted down. You couldn’t resist. You pointed to his feet, your lips twitching. “I'm sorry. Are you seriously wearing those? And you call me 'weirdo'?”
Noah followed your gaze, then shrugged unapologetically, a slow, crooked grin spreading across his face. “Hey, these are genius. Every day is a walk in the park. Literally.”
You pressed a hand to your mouth, but it didn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, pointing at his flip-flops like they were proof of a crime. “Who even buys those?”
“I do,” he said, unfazed. He stepped back, making a grand show of spinning around like he was modeling high fashion. “Jealous? Don’t lie. You wish you had a pair.”
“Yeah, sure,” you managed, shaking your head.
His grin lingered as he rested his arms on the top of the gate, leaning slightly closer. “But about the cat, you’re doing good leaving food out. He’ll come around. He just needs time.”
“I hope so,” you murmured, your voice quieter now. “He looked so hungry tonight. I just…” You trailed off, unsure how to put the thought into words.
Noah’s expression softened, his voice warm. “Who would’ve guessed the singer of Dark Waves had a soft heart?”
You shot him a look, a grin tugging at your lips. “Who would’ve guessed the singer of Bad Omens walks around in grass flip-flops?”
His smile broke wide, laughter rich and easy. “Touché.”
For a moment, you stood there, the silence between you comfortable. The night pressed darkly around you, but the small pool of light from the porch seemed to hold you both in a world of your own. His hair framed his face in messy locks, and even though he was standing there in grass flip-flops with sleepy eyes, you couldn’t help noticing how pretty he was. It was ridiculous, really, but undeniable—effortless in a way that made your breath catch.
He yawned, a soft, lazy grin still lingering. “Well, goodnight, weirdo.”
You smiled back, feeling lighter. “Goodnight, nerd. Try not to trip on your lawn shoes.”
He blinked, a laugh bubbling up again. “Nerd?"
“If you keep calling me weirdo, I’m going to keep calling you nerd. Those are the rules.”
“Those aren’t real rules.”
“They are now,” you said with a satisfied shrug.
"Alright," He let out one more laugh, and as you turned away, the warmth of his voice lingered long after you reached your door. In the dark, even with the ridiculous flip-flops, he looked unfairly pretty.
The late afternoon sun was dipping low as you walked with Jake to the familiar front door of Noah's house.
You found the gate ajar and Jake didn't even hesitate when he pushed it open, entering their garden.
"This is the right time they report us for invasion of private property." You muttered, following him.
Moments later, the door swung open, revealing Jolly. His tall frame filled the doorway, and his eyes flicked between you and Jake with mild curiosity. He tilted his head slightly, offering a polite, if subdued, smile. "Hey guys."
Jake grinned. "Hey, man. We came over to invite you guys to something. Got a minute?"
Before Jolly could reply, footsteps sounded behind him, and then Noah appeared in the doorway. His eyes landed on you, and for a second, it was like there was just the two of you. He leaned against the frame, his long hair falling loosely over his shoulders. His gaze was soft as he took you in.
“Hi,” he said simply, his voice low, almost intimate.
“Hey,” you responded, a smile tugging at your lips.
Jake’s eyes darted between the two of you, a slow, exaggerated sigh escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes skyward.
“Anyway,” he said loudly, breaking the moment, “I’m having a thing at our place Wednesday night. My birthday. Nothing big, just drinks and hanging out. You guys should come by.”
Jolly exchanged a glance with Noah, then nodded. “Sounds good.”
“You don’t need to bring anything,” Jake added. “Just yourselves. And Folio. You have to bring Folio. It’s just for fun, get to know each other, have a few drinks.”
Noah’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “We’ll let the others know. But yeah, I’m in.”
Jolly nodded. “Same here.”
“Awesome,” Jake said, clapping his hands together. “It’ll be good to chill.”
The conversation lingered just a moment longer and as you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but feel Noah’s gaze follow you until the door finally shut behind him.
The Announcement Our Followers Have Probably Been Waiting For!
THE IN A MIRROR, DARKLY SEQUEL IS FINISHED!
This morning, or evening, depending on the timezone you’re in, @anyreiart and myself (@queerwolfsstuff) wrote the last line on the complete rough draft for the In a Mirror, Darkly sequel, When the Mirror Shatters. A rough draft four years in the making, and finally on the verge of posting six years after we posted the second joint fic we ever wrote together.
The downside, there’s still going to be a wait for you, our amazing, awesome readers. While we cannot give a timeline YET, we will begin posting before the end of the year, but first, this beast is going to take some time for us to revise and edit, before we hand it over to our amazing Beta Duo, R2. (That’s @eyesofatragedy67 and @punk-is-notdead if you’re new here).
In the meantime, give Any and I a follow over on Twitter, because we plan to hold a Q&A event event in month all about IAMD and its sequel! Obviously, no spoilers.
Any’s Twitter
Frankie’s Twitter
We’ll give a time frame for this Q&A closer to the date. And yes, keep your eyes peeled for the sequel posting schedule, because it is WRITTEN. It’s just not quite finished. Thank you to absolutely everyone who has stuck it out with us. We can’t wait for you to finish this journey with Cas and Dean!
Natsu: Alright, last week went well. Nobody died or got a concussion followed by amnesia- *Glances At Dabi*
Fuyumi: Didn’t that happen 2 weeks ago when Hawks slapped Dabi in the face?
Dabi: That explains why I don’t remember that meeting.
Hawks: Sorry! *Dabi jumps under table as he jumps up*
Dabi: *From under the table*
Dabi: Why is he here?!
Hawks: Fuyumi gave me a Todoroki sibling pass!
Fuyumi: Well he comes so often he’s practically part of the family- I didn’t see the harm in it!
Shoto: He brings free hot chocolate- He’s stays.
Dabi: Makes sense. *Sits back on chair*
Natsu: Anyways, any ideas on how to tarnish the Todoroki name this week?
Shoto: The Backstreet boys.
Dabi: Murder.
Natsu: Denied.
Hawks: We could get Endeavor to look after Dabi and my kids-
Dabi: Your kids.
Hawks: Ba
Hawks: Our kids.
Fuyumi: Oh my gosh you adopted?!
Dabi: He adopted them all. I had no input.
Shoto: Do you have names?
Hawks: Theres 48 of them- My favourites Tokoyami! If I can even say I have a favourite~
Natsu: Congratulations- Is it even legal to have that many?
Dabi: They’re chickens.
Fuyumi: *Fangirling* Oh my gosh so cute!!!
Shoto: They must be little terrors.
Hawks: Yep! That’s why if we get Endeavor to look after them we’ll mentally and physically destroy him, which will lower his performance in the field and leave an opportunity for next week. Cool right?
Dabi: Sounds fun.
Fuyumi: Lets do it!
Shoto: Cool- Which is the hardest to look after?
Hawks: Oh I know this! Touya Junior because he’s an edgy $&@#% who acts like an asshole towards everyone. He tried to murder Enji, Toshinori and Shoto! Don’t even get me started on his terrible personality-
Dabi: *Rage* What.
Hawks: He really took on your personality as well!
Shoto: *Eating popcorn*
Dabi: You *Bleep* *Bleep*.
Hawks: It’s true though!
Dabi: Is it?! *Has set his hands on fire already*
Natsu: CODE DABI!!!
Fuyumi: TAKE COVER!!!
*Everyone proceeds to dive on under the table, with Shoto running out the room*
Hawks: Sorry for stating the truth-
Dabi: *Inferno* NO YOU ARENT YOU *bleeping*!!! YOULL BE A DAMN CHICKEN NUGGET ONCE IM DONE WITH YOU-
*Shoto runs in with a bucket of icy water, throwing it on Dabi. He hisses and growls*
Dabi: *Soaking wet* What the *bleep*?!
Natsu: Anti Dabi procedure. Anyways, I think we’re alright to continue the meeting.
Fuyumi: *Back On chair* Alright! I love Hawks idea~
Hawks: Me too!
Shoto: Are we all in agreement?
Everyone except Dabi: Yep.
Dabi: I will smite all of you when I dry off- OW!
Hawks: *Flicks him*
Shoto: Thank you.
Fuyumi: Finally!
Natsu: Why didn’t you do that sooner?
{Continues}
Todoroki meet plan is put into play:
Hawks: So Endeavour, I was wondering if you could look after my kids this afternoon? Touya and I are going out for dinner!
Endeavour: WAIT WHAT CHILDREN PFFFT IMMA GRANDPA?!
Hawks: Yup! Wait- Surprise! Anyways, can you handle them?
Endeavour: *Crying in a manly way nodding* I’m the number one hero- SOON ILL BE NUMBER ONE POP!
[Later]
Dabi: *Death staring from the other side of the room*
Hawks: Thanks so much for doing this!!!
Endeavour: They’re chickens. Dressed as everyone you know.
Hawks: ARENT THEY ADORABLE?!
Endeavour:
Dabi: *Nods and makes slit throat gesture*
Endeavour: They are absolutely adorable! I can’t see why I didn’t realise that first up.
Hawks: YAY! Let’s go Touya, we need to go-
[Hawks grabs Dabi’s arm and drags him out the room, skipping and waving to Endeavour. They leave. The chirping and the noises from the room stop. All 48 chicks are surrounding Endeavour, dead still. Silence]
Endeavour: Alright you little runts- Family time.
Endeavour: I won’t fail you like I did to my children.
Endeavour: This is a chance to prove myself- I can also befriend my son again.
Endeavour: Who wants to have fun?!
[Five minutes later]
Endeavour: I DIDNT MEAN THIS YOU LITTLE-
*Is being chased by all the chicks- Rage is in their eyes. Somehow Dabi must have told them to destroy Endeavour after learning their language*
[At 9 pm]
Hawks: We’re back!
Dabi: We are.
Hawks: How are the- OH MY GOSH NO!
*Endeavor is on the couch with a bowl of chicken nuggets- The chics are nowhere to be seen*
Hawks: NOOOOOOOO YOU ATE THEM! *Rolling on the floor bawling his eyes out*
Dabi: I’m going to kill him- Is that alright?
Hawks: NO. WE MUST BE STRONG PARENTS!
Hawks: IVE LOST FAITH IN HERO SOCIETY
Endeavour: Wait-
Dabi: You can’t redeem yourself.
Endeavour: ITS JUST KFC I ORDERED!
Dabi: Stop trying to cover up the murder- It’s making things difficult.
Hawks: WHY.
Endeavour: THEYRE IN THE SPARE ROOM! *He looks like he’s having a near panic attack- He’s looking terrible*
Dabi: Oh yeah? Well why don’t you- *Hawks is already gone*
Hawks: OH MY GOD HES NOT LYING-
Dabi: I’m still going to kill you.
Endeavour: THE RUNTS ALREADY TRIED! IT WAS HORRIBLE.
Endeavour: IVE SUSTAINED MORE INJURIES TODAY THAN AGAINST HIGH END.
“ It's been my fashion to keep my head dry and get my feet wet
Step by step I've been letting you lead me to the deep end
Well, I learned my lesson, honey
Just when you think you're all adult swim
Is precisely when somebody shows you to the ocean ”
"idontwannabeyouanymore" — Billie Eilish
“Cherry Flavoured” — The Neighbourhood
“Adore You” — Miley Cyrus
9k+ words
The weeks after homecoming slipped by quietly. It was already mid-October, but I felt stuck in September, replaying that night over and over. Paige and I hadn’t talked about the kiss, but everything had changed — and we both knew it. Not in loud, dramatic ways, more like small shifts in our daily routines.
For example, a few weeks ago, my car broke down, so Paige offered to pick me up for school and drive me home. Then it became a habit — her car in my driveway at 7:28 am, windows foggy from the cold, music already playing. She’d hand me a breakfast bar or steal whatever I grabbed on my way out of the house. Sometimes we would get coffee on the way, but usually we didn't have time.
When I told her my car was fixed and she didn’t need to pick me up anymore, she waved me off, insisting, “Your house is on my way.”
(It absolutely wasn’t.)
I didn’t correct her because those rides had quickly become the best part of my day.
The mornings were quiet and comfortable — except for game days.
On game days, I could hear her music before she even turned onto my street. I was always fully prepared to yell at her to turn it down, but every time I got in the car, she’d be rapping a mile a minute to Rod Wave with the biggest smile on her face.
And God, I was such a sucker for her smile, so I stayed quiet.
The afternoons were the best, though. We’d sit in her car for a while talking, then go get food or head to the library to “do homework” (nothing ever got done), because neither of us wanted to go home yet.
On days she had practice, I would either watch or finish my homework in the library. Then we’d meet back up and get food with Jada and Dev. Sometimes other teammates joined us. They were all really nice, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I had real friends.
Game days were the same. They practiced, I worked, we got food, and then we’d all come back so I could watch their game.
Today was game day, and they were going against Wayzata for the second time this season. I could tell the second I stepped outside that morning, because her car's bass was vibrating from halfway down the street—her classic pre-game ritual.
Game-day Paige was a different breed.
By the time we pulled back into the Hopkins High parking lot from Chick-fil-A, she was all focus—jaw tight, hair tied back, with her hands tapping on the steering wheel like it was the ball. She turned to me before she got out.
“You stayin for the whole game, right?”
“Yup, finished all my homework earlier.”
Her mouth twitched into a smile like she was trying not to show how happy that made her. “Nerd.”
“At least I don't have a 1.8 gpa!” I scoffed as I slammed the door shut, getting out.
“Yo, there ain't no way. Last I checked it was 3.2, and after we crushed that english assignment, it's gotta be like 3.8 now.” She said, grabbing the gym door to hold it open for me.
“If you think getting one good grade brings it up that much, you are more delusional than I thought,” I say laughing.
Inside the gym, students were already crowding the stands, the air buzzing with the intense rivalry Hopkins always had with Wayzata.
“Whatever, I’ll see ya after the game.” Then she was off jogging to the locker room to prepare, but not before tossing me her team issued warmup jacket. I was pretty sure my face was bright red now as I slid it on.
“Calm down,” I mumbled to myself under my breath, praying the blush away as I walked toward the student section. I was fully prepared to slip into my usual seat next to Jazmine (Jada’s twin sister), but I didn’t make it five steps before someone tugged my sleeve.
Drew Bueckers.
“Presley! You’re sitting with me.”
I blinked. “With you?”
He nodded aggressively. “Dad saved you a seat. Mommy brought me snacks. I promise I will share now—come on!”
Before I could protest, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me up the bleachers to where Bob and Moe were waving me over. Moe smiled warm and bright. “Hey sweet girl. It’s so good to see you! How have you been?”
I didn’t miss the way her eyes glinted when she saw my jacket, or rather Paige's jacket. Great, now I’m blushing again. “I’m doing good, how have y'all been?”
“We're doing good,” Moe continued, pretending not to notice my blush, “how’s school going? You surviving?”
“Barely,” I joked. “But I think I’m managing.”
“And your dad?” Bob asked, genuine concern in his voice. “He doing alright after the whole Homecoming Disappearance Sleepover Debacle of 2018?”
I groaned. “Please never call it that again.”
Bob wheezed. “Oh, I’m absolutely calling it that forever.”
Before I could defend myself, the gym lights dimmed, the crowd roared, and the team ran out for introductions. Paige jogged out last, eyes already zeroed in on the competition.
Then, right in the middle of all the chaos, she glanced up.
Her eyes found mine instantly.
I ignored the heat crawling up my neck and kept my eyes forward, but I couldn’t stop the smile pulling at my mouth.
“I think 20+ points and 10+ assists! Presley, how much do you think Paigey will get?” Drew said, grabbing my attention.
“I think that sounds good, I'm gonna have to agree with you.”
Bob shoved a bag of popcorn into Drew’s hands. “I don't know, she always plays better when her people are here. I'm going with 26+ points and 12+ assists.”
My chest tightened for a second. Her people. Not me, right? He clearly means family. I'm not family, I'm a friend. Are friends included in ‘her people’? I sat between them, heart thudding a little too fast. I wasn’t sure what we were yet. Friends. Almost more. Something in between. I really hate that fucking word ‘friend’, it's stupid.
Warmups felt automatic from shooting, ball-handling, and layups, but my eyes kept drifting to the stands. I told myself I was checking the size of the crowd and who Wayzata brought with them, anything that sounded more reasonable than where is the pretty girl I kissed and want to kiss again.
It took me three seconds to spot her again, still sitting with my family.
In my jacket.
Jesus, she might be the most beautiful person I've ever fucking met.
Focus, Bueckers.
Wayzata’s point guard, Kennedy fucking Harrison, was walking towards me. I’d hated her since 7th grade, all mouth, no defense. She smirked at me like she’d been waiting for this.
“Ready to lose, Bueckers?” she said under her breath, loud enough that only I could hear.
I snorted. “If I remember correctly, and please correct me if I'm wrong, the last time you guys beat us your ass was on the bench, which also means you haven't beat my team since what was it, 8th grade?”
Her jaw tightened.
Good.
She leaned closer, lowering her voice even more. “Your little cheerleader up there is cute. I think imma ask her out after the game.”
My stomach dropped.
My blood boiled.
She glanced toward the bleachers — right where Presley was sitting.
And smiled.
Before I could reply, she opened her big mouth again.
“I’d be a fool not to take Presley James out on a date, I mean, she’s probably just waiting and hoping for someone to give her validation after all the shit with her mom and the media. She’d probably be an easy lay, the insecure ones always are.” Kennedy shrugged, smug.
That did it.
I’m gonna punch her face in.
I stepped into her space, bouncing the ball once. “You better fucking watch yourself.”
Coach Cosgriff whistled the team into the huddle before I could say more or do something deserving of an ejection.
I jogged over, jaw locked, pulse buzzing in my ears. I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry in my life.
“Everything good?” Dev muttered next to me, eyeing my expression.
“Peachy,” I said, flipping the ball to the team manager.
Jada snorted. “Yeah. You look real peachy.”
But when the buzzer sounded, and we took the court, I already knew how this game was going to go.
Kennedy wanted to run her mouth?
Fine.
But tonight I was gonna bury her 6 feet under.
By the fourth quarter, I was running entirely on adrenaline and spite.
Kennedy had spent the whole game tugging at my jersey, whispering shit under her breath, trying to body me up like she suddenly learned how to play defense.
Cute.
Too bad she couldn’t guard me if her life depended on it.
The scoreboard showed Hopkins 67 — Wayzata 53, and I already had 28 points and 12 assists. But I wasn’t done.
Coach called a timeout with three minutes left, wiping sweat from his forehead.
“Paige,” he said, “dial it back. We’re up. Run the clock.”
I nodded.
I had no intention of doing that.
Back on the court, Kennedy jogged past me with a smirk. “You’re slowing down, Bueckers. Thinking about your little girlfriend?”
I didn’t even look at her. “You’re boring me. At least try to make your next flop believable.”
The whistle blew.
Wayzata bricked a three, the rebound popped up high, and both of us jumped for it.
I knew exactly where her face would be.
My elbow came down just a little too hard, just a little too clean, and…
CRACK.
Kennedy hit the floor with a screech, hands flying to her face as blood streamed between her fingers.
The ref’s whistle shrieked across the gym.
“INCIDENTAL!” I shouted immediately, hands up. “Was goin for the rebound!”
The crowd roared — half gasping, half cheering. Our student section practically exploded. I heard Jada scoff under her breath, “She warned you.”
The refs huddled. For a second, I thought they might hit me with a flagrant, but after reviewing the replay on the small courtside monitor, they waved it off.
“Basketball play,” one ref said. “Keep it moving.”
Kennedy got escorted to the bench with a towel over her nose.
I didn’t look at her.
I was too busy scoring another three.
By the time the buzzer sounded, the scoreboard read:
Hopkins 78 — Wayzata 60
My final line:
31 points, 12 assists, 7 rebounds, and 4 blocks — all on Kennedy.
When we lined up to shake hands, her coach skipped me entirely. I just smiled and tugged at my jersey. When I got to her, I gave my most sympathetic smile I could, in case someone saw, “Now that was a good flop.” I muttered.
After we finished our chants, Coach pulled me aside by the elbow, his eyes sharp.
“Paige. What the hell was that?”
I blinked. “Which part?”
He gave me a look that could’ve melted ice. “Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m talking about. That elbow could’ve been dangerous.”
“It was an accident, my elbow is gonna be bruised for like a week!” I said, rubbing it and grabbing a water bottle.
“Accident my ass,” he hissed. “You’re lucky the refs saw it your way.”
I shrugged, taking a drink. “I guess I’m lucky.”
“Paige.” His tone was firm, disappointed, but not angry. “You’re too good a player to let someone get under your skin like that. You hear me? Do not risk hurting someone just because they said something stupid.”
I stared down at the floor, flexing my jaw.
Coach softened—just a little. “You’re a leader. Act like it.”
I nodded once. “Yes, sir.”
He sighed. “Go cool off. And for God’s sake, try to look like you didn’t enjoy it.”
The second he let me go, I wiped sweat from my forehead, grabbed my stuff off the bench, and headed toward the stands. The gym was still buzzing — teammates yelling, and students spilling onto the court, congratulating each other like they’d played the damn game too.
But my eyes were only looking for one thing.
Found her.
Presley.
Still in my jacket.
Laughing at something Drew was saying.
My chest tightened in that stupid way it always did around her.
Before I even got halfway across the court, a small blur broke from the group.
“PAIGEY!”
Drew hit me at full speed, arms wrapping around my waist, squeezing the little energy I had left.
“Oof—hey, bud.” I laughed, scooping him up with one arm.
“You KILLED THEM!” he yelled right in my ear. “You hit that girl! Bam! Right in her nose! And then you got thirty-one points and twelve hundred assists!”
“Twelve,” I corrected, rubbing his back. “And I didn’t hit her. It was an accident.”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding way too seriously before leaning to whisper in my ear. “I won’t tell anyone.”
Over his shoulder, I saw Presley laughing, her hand covering her mouth. God, she was cute.
Moe stepped forward, camera already up. “Drew, smile! Paige, hold still!”
“Ugh—”
Click.
Drew was grinning with all his teeth, still hanging onto me like a koala. Moe looked at the photo and melted immediately.
“Oh my gosh, this is going on the Christmas card.”
“I’M SWEATY AS HELL.”
She wasn’t listening. She looked past me — right at Presley.
“Presley, baby, get over there! Get in one!”
Presley froze like she’d just been cast in headlights.
“What? That’s ok—I’m not—”
“Sweetheart,” Moe said, already reaching out to usher her closer, “you’re part of the family. You’re not getting out of this.”
My heart did a weird, traitorous flip.
Presley’s cheeks turned bright red as she moved in beside me. I set Drew down, and he instantly grabbed Presley’s hand.
“Pres is my bestest friend,” he informed nobody in particular.
Presley smiled at him, then looked at me when she thought no one else was paying attention. The look she gave me was soft, warm, a little shy—it hit me harder than all the hits I’d taken tonight.
I draped my arm across Drew’s shoulders. Drew was on cloud 9. And Presley… she fit there like she’d been in our pictures her whole life.
“On three,” Moe said.
“One… two…”
I glanced at Presley just in time to see her glance at me.
“…three!”
Click.
Moe lowered the camera, beaming. “Perfect.”
And I felt it.
This, them, Presley beside me,
It felt perfect.
By the time I finally peeled myself away from the swarm of students wanting high-fives and autographs, Presley was already waiting by the side entrance, scrolling on her phone. She looked up when I jogged over.
The tiny smile she gave me?
Yeah. I’m beyond screwed.
“You ready?” I asked, trying to sound like my pulse wasn’t going feral because she was still wearing that damn jacket.
She nodded. “Yeah. My dad says congrats on the win.”
“Ah, my favorite James.”
“I’ll let Lindsey know you said that.”
“She ain’t gonna believe you, PJ. Me and her are best friends.”
I unlocked the doors, tossed my duffel into the back, and glanced over at her as she climbed in. The jacket looked huge on her. Almost swallowed her whole.
I loved it.
“Seatbelt,” I said automatically.
“Okay, first of all, it’s ‘her and I’. Second of all, PJ?”
“I can go back to lettuce wrap if you prefer.” I rolled my eyes, but the smile on my face wouldn't die. I pulled out of the parking lot, the fall air sharp against the windows.
Presley tugged the sleeves of my jacket over her hands, staring out at the streetlights with a smile on her face.
I never wanna see that smile disappear.
“So,” she said, settling back into her seat, “you gonna tell me why you elbowed that girl in the face?”
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. “It was an accident.”
“Yeah, right.” She said, laughing.
“I swear, wrong place, wrong time.”
She raised a brow. “Paige.”
Her voice did that soft thing—the one that made my stomach do a full somersault.
I cleared my throat. “She was talking shit the entire time.”
She blinked.
“I want ice cream,” I cut in before she could continue, “you want ice cream?”
“Ice cream?” she echoed, suspicious.
I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road so I didn’t have to look directly at her. “Yeah. There’s a Dairy Queen like two minutes from here. I kinda want a Blizzard. And, you know… You seem like you need one.”
“I need one?” she said, laughing.
“Yeah,” I shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “You cheered really hard, probably burned off all the carbs in your body. Ion wanna be the reason you die from low blood sugar.”
She snorted. “You are such an idiot.”
“But I’m your idiot,” I shot back, then immediately regretted it. My throat tightened. “I mean—”
She stared at me, stunned for half a second before a slow, warm smile spread across her face.
“Okay,” she said softly. “Let’s get ice cream.”
My grip tightened on the wheel.
I didn’t look at her.
I didn’t have to.
I could feel her staring.
We grabbed two Blizzards—Oreo for me, cookie dough for her—and slid back into the car. It was parked facing the empty field next door, streetlights glowing across the frost-touched grass.
For a while, we didn’t talk. Our spoons scrape against paper cups. It was the kind of quiet that felt safe to sit in. The kind that meant something without saying anything.
Presley leaned back against the headrest, licking a bit of ice cream off her spoon.
“Thanks for the ice cream,” she said. “I’ll get the next one.”
“Damn right,” I teased, nudging her with my elbow.
She opened her mouth like she was about to fire back with something snarky—but her phone buzzed in her lap. Once. Twice. Three times in a row.
Presley groaned dramatically. “If this is my dad asking for pictures of your game, I’m blocking him.”
But when she clicked the notification, her whole face softened.
“Who is it?” I asked, taking another bite of my Blizzard.
“My grandma,” she said, thumb swiping as she read. Her voice warmed in that way it always did when she talked about people and things she cared about. “She wants to know when I’m gonna visit the lake house.”
I nearly dropped my spoon.
“LAKE HOUSE?”
She blinked at my reaction. “Yeah… my grandparents have one. They just finished the renovations on the pier, I thought I told you.”
“No, PJ. You most certainly didn’t.” I twisted in my seat fully, offended. “How do you NOT mention that you own an entire lake house?”
She laughed. “I don’t own it. They do.”
“Same thing,” I said quickly. “Do you understand the gravity of what you just told me? This is vital information. Crucial. Life-changing, even.”
Presley shook her head, smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”
“What lake is it on?” I demanded.
“Lake Vermillion.”
I slapped my hand against the steering wheel. “BRO.”
She jumped. “What?!”
“Lake Vermillion is like—prime tubing, fishing, bonfire territory. PRIME.”
Her eyebrow lifted, amused. “Are you… okay?”
“No,” I said honestly. “Because you’ve been holding out on me. Lake houses are like the best thing Minnesota has to offer. You can’t just drop ‘lake house’ on me like that and expect me to act normal.”
Presley bit her lip to hide a smile. “Well… they want me to bring friends up for a weekend.”
“Friends,” I repeated slowly. “As in… plural? Like… multiple friends?”
“That’s usually what plural means, yeah.”
“But like…” I lowered my voice, wiggling my eyebrows. “That include me?”
She stared at me for a second, soft and sure.
“You’re the first person they asked about.”
I blinked, “Me?” I said, quieter than I meant to. “Why me?”
“Because,” Presley murmured, eyes dropping to her cup, “I guess they hear about you from Lindsey… and me.”
I swallowed.
The car filled with that heavy warm quiet again—the kind that makes your palms sweat, your brain race, and your heart beat out of your chest.
I cleared my throat. “So… when are we going?”
She laughed. “I don’t know yet. I haven’t planned anything.”
“Presley,” I said, placing my cup in the holder, “I need you to listen to me very carefully.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“We are going to that lake house.”
“And why’s that?” she teased.
“Because,” I said, leaning back with a smug grin, “you haven’t even seen me on a tube yet. It’s my Olympic event.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “I’m the Michael Phelps of not falling off.”
She snorted. “Paige Bueckers… you fall walking down hallways.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“The hallway is crowded, and 90% of the time someone has spilled water on the floor. The tube thing is pure skill.”
Presley laughed—loud.
The kind of laugh I’d do anything to hear again.
She shook her head, finishing the last of her Blizzard.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Maybe,” I said quietly. “But you like me anyway.”
She didn’t argue.
She didn’t tease.
She just smiled at me.
Fuck me… that smile could ruin my whole life in the best way.
Paige had dropped me off last night, but not before she called Jada and Dev to tell them we had a lake trip to plan. I was still in sweatpants and Paige’s hoodie (I was absolutely not giving this thing back anytime soon), and I put on music while I cleaned up. So I would be ready to meet up with them for lunch.
It started with humming under my breath. Then whisper-singing. Then singing-singing.
I didn’t even notice what I was singing until I was halfway through the chorus of a song I hadn’t thought about in years — “Don’t be that way, fall apart twice a day.” My voice wasn’t perfect. Soft, a little shaky in places. “Show, never tell, but I know you too well.” But it felt good.
The door swung open without a knock.
“Jesus—Linds!”
Lindsey stood there, eyes wide, bowl of cereal in her hand, milk sloshing dangerously with every excited bounce.
“Oh my god,” she said, pointing at me like I was committing a fucking crime. “You were SINGING.”
“No,” I deadpanned, cheeks already heating. “I was… vocalizing quietly.”
“No, that was like full chest,” she said, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind her. “Pres, that sounded like—actually good.”
I groaned, flopping back onto my bed. “You’re so dramatic.”
“I’m not,” she insisted, dropping onto the edge of the mattress. “You keep pretending you don’t care, but you do. You love singing. You always have. So when are you gonna stop acting like it’s nothing and actually take it seriously?”
Her words hit harder than I expected.
Because she wasn’t wrong.
I stared up at the ceiling for a long second. “Linds… people already think they know everything about me. About our family. If I start… singing again, writing again… it’ll just make it worse. Eyes on me all the time.”
“Pres,” she said, softer now, “that’s gonna happen no matter what. People talk. They’re gonna talk regardless. So shouldn’t you at least do something you love while they do it?”
I swallowed, fingers picking at the hem of my sweatpants.
She nudged my knee. “And also, Paige literally picks you up at seven every morning, drags you into her car, and stares at you like you hung the freaking moon. I think you can handle a little attention from strangers.”
“Lindsey!”
“What?” she shrugged. “She does. And you like it. Don’t pretend.”
I grabbed a pillow and covered my face with it. “Please leave.”
She laughed and tugged the pillow away, gently. “I’m serious, Pres. You’re good. Really good. You should stop hiding it.”
Her expression softened into something quieter, something honest. “You deserve to have something that’s yours. Not anyone else’s. Not Mom’s. Yours.”
I didn’t respond.
Not because I didn’t want to.
But because the knot in my chest loosened in a way that made my eyes sting.
Before I could embarrass myself, Lindsey hopped off the bed.
“Just think about it,” she said, heading toward the door.
I’m not gonna do that.
And yet… as the music started playing again, I found myself humming along, softer this time.
By the time Paige pulled into my driveway for lunch, she had that same smug little smile she always had when she wanted something. I climbed into the passenger seat, tugging my hoodie closer around me because the wind today was rude as hell.
“You ready for Panera?” she asked, putting the car in reverse.
“Always.”
We picked up Jada and Dev on the way, and by the time we got a booth, Dev was already slamming a notebook down on the table.
“OKAY, lake trip planning session. Let’s go.”
I blinked. “You brought a notebook?”
“A color-coded notebook,” Jada corrected, pointing at the rainbow tabs like Dev had invented fire.
Paige leaned back in the booth, stretching an arm across the back of my seat. “This trip is gonna be insane.”
“You’re insane,” Jada said, stealing one of Paige’s chips.
“I earned those,” Paige protested.
“Win another game, and maybe you can have them back.”
Dev snapped her fingers. “Focus! Presley, babe, talk to me. Lake house details. What are we working with?”
I laughed nervously. “Uh… my grandparents have a house that they just finished renovations on, and my grandma really wants me to bring friends up for a weekend.”
“Can she be my grandma too?” Jada groaned.
Dev flipped her notebook open. “Okay. Living arrangements?”
“Uhm, master bedroom upstairs,” I said. “A loft with a guest bedroom. And a basement with bunks.”
Jada turned to Dev dramatically. “So they'll take the master, do we wanna bunk together or do separate rooms?”
I choked on air. Paige coughed violently. Dev smacked her on the back.
“I’m not—” I sputtered.
“We’re not—” Paige said at the same time.
Dev put her chin in her hands. “You two are adorable.”
“We’re literally just friends,” I blurted. It tasted sour on my tongue, and I immediately regretted it.
“Mhm, totally,” Jada said. “Anyway, we can figure it out when we get there.”
I looked down at myself.
Fuck.
Paige started to tap her hands on the table. “So when are we going?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t thought about a weekend yet.”
“Pick one,” Dev commanded. “Lake weather is still decent for three more weeks, tops.”
“Your birthday is next weekend, right? We could go for like a birthday trip.” I suggested.
I don’t know what part of me thought it was a good idea to host a whole birthday trip for a girl I just met, like less than four months ago, but when I saw Paige's eyes light up like that, every warning sign in my head shut up.
I’d give her anything if she looked at me like that.
Paige nodded eagerly. “Yes. Yes. Yes, oh my god, best birthday ever.”
I laughed softly. “Okay, I'll let Gram know.”
Paige’s grin was radiant.
Dev scribbled furiously in her notebook. “Packing list time. Swimsuits, hoodies, food, weed, alcohol, money, and vibes.”
“Vibes?” Paige repeated.
Dev dropped her pen, looking up to glare at Paige. “DO NOT question the vibes.”
I covered my face with my hands. “I don’t think we need to worry about food, knowing Gram, she’ll have it stocked for us by tomorrow.”
“Again, can she adopt me?” Jada sighed, leaning across the table to steal my chips now. “As for vibes, lake trips are where memories happen. Bonding. Growth. Romance—”
I could feel my face heat up, but luckily, Paige took this as the opportunity to kick her under the table.
Jada yelped. “OW—”
“I slipped,” Paige said flatly.
“No, you didn’t!”
Dev slammed her notebook shut. “Okay, it’s settled, Lake weekend. We leave after school on Friday. Be there or be boring.”
Paige looked at me again, softer this time. “You excited?”
Her knee nudged mine.
I met her eyes. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “Are you?”
I now understand what Lindsey meant when she said ‘Paige looks at me like I hung the moon'. I see it now, and I’d give her anything if she keeps looking at me like that.
“You’re joking, right? Pres, this is like the best thing anyone has ever done for me. I mean, spending my birthday with my best friends at a lake house who wouldn't be excited?!”
When I finally called Gram back on Wednesday. She answered on the first ring, like she had been sitting next to the phone waiting for it to buzz.
“Presley Joelle James, I was beginning to think you’d fallen off the face of the earth!”
I laughed, dropping onto my bed. “Hi, Gram.”
“Hi? Hi? That’s all I get? Papa and I have been pacing around the house, burning holes in the carpet, waiting for details about this weekend!”
She was absolutely lying—Papa probably hadn’t moved from his hammock on the pier since breakfast—but arguing was pointless.
“I have the plan now.”
“Well, spit ’em out, child.”
“We are gonna leave from school on Friday and get there around seven, because Paige’s birthday is Saturday, so we wanna have the full day to be on the lake, then we will leave Sunday afternoon.”
There was a full three seconds of silence.
Then—
“Ohhhh, it’s for the girl.”
“Gram,” I groaned, flopping back on the pillows.
“What? I’m just asking!” she chirped. “This Paige… she’s the blonde one Linsey told us about? Pretty smile? Good manners? Great at basketball? Picks you up for school?”
I covered my face with my arm. “Gram.”
“And she’s the one who had you all giggly a couple weeks ago, correct?”
“I was not giggly.” I lied.
She’s talking about our family dinner following homecoming, where Dad told them about me not coming home, which Papa found hilarious, and Gram asked me thousands of questions and gushed over all the pictures.
“You were absolutely giggly,” she said. “Nearly fell off your chair.”
I sighed, defeated. “Yes. It’s that Paige.”
“Well, alright then,” she said, satisfied. “Who are the other girls I get to meet?”
I sat up. “Okay, so… it’ll be me, Paige, Jada, and Dev.”
“Oh wonderful!” Gram practically clapped. “I’ll have the house warmed up and the pier lights on. Papa and I will make you dinner Friday night—nothing fancy, but then we’ll get out of your hair so you teenagers can do whatever it is teenagers do.”
“Thanks, Gram.”
“Now, what snacks do your friends like? Chips? Candy? Those little gummy worms? Oh! I’m baking cookies tomorrow anyway—do they like chocolate chip or oatmeal?”
“Gram, you don’t have to—”
“I absolutely do,” she said firmly. “These are your first real friends in Minnesota, and they are coming for a whole weekend. We want to make it special.”
My chest warmed. “Well… Paige loves Oreos.”
“Got it. Three packs.”
“She also likes Pringles.”
“What flavor?”
“Uh… original?”
“Four cans.”
I laughed. “Gram—”
“Do not ‘Gram’ me. I’m preparing.”
“You don’t need to do all this for us.”
“I am a grandmother. Making sure my granddaughter and her friends have a great trip is VERY important.”
I shook my head, smiling. “Okay… anything else you need to know?”
“Oh! Bedding!” Gram said suddenly. “Do you want me to set up all the rooms and the basement bunks? And do you need extra blankets? It’s getting chilly at night.”
“That would be great. And… yes to extra blankets.”
“Towels?”
“Yes please.”
“I’ll put fresh ones in all the bathrooms,” she said. “And I’ll have Papa get the kayaks pulled up and the firewood stacked. And Papa said he’s filled up the boat with gas so it’s ready, and he’s getting the fishing poles out in case any of your friends want to try their hand at catching dinner.”
I snorted. “I don’t think we fish.”
“They will if your grandfather hands them a pole. That man could talk the Pope into fishing.”
“Oh god.”
“Speaking of Paige,” (we weren't, but ok) Gram said casually—too casually—“what kind of cake does she like?”
“Gram—”
“What?” she interrupted. “It’s her birthday. I need to make her a cake.”
“You don’t need to—”
“Joelle,” she said sternly. “Does she like chocolate? Vanilla? Strawberry? Funfetti? Fudge? Carrot? Red velvet? I can do any of them.”
I rubbed my forehead. “I… I don’t know. Definitely not carrot.”
“Find out.”
“I’m not just gonna call her and ask—”
“Then be sneaky,” Gram said. “Children these days are always sneaky. Figure it out. I’ll start with a base vanilla just in case. Everyone likes vanilla.”
I laughed helplessly. “Okay. I’ll… ask.”
“Good. And sweetheart?”
“Yes, Gram?”
She softened. I could hear it through the phone. “I’m glad you’re bringing people up. I’ve missed the summers we all spent up here together as a family. You deserve to make your own memories here too.”
My throat tightened. “Thanks, Gram.”
“And bring that Paige girl around more,” she added, voice bright again. “I like her already.”
“Gram—”
“What? If she makes you smile like that, she must be special.”
I didn’t know what to say.
So I smiled into the phone, “She is.”
After I hung up with Gram, I went to check with Jada and Dev on the cake for Paige.
“PP Fan Club”
Presley: Okay random question but
what kind of cake does Paige like
Dev: LMAOOOO???
Jada: oh my GOD
Dev: WHAT is this for 👀👀👀👀
Presley:
it’s for her birthday
my grandma wants to make it
Jada: ur grandma wants to make Paige a cake??
this is adorable
Dev: this is married into the family behaviour
u realize that right??
Presley:
it’s literally just a cake
answer the question please 😭
Jada: okay but first
beg
Presley: OMG!!!! JADA we’re going to my grandma's lakehouse
and it’s her birthday
and gram is insane
Dev: nah nah nah
u typed all that so fast it looked nervous 👀
u got the Paige Panic Fingers
Presley: I SWEAR TO GOD ANSWER THE QUESTION
Jada: fine fine
she likes vanilla cake with cream cheese frosting
OR
funfetti
she has the taste buds of a golden retriever
Dev: Also never ever
get red velvet
she claims it tastes like “imposter chocolate”
Jada: TRUE
she went on a whole rant about it last year
Presley: okay okay
Vanilla w cream cheese frosting
or funfetti
got it
Jada: maybe gram should make both
bc paige will eat like 4 slices
that girl is a bottomless pit
Dev: also
why not just ask Paige???
Jada: because Paige would combust if Pres asked directly
the tension would be unbearable all weekend
Presley: IM LEAVING. GOODBYE.
Jada: ily too Jameson 💋
Dev: make sure gram puts sprinkles
she goes feral for sprinkles
like a toddler
it’s honestly embarrassing
Presley:
ty for the info
i hate both of u
change this fuck ass gc name y’all set bye
Jada: WE LOVE YOU TOO MRS. BUECKERS
Dev:
CAN’T WAIT FOR THE LAKE TRIP 🛶🔥🌌
Fridays are usually great. This one felt like it was taking years to end. Every class dragged probably because Presley was wearing my hoodie, and every time I saw her, all I could think about was spending the weekend with her at the lake, which in turn made my brain short-circuit the entire day.
Everyone noticed, including Mr. Langley, who gave me a look in English when I tried to pass Presley a note.
By the time the final bell rang, I had my keys in hand before the sound even finished echoing. I leaned against my car, waiting for her. Dev and Jada were getting their bags from their cars.
Then, Presley walked out still in my hoodie.
Still looking painfully pretty in it.
Still making me wonder how I lived the past seventeen years without knowing her.
“Ready?”
“Yeah,” she said as she climbed in.
“Seatbelt,” I said out of habit.
“Oh my god, I just sat down, stop acting like my dad.” she said, buckling in.
Dev and Jada arrived just in time to hear it.
Jada opened the trunk as Dev hopped in, leaving Jada to handle her bags.
“Paige probably has some daddy kink, I wouldn’t call her that,” Dev said.
The laughter that rang out amongst us was deafening.
“Bro, what the fuck,” I said, trying to catch my breath.
Eventually, the laughter subsided, and we got moving.
Presley was complaining about the fact that I wasn’t letting her drive and that she knows the way, so it makes more sense for her to be behind the wheel.
“That’s what the GPS is for,” I said. “Also, I wanna make it there alive, and your driving’s a little rusty, PJ.”
She gawked at me. “Rusty?”
Before she could defend herself, Dev piped up from the backseat.
“It’s rusty because you NEVER let her drive, Paige. You pick her up every morning like you’re her personal Uber.”
“I do not—”
“You literally do,” Jada said. “Her car hasn’t moved in weeks.”
Presley laughed under her breath, pulling the sleeves of my hoodie over her hands.
“I am perfectly capable,” she said.
“Never said you weren’t.”
“CODEPENDENCY!” Dev sang.
A few minutes had passed, music lowly filling the car. Dev had put on headphones, and Jada was already asleep somehow.
“My driving’s not rusty,” Presley said quietly.
“I know,” I said.
And when she looked at me, I added, “I just… like picking you up.”
She hummed and turned towards the window, but I could see the pink already forming on her cheeks.
We had been in the car for three hours now and were about thirty minutes out when Presley pulled me out of my thoughts.
“You ok?” she said suddenly, “you look nervous.”
I shrugged. “A little.”
She blinked. “Why?”
I drummed my fingers on my thigh. “Because… I wanna make a good impression?”
“On who?” she asked softly.
“Your grandparents,” I said.
“They are the best, no need to be nervous,” She said, smiling. “This weekend’s gonna be fun.”
I swallowed. “Yeah. It is.”
The dirt road narrowed, guiding us somewhere tucked away from the rest of the world. The air smelled like pine and cold water, the kind that made your lungs wake up.
“GPS says we’re like… one minute away,” Dev announced from the backseat, forehead pressed to the glass. “We are in the middle of nowhere.”
“Bro, I feel like I'm bout to be murdered,” Jada said.
Then we turned the final bend.
And the house appeared.
Dev gasped so loud I almost slammed on the brakes.
“OH. MY. GOD.” she screamed.
Jada leaned forward between the front seats. “Bro. BRO. PRESLEY—WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!”
I slowed to a crawl without meaning to.
Because… holy shit.
The lake house wasn’t just a house — it was a mansion, a massive log cabin with thick beams stacked like something out of a movie. The second-floor balcony wrapped around like the entire floor, porch lights glowing warm against the sunset.
The place looked like a vacation club.
I parked in the gravel driveway and just stared for a few seconds.
“Pres…” I said, turning toward her. “This is not a normal lake house.”
She laughed, cheeks warming. “Gram and Papa built it like 25 years ago. They love it here.”
“Oh, this is disgusting,” Jada said, stepping out of the car with her jaw on the floor. “Presley, you’re officially banned from ever complaining again. Ever.”
“Shut up,” she muttered, grabbing her backpack.
Dev spun in a slow circle. “This looks like a Pinterest board.”
Presley flushed bright pink and pushed her hair behind her ear.
“It’s just my grandparents’ place.”
“Just?” I barked out a laugh. “PJ, this is like the dream house.”
Her eyes flicked to mine for a second.
Then away.
But she smiled.
I stepped onto the wooden porch. Two rocking chairs sat under the overhang, swaying in the breeze. Somewhere down the hill, I could hear a boat on the lake.
“I’m gonna cry,” Jada muttered. “Like actual tears.”
Dev had both hands on her hips. “I’m never leaving. I’ve decided. This is my home now.”
The front door swung open before Presley could knock.
Her Grandma stepped out — apron on, hair pinned back, smiling like she’d been waiting all day for us.
“Oh, look at this beautiful group!” she beamed.
Presley groaned softly under her breath. “Oh God.”
But she was smiling too.
And me?
Standing there on that porch behind Presley, the lake in the background, her cheeks pink from embarrassment and excitement —
Yeah.
This is gonna be the best birthday ever.
Her Grandma clasped her hands together. “Welcome to the lake, girls!”
Jada whispered, “I’d jump off a cliff for this woman.”
Dev nodded. “Same.”
I just smiled, eyes flicking to Presley again.
She looked the most at home here since I’ve met her.
Gram stepped aside, “Come in, come in! Make yourselves at home.” Waving us in like we were celebrities arriving at a red carpet event.
The second we walked inside, warmth hit me. A stone fireplace crackled in the living room, with logs neatly stacked next to it. Huge windows faced the lake, the last bit of sunset spilling gold across the floor.
Everything smelled like cinnamon, pine, and fresh-baked bread.
“This is insane,” Jada whispered. “Presley… your grandparents LIVE here?”
Presley shrugged, trying to play it cool.
“Not in the winter..”
I wanted to laugh.
Presley was adorable when she tried to downplay shit.
Gram clapped her hands. “Alright! Quick tour before Papa steals you.”
She moved faster than any grandmother her age should reasonably be able to, but none of us questioned it. Leading us upstairs before we could blink.
“This is the master,” Gram said, opening the door. The bed had a giant quilt and fluffy pillows. There was a door to a private balcony that wrapped around the back, giving a full view of the lake.
Jada nearly fainted.
“I call this one.”
“No,” Dev said, shoving past her. “I call it.”
“You both can sleep on the dock,” I muttered.
Presley laughed under her breath.
Gram continued down the hallway.
“Here’s the extra guest room. Fresh towels are folded on each bed, and extra blankets are in the closet right down the hall. I wasn’t sure who liked what softness level, so I put a mix of firm and plush pillows.”
Jada turned to me, whispering, “I’m marrying this woman.”
Gram led us to the basement. There was a room to the side with wooden bunks, each made up neatly.
“I don’t know where everyone wants to sleep, so I set all the beds,” Gram said with a proud smile. “Use whatever you like! Oh, and there are heated blankets in the baskets.”
“Heated?” I said.
She nodded.
“Of course, sweetheart. It’s Minnesota.”
I was gonna cry.
She led us down the hallway into the den. Presley’s grandpa was sitting in a recliner — blanket on his lap, fishing hat still on his head — watching some nature show with the volume way too loud.
“Papa!” Presley called.
He lit up instantly.
“Well, I’ll be damned — my favorite girl! And these must be the friends!” He stood up faster than someone his age should have (I was beginning to wonder how old they actually were because they had more energy than me).
He shook Dev and Jada’s hands and gave them a pat on the back. Then he pulled me into a hug.
“So YOU’RE Paige,” he said, eyes twinkling. “The basketball girl.”
I nearly stuttered. “Um… yes, sir.”
“Oh, don’t you ‘sir’ me. You all can call me Papa.”
“Okay.”
He grinned like that was the greatest honor of his entire life.
Gram popped in from the hallway. “Don’t scare the poor girls, honey.”
“SCARE?” he scoffed. “They love me already. C’mon, youngins — I gotta show you the new pier!”
He herded us out the sliding doors leading to the backyard.
The yard sloped down toward the lake, with lights strung along the path. A huge fire pit sat in the middle — logs stacked on the side of the house.
“Fire pit’s all yours tonight,” Papa said proudly. “Gram put some s’mores stuff in the pantry.”
And the pier?
It looked exactly like the picture Presley had shown us, just… bigger.
“Well?” he said, hands on his hips. “What do you girls think?”
Jada whispered, “Holy shit.”
Dev elbowed her. “Language.”
Papa waved a hand. “Ahh, it’s fine. The fish hear worse.”
We stepped onto the pier. The water lapped gently against the posts, catching the color of the sky and reflecting it like glass.
Presley walked a little ahead of me, her hand brushing the railing, the wind tugging at her hair. The sunset lit her up like something out of a movie.
I looked away before I stared too hard.
Papa strutted forward kinda like he’d been rehearsing this all week.
“So this,” he said proudly, patting the railing, “is the new section I built. Reinforced. Sturdier. Perfect for sitting out with a blanket.”
Jada leaned over. “Or a date.”
Presley choked on air. I pretended I didn’t hear — for both our sakes.
Papa continued like nothing had happened.
“And THIS—” he gestured grandly “—is the covered lift. Keeps the boats in good shape. Tomorrow Presley, you can lower it down and take them out. Tubing, cruising, whatever you want.”
“I don’t have my boating license. I’m pretty sure I lost it last time I came up here.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t care, I’m not the police,” Papa said, laughing as he walked ahead.
Meanwhile, Gram was groaning at him.
“Harry, knock it off!” Gram said as she pulled Presley into her side. “Joey, honey it’s in the drawer with the boat keys. You left it here.”
Papa grinned mischievously.
“She hears everything,” he said, turning to Jada Dev and I.
We all laughed — but then the moment softened. The sun dipped a little lower, kissing the horizon, bathing Presley’s face in peachy light.
He pointed to the far end, where an open spot overlooked the deepest part of the lake.
“That’s the best stargazing spot,” he said. “You girls ever been on a lake like this?”
“In my dreams.” Jada sighed.
I shook my head. “Not really.”
“Well.” He nodded toward Presley, who was leaning over the railing, watching the water ripple. “You picked the right guide.”
My throat tightened unexpectedly.
Papa clapped his hands together. “Alright! Dinner time! Then the Fire pit with s’mores, stories, the whole shebang!”
Dev gasped. “Papa, you speak my language.”
“We’ll get along just fine then,” he said, leading the way back up the pier.
Presley lingered for a second, eyes on the pink sky, the still water, the glowing boards beneath us. She looked… peaceful.
I wanted to memorize it.
She turned, caught me looking, and smiled — small, soft, secret.
“Pretty, right?” she murmured.
I swallowed.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Really pretty.”
I wasn’t talking about the sunset.
Back inside, Gram had an entire dinner laid out on the long wooden table — chicken pot pie, fresh rolls, roasted veggies, mac and cheese, a salad bowl big enough for a family of twelve.
“Gram…” I groaned. “You didn’t have to—”
“Hush,” Gram said, waving her off. “You kids need to be fed. Besides knowing you your gonna uber dash your meals all weekend.”
She wasn’t wrong about that. I’m a terrible cook.
Dinner was chaotic in the best way. Jada and Papa debated fishing laws. Dev bonded with Gram over baking. Paige kept nudging me whenever Jada said something stupid.
And me?
I couldn’t stop staring at her.
How her eyes crinkled when she laughed.
How she tucked her hair behind her ear.
She caught me once.
Gram elbowed me gently under the table.
“You like her,” she whispered.
I almost choked on my water.
Paige looked up. “You okay?”
“Mhmm,” I said, voice embarrassingly high. “Just—water went down the wrong pipe.”
Gram winked at me.
Papa chuckled knowingly.
And Paige…
She just smiled.
After another round of teasing from Dev and Papa, making everyone rate his mac and cheese on a scale from one to ten (Paige said thirteen instantly, securing her a favorite for life), The plates were finally empty.
I started to stand to help clear the table, but Gram gasped dramatically, “Oh! Almost forgot! Presley sit back down.”
Paige blinked. “Forgot what?”
Gram disappeared into the kitchen. The cake, I forgot about that.
Jada leaned forward. “Pres. Did she actually —?”
I nodded once.
Dev squealed.
Jada elbowed her.
Paige looked between us, confused but smiling. “What’s happening?”
Before I could answer, Gram returned, carrying a two-tier homemade cake.
Vanilla with cream cheese frosting. Rainbow sprinkles. Carefully piped edges. Little chocolate letters that spelled out:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY PAIGE!
Paige froze.
Like literally, fully froze — eyes wide, lips parted, hands flat on the table like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to touch anything.
“Oh my god…” she whispered.
Gram set the cake right in front of her. “Now, I know your birthday is technically tomorrow, but I couldn’t resist. Eighteen is a big one. But Papa and I are leaving tonight, so you girls can have your special birthday weekend.”
Paige blinked fast.
Then again.
Her voice came out quiet. “You… made this?”
Gram put a hand on her shoulder. “Of course I did.”
Dev leaned into Jada and whispered loudly, “I’m gonna cry.”
Jada whispered back, “Don’t. If you start, I’ll start.”
Papa pulled out a lighter. “Alright, birthday girl. Let’s get some candles on this masterpiece.”
Paige’s cheeks were pink — really pink. She kept glancing at me, confused in the cutest way, like she didn’t get how she deserved this.
I felt my chest warm.
Gram placed a one and an eight candle, then Papa lit them.
“Make a wish!” Gram said.
Paige hesitated… then looked at me again.
Really looked.
My stomach flipped so hard I swear the table moved.
She took a slow breath, closed her eyes, and blew out the candles.
Smoke curled into the warm kitchen air.
We all clapped.
“Alright, alright!” Papa said. “Who wants the first slice?”
“Paige does!” Dev shouted.
“No, give it to the birthday girl AND the birthday girl’s… very special friend,” Jada said with a smirk.
Paige choked on nothing.
I kicked Jada.
Gram handed Paige a slice the size of her face. “Eat, sweetheart. You need your strength for all the fun you girls will have tomorrow.”
Paige held the plate like it was something precious.
“Thank you,” she said, looking between Gram… and me.
“This is… the nicest thing anyone’s done for me.”
I swallowed, smiling. “Get used to it.”
Paige’s cheeks went even pinker.
After dinner—and several rounds of Paige insisting she “could totally eat another slice”— Gram and Papa gave all of us a hug before they left.
Now Dev was walking around like she owned the place. Jada was dragging her and Dev’s bags that she didn’t agree to carry.
“This house is HUGE,” Dev announced, spinning in a circle even though she’d already seen the whole thing.
“It’s literally a house,” I said.
“A mansion, actually,” Jada corrected. “A cozy, log-cabin Mansion.”
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. I couldn’t help it—showing them this part of my life felt… good. Right.
“Let’s put our stuff away,” I said, walking upstairs. “So we can go to the fire pit!”
Paige walked behind me, close enough that I could feel her breath when she laughed. I stopped at the first door.
“Okay,” I said, pushing it open, “so the master—”
The room was my favorite part of the whole house—warm logs, huge bed, soft lamps, and windows that looked straight out over the lake. Even now, after twenty years, the view still felt unreal.
“wow…” Paige whispered.
I watched her walk slowly to the windows, her features glowing under the last streaks of orange sunset.
Jada leaned against the doorframe with a smug grin. “Yeah, okay. Paige, this is your room.”
Paige snapped her head around. “What? No. Pres should take it. It’s her grandparents’ house.”
I shook my head immediately. “Nope. It’s yours.”
She blinked. “Pres.”
“You deserve the view in the morning,” I said, trying to sound casual even though my heart was pounding. “It’s your birthday weekend. And you’ll love the sunrise over the lake—it’s kinda magic.”
Paige stared at me for a moment—really stared.
And then her face softened into something so warm I had to look away before I melted into the wooden floor.
“You sure?” she asked quietly.
“Positive.”
Her voice dropped. “Thank you.”
I could’ve died right there and been fine with it.
I backed into the hallway before I forgot how to speak. “Okay, uh—there's the guest room right here and the bunk room in the basement,”
Before I could explain anything else, Jada and Dev thundered down the stairs like wild animals.
“BASEMENT CLAIMED!” Dev’s voice echoed.
“This bunk room is OURS!” Jada yelled.
“ Alright then, I’ll take this one,” I said. The spare room down the hall was smaller but cozy—a handmade quilt, a warm lamp, a window facing the trees.
Paige peeked inside and smiled. Then we heard a bang and went to check on it. When we got to the source, Dev was laying on her back at the bottom of the stairs.
“Bro Dev, we haven’t been here more than two hours. What the hell happened?” Paige said, cracking up as Dev groaned in pain.
“I’m in pain, stop making fun of me,” she groaned from the ground.
“Well, I have something that might make you feel better,” Jada said, wiggling her eyebrows.
“You got some?” Paige said all of the sudden, having newfound energy.
“It’s not a birthday without some blunts.”
“Ok Dev, get up so we can go smoke P’s birthday blunts,” I said, pulling her up from the ground.
Paige and Jada were already laughing down the hall to the bunk room. Dev and I behind them as we followed them down the hall.
The bunk room was exactly how I remembered it—four sturdy bunks, soft blankets, fairy lights strung across the ceiling, and beanbags in the corner.
We grabbed our blankets, Dev still limping dramatically like she’d been shot instead of… falling four steps.
“Papa started the fire before he left,” I said as I opened the back door. “So it should still be—”
A wave of warm orange light washed over us.
The fire pit crackled steadily in its stone ring, flames licking upward, sparks drifting into the dark. The air smelled like cedar.
“Damn…” Paige breathed behind me. “Pres, this is… insane.”
We crossed the wooden deck and stepped onto the path leading to the pit. Jada dropped her bag of “birthday supplies” onto one of the chairs, already grinning.
“Okay,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “Let’s get sentimental and stupid.”
“I vote stupid,” Dev said, collapsing into a chair with a dramatic groan. “My back is BROKEN.”
“Your pride is broken,” Paige shot back.
Dev flipped her off weakly. “Same thing.”
Paige laughed — the kind of laugh that loosened something tight in my stomach. She grabbed two folded blankets from my hands before I could protest and draped one over me.
“For you,” she said, shrugging, like she didn’t just make my entire chest warm.
She sat beside me. Close enough that our knees brushed.
The fire crackled between us all, lighting up their faces in warm orange.
“This is low-key magical,” Jada said, leaning back. “I feel like I’m in a movie.”
“Same,” Dev nodded. “A coming-of-age sapphic indie film.”
Paige snorted so hard she almost dropped the lighter she’d stolen from Jada. “Bro, shut up.”
Jada pulled out her “birthday blunts” and handed one to Paige, one to Dev, keeping one for herself. She held the last one out to me.
“No pressure,” Jada said. “You don’t gotta.”
I waved her off. “I’m good.”
Paige lit hers, leaning back as she exhaled slowly, the smoke catching the firelight. She looked unfairly pretty like that — relaxed, happy, glowing.
“We can share?” Paige asked softly, offering it out.
“You sure?” I smiled at her.
“Course,” Her eyes softened, before she took a drag and passed it to me.
We fell into easy conversation. Jokes. Stories. The kind of laughing that made your stomach hurt.
Paige kept brushing her knee against mine — maybe by accident, maybe not — but she didn’t move away.
At some point, the stars came out, dotting the sky in a way you only get this far from the city. The lake shimmered in the dark, catching little flashes of moonlight.
Dev was telling a dramatic story about her cousin, which had Jada crying laughing. Paige was half-listening, half-staring into the flames like she was thinking about something else entirely.
I was blatantly staring at her. My heart felt… full. I was happy, safe, and surrounded…by friends.
I don’t even care about trying to hide how happy I am right now as I leaned back, blanket around my shoulders, letting the warmth of the fire soak into my skin.
Paige nudged my foot with hers. “You good?” she asked quietly, too quiet for the others to hear.
I turned to her, the fire glowing in her eyes. “Yeah,” I said softly. “I’m really good.”
She smiled — slow and a little lazy, the birthday blunt clearly taking effect.
And God… I wanted to memorize that smile forever.
“This is perfect, thank you, Pres,” Paige said softly beside me.
I'm hoping I can start writing during this holiday break 🤞 Please let me know what you think of the story I love reading your messages!!!💛
The best thing about moving is definitely being closer to my dads parents. They live about twenty minutes away compared to sixteen hours away.
Grandma or Gram, as Lindsey and I call her, is the sweetest woman in the world. She has this way of making you feel special no matter what, whether that be cooking your favorite meal, baking desserts that should be served at five star restaurants, taking you to the newest movie just because, or spoiling you with gifts for no reason at all. When it comes to Gram, there’s never any judgment, it's always love, patience, and a kind of comfort that makes you feel as if the world is perfect.
Grandpa or Papa, is very similar but louder, livelier. His laugh is contagious, the kind that fills a room and sticks with you long after. He swears his cooking is better than Gram’s, and honestly he might be right (at least when it comes to seafood).
Summers with him and Gram were magic. Back when we were younger, we’d spend weeks at their lake house, learning how to fish or helping him set crab traps. His favorite place in the world has always been on the water in his boat. Sometimes he’d let us sit on his lap to “help” drive the boat like we were in charge.
One summer we showed up and they surprised us with a tube ( I was probably only five or six), and from then on those days on the lake became a tradition—endless tubing runs, the whole family would pile into the boat, Gram and Mom packing snacks while Papa and Dad got everything ready. We’d spend hours out there, laughing until our stomachs hurt, swimming until our fingers wrinkled, casting nets for dinner like it was second nature. And when the sun dipped low, Papa would fry up the fish and we’d eat together on the pier, as the sky faded into shades of orange and pink. Most nights ended the same way, with Papa strumming his banjo, playing the same four songs on repeat. And somehow, even though it was repetitive, it never stopped feeling perfect.
By the time dinner hit the table, the house smelled like garlic bread and roasted chicken, and Lindsey had already complained twice about how long it was taking.
“Patience, grasshopper,” Papa said, sliding into his chair with a groan. “Good food takes time. That’s why Gram made me wait a year to take her out on a date. It’s alright though distance makes the heart grow fonder.”
Gram rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might stick. “I was dating someone else at the time. Harry you were a little pest always flying around trying to break us up.”
“Yet here we are forty-two years later with our son and lovely granddaughters, so who really won.” Papa said, smirking and raising his glass to cheers.
While Lindsey snorted into her water, I bit back a laugh, but Dad shook his head. “Cocky as ever dad.”
“Hey,” Grandpa said, pretending to look offended. “This cockiness made you into the confident man you are today.”
“Or traumatized,” Dad muttered.
I smirked. This was what I liked best about having them around—chaotic, loud, ridiculous. Not polished, not cameras flashing, just… family.
We passed dishes around until plates were overflowing. Lindsey grabbed way too many rolls, and Grandma swatted her hand. “Leave some for the rest of us.”
“You made like thirty!” Lindsey protested.
“Yes, and you’ll still eat half of them,” I said, stabbing my fork into the potatoes.
Dad cleared his throat between bites. “So, how’s the lake house coming along? You two still working on the renovations?”
Grandpa sat up and grinned. “Oh, it’s looking good. Got the new pier renovated, fixed up the guest rooms. The only thing left is painting the back deck, but I was waiting for your help.”
“Translation,” Grandma said dryly, “he was waiting to rope you into doing it.”
Dad chuckled. “Figures. You build the house, and I get stuck painting it.”
Lindsey perked up. “Wait, you still have the lake house?”
Papa grinned. “You bet. Still the best fishing in the state, if you ask me.”
Gram looked right at Lindsey and I, her eyes soft. “You girls should come up sometime. We miss having you girls around. Bring your friends if you’d like. It’s been too quiet without you kids running around.”
Lindsey gasped. “YES. Please Pres, can we? That sounds so fun.”
I chewed slowly, stalling. Friends. Yeah right like I had a long list of people lining up to spend a weekend with me. Who cares Lindsey would entertain me enough.
Papa nudged me with his elbow. “What do you think, Presley? Weekend at the lake? You can drive the boat if your dad trusts you enough.”
Dad snorted. “Let’s not get carried away.”
“Hey, I’m a great driver,” I shot back.
Lindsey nearly choked on her roll. “Pres, you missed the turn for school three times last week.”
The whole table burst into laughter, even Gram, who tried to hide it behind her napkin. My cheeks burned, but I couldn’t help laughing too. “Fine, but I still want a shot at the boat.”
Grandpa pointed his fork at me. “Deal. Lake house weekend. Mark my words.”
Gram reached over and patted my hand. “Speaking of weekends… isn’t homecoming coming up soon?”
Here we go.
Grandpa perked up. “Homecoming? Ahhhh, the glory days. Presley, you goin’? I bet you’ll be the prettiest one there.”
My face heated. “I—uh—probably not.”
Grandma raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Because…” I stabbed a carrot. “…dances aren't my thing.”
Lindsey snorted. “Translation: she doesn’t want to socialize.”
“I socialize,” I argued.
“With who?” Lindsey shot back.
I glared at her. “With… people.”
Dad smiled into his glass. “Real convincing.”
Grandpa leaned forward like it was the greatest scandal of the decade. “You mean to tell me… not a single boy has asked you yet?”
I stared at him. “Papa, if a boy asked me, I’d punch him.”
Lindsey cackled. “Facts.”
Gram sighed, dramatic. “Boys, girls—I don’t care which—someone should be lining up to take my beautiful granddaughter to her dance.”
“Preach!” Grandpa said, clinking his fork on the table like emphasis.
I groaned. “Yall, seriously. I’m not going.”
Gram gave me the look—soft eyes, but deadly. “Presley. I want pictures. Of you. Dressed up. Looking beautiful. Smiling. Enjoying yourself.”
“I smile,” I muttered.
“Not recently,” Lindsey said. “Except around Paige—”
My leg shot under the table and kicked her hard.
“OW!” she yelped.
Dad smirked. “Who’s Paige? Is it Basketball Paige?”
Oh my God.
Abort mission.
“NO ONE,” I said too fast. “Just… someone at school.”
Grandpa leaned back, grinning. “Someone special?”
I was going to die.
“Nope,” I said, shoving food in my mouth. “Not special. Just—a friend.”
Gram smiled knowingly, which was somehow worse. “Well… even if you don’t have a date, you should still go. Homecoming is a memory, sweetheart. And I want to see you all dolled up.”
“I don’t do dolled up.”
“You did when you were six,” Grandpa said proudly. “Pink tutu and cowboy boots.”
“PAPA.”
The whole table laughed at my suffering.
Gram reached over, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “Just promise me you’ll think about it?”
I looked at her.
At the woman who never pushed—unless she believed it mattered.
I sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
She smiled, satisfied. “Good.”
Dad smirked. Lindsey wiggled her eyebrows. Papa leaned back laughing.
I took another bite of dinner all while pretending I wasn’t already thinking about a certain blue-eyed girl in a suit.
The following weeks at school hadn’t really been eventful, though I am closer with Paige than I ever thought I'd be. I don’t mind it though she’s the only thing I look forward to during the school week.
Paige and Jada had convinced me to start sitting with them and Dev at lunch. I was hesitant at first but they are really funny and they humble Paige every chance they get which is honestly my favorite part. The way she is around them is completely different than how she is around everyone at school, the media, and when it’s just me. She’s lighter, almost like everything going on just disappears and she gets to be a normal teenager. I realized I was staring at her, watching her laugh with her mouth wide open, head thrown back like she didn’t have a care in the world—
“Presley.”
Paige's voice snapped me out of it. I blinked and realized all three of them were looking at me. Paige was leaning forward, eyebrows raised. “You good? You were zoning out, you looking into the future or somethin?”
“More like a nightmare,” Jada said. “Probably imagining spending more time with you.”
“I’d rather fight a bear,” I muttered, taking a sip of my drink.
Paige clutched her chest dramatically. “The disrespect is crazy.”
“Anyway,” Dev cut in, ignoring her, “we were talking about homecoming.”
I looked between them. “Homecoming?”
“Yeah,” Paige said, grinning. “You know dancing, music, bad DJ, people grinding in front of teachers. The usual.”
“Gross, I'll pass,” I said instantly.
“Exactly!” Dev threw her hands up. “Which is why we don’t do the dance part. We show up, take pictures so our parents think we participated, then we leave and go to the after party.”
“And you’re coming with us,” Jada said like it was already decided.
I raised a brow. “Who says I’m even going?”
Paige scoffed. “Pres. You think we're letting you skip your first Hopkins homecoming?”
“Why do you care?” I shot back.
“Because,” she said, looking way too proud of herself, “I have made it my personal mission to get you to a high school party this year.”
“Oh God,” I groaned.
“Also,” Dev chimed in, wiggling her eyebrows, “Lindsey already told us she'd love to do your makeup, so don’t even try to bail.”
I sighed. Of course Lindsey was involved. “She did?”
“Yup,” Paige said, smiling like the traitor she is. “And she said—and I quote—‘Make sure Presley doesn’t wear something depressing.’”
Jada snorted. “Honestly, valid.”
I flipped them all off. They laughed and as much as I wanted to complain it didn’t sound awful. Being with them felt easy. Safe. Almost… fun.
“So?” Paige nudged my foot under the table. “You in?”
I hesitated for half a second. “Fine. I’ll go.”
Dev grinned. “Good,” then she groaned. “Now we just have to figure out who the unfortunate girl Paige is going to pick as her date.”
Paige groaned. “Oh my God, here we go—”
Jada laughed. “Relax, superstar. You act like all the girls aren't dying to be picked.”
I felt my heart skip. And for some reason... I suddenly couldn't look at Paige.
“Look, I don’t even know if imma bring anyone this year. I wanna have fun with you guys. I mean last year my date wouldn't even let me breathe.” Paige said.
Dev leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Okay, but if you don’t bring a date, how are you gonna survive every girl in this school throwing themselves at you all night?”
Paige groaned loudly. “Can we not act like that’s a real problem?”
Jada snorted. “Oh please. Last year three different girls tried to grind on you during a Drake song. Meanwhile you literally had a date. Now you won’t so I’d guess it'll be more like fifteen girls pining for your attention."
“I didn’t realize!” Paige threw her hands up. “I was drunk!”
“You were sweating,” Dev said. “And I swear one of them tried to put her tongue in your ear.”
Paige visibly shuddered. “Exactly why I don't want a repeat.”
Jada leaned back in her chair, smirking. “Well, we could always run the usual plan—Dev and I run interference, we block, you sprint.”
Dev nodded. “I’ll set screens.”
“Oh my god,” Paige muttered, dragging her hands down her face. “You guys are actual idiots.”
“OR…” Dev said slowly, eyes lighting up. “You could just pretend you’ve got a date.”
Paige squinted. “Date with who exactly, because I don’t want any randos. I'm tryna have fun with my friends.”
Dev looked at her like she was stupid, then pointed her straw across the table—directly at me.
“Presley.”
The fry I was chewing got stuck in my throat.
“Excuse me?” I coughed.
Jada burst out laughing. “No, wait… that might actually WORK.”
Paige blinked. “What?”
Dev shrugged like it was the most logical thing in the world. “Think about it. Nobody would come up to you if they think you’re with Presley.”
“Why me?” I demanded.
“Because you’re scary,” Dev said cheerfully.
“And unapproachable,” Jada added.
“And hot,” Paige said before she could stop herself.
…Silence.
Dev and Jada slowly turned their heads toward her with the most evil grins I’ve ever seen. Heat climbed up my neck. I stared at the table, pretending to be very interested in my fries. Her eyes widened slightly, like she couldn’t believe she said it out loud. She quickly followed by saying. “Bruh why you guys actin like it’s a big deal everyone can see she ain’t ugly.” laughing awkwardly.
Dev clasped her hands together. “Soooo… Paige thinks Presley is hot.”
“Oh my GOD,” Paige groaned, head dropping onto the table. “Can you two NOT?”
Jada smirked. “We’re just making observations.”
“I hate both of you,” Paige mumbled into her arms.
Dev ignored her and grinned at me. “But seriously, Pres. Just stick by her at homecoming, look intimidating, scare off the thirsty masses.”
“I don’t look intimidating,” I scoffed.
All three of them stared at me like I just declared the sky was green.
“…Okay, whatever,” I sighed. “But if someone ends up crying, that’s on you.”
Dev grinned. “Perfect. Fake date plan is in motion.”
Paige squinting at me. “Wait—you’re actually ok with it?”
I shrugged, trying not to seem like my pulse randomly spiked. “I mean… if it keeps people off you… and keeps you from being dramatic all night… then yeah.”
Her smile was small. But real.
“Thanks, Pres.”
I didn’t look at her. “Don’t make it weird.”
Too late. My entire chest already felt weird.
The bell rang, and before I knew it, I was pulling into the middle school pickup lane like usual. Lindsey spotted my car, jogged over, and hopped in.
“Took you long enough,” she said, tossing her backpack into the back seat.
I stared at her.
She glanced at me. “…What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me,” I said, pulling out of the lot. “What were you thinking?”
Lindsey blinked, confused. “Huh?”
“Homecoming.”
Her face went guilty in half a second. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” I gave her a look. “You told Paige and them that I’d go. And that you’d do my makeup. And that I shouldn’t look ‘depressing.’”
She slowly sank lower in her seat. “Okay, yes… but in my defense, you DO dress a little emo sometimes.”
“Lindsey.”
She sighed. “Sorry.”
I turned to look at her “You didn’t think to, I don’t know, ask me before planning my entire weekend?”
She sighed. “Hey, it's not my fault. I didn’t come up with it! ”
“Then how did you get wrapped into it?”
She turned in her seat, eyes full of something I didn’t recognize. “Paige DM’d me.”
I slammed the brakes a little harder than necessary at a stop sign. “She WHAT?”
“She DM'd me,” Lindsey repeated, like it was nothing. “On Instagram.”
“Why?” My voice was flat, but internally, my brain was screaming.
“Because she wanted help getting you to say yes,” Lindsey said as if this was totally reasonable. “She said you’d probably try to stay home and unless someone pushed you out of your bed then you wouldn't go… so she asked me to hype it up.”
My jaw dropped. “She… planned it?”
“Uh, yeah.” Lindsey shrugged. “She said—and I quote—‘Your sister is stubborn as hell but I really want her there. Help us.’”
My heart did a backflip. I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “You’re lying.”
“I can show you the messages.”
She pulled out her phone immediately, scrolling with zero hesitation. She held the screen out.
There it was.
Paige: operation get Presley to homecoming begins now. Jada Dev and I need backup.
Paige: she’ll say no if it’s just me. you gotta help me out.
Paige: also tell her if she wears all black again i’m staging an intervention- Dev
Lindsey snorted. “She’s not as smooth as she thinks.”
But I barely heard her, because my brain was stuck on one thing.
She really wanted me there.
Not just… casual invite. Not just oh that’d be cool.
She planned for me.
She asked for help.
She wanted me there.
My chest felt warm.
Lindsey nudged me. “Sooo… are you mad?”
I swallowed. “…No.”
She grinned. “Good. Because you’re going, we’re picking a dress, and I—”
“Linds?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t tell her I know.”
Lindsey smirked. “Why? So you can pretend you’re not obsessed with her?”
“I will crash this car with us in it.”
She laughed so hard she almost choked on air. But I didn’t deny it, because for the first time in a long time a school dance didn’t sound bad. It sounded like something I actually wanted to be at. Because she’d be there.
And she wanted me.
It was Friday night and I was trying to come up with more lyrics for one of the songs I was writing, I was growing frustrated by the second trying to come up with a bridge that would flow with the rest of the song when my phone started blowing up.
Group Chat: The Elite Four™
Dev: alright losers. hoco outfits. mall tomorrow.
Paige: Wow, way to ask nicely.
Jada: Right?? where’s the “hey queens let’s go shopping” energy??
Dev: hey queens let’s go shopping 🙄
Jada: better.
Presley: I’m not wearing sequins.
Or pink.
Or whatever glitter dress you’re probably imagining.
Paige: relax Wednesday Addams we’ll find you something that doesn’t make you look like you’re grieving
Presley: I AM grieving. My peace.
Because I’m spending Saturday with you.
Jada: oh she’s funny funny tonight
Dev: shut up. all of you. tomorrow. 12. Mall. don’t be late.
Jada: Pres you need a ride?
Before I could answer, another text came through.
Paige: she’s riding with me.
I stared at that for a second too long.
Presley: bold of you to assume I agreed
Paige: you literally have no friends besides us so yes you did
Dev: 💀💀💀
Jada: LMFAOOO
Presley: i hate this group.
Paige: love you too see you at 12 babe 😘
Presley: don’t ever call me that again.
Paige: no promises ;)
I turned my phone off and decided to sleep. Tomorrow was gonna be exhausting, I can already tell.
I stood in front of the mirror fidgeting, pulling on my hoodie sleeves and adjusting my hair. Ridiculous. It’s just shopping. For a stupid dance. With Paige.
A car horn honked outside.
I grabbed my bag and headed downstairs.
Dad peeked out from the living room. “Where are you off to?”
“Mall. Homecoming stuff.”
He raised a brow. “With… people?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Dad. I have friends. Crazy, I know.”
He grinned. “Proud of you, kid.”
I stepped outside, and there she was. Paige leaned out the driver’s side window of her car, sunglasses on, messy bun, smug as hell. “Get in, loser. We’re going shopping.”
I snorted. “You did NOT just quote Mean Girls at me.”
“Yes I did,” she said. “And I committed to it, so get in before I regret being your ride.”
I rolled my eyes and climbed in. Her car smelled like vanilla and cologne and something warm I couldn’t name.
She glanced over as I buckled up. “Hey.”
It was soft. Casual. But something about it made my stomach do a weird flip.
“Hey,” I said quietly.
She smirked. “Ready to watch Dev drag Jada out of the sneaker store?”
I laughed. “Absolutely.”
She pulled out of my driveway, music playing low, windows cracked. There was a silence—but a comfortable one. And the whole way to the mall, I kept thinking: I don’t hate this. I don’t hate being here.I don’t hate being with her.
Actually…I really, really like it.
We parked and spotted Jada and Dev waiting outside the entrance. Dev waved. “Look who finally showed up.”
“We’re two minutes early,” Paige said.
“Yeah, but we’ve been here for twenty,” Jada said. “Because Dev gets ready like she’s meeting the pope.”
“You’re welcome,” Dev said, striking a pose.
Jada rolled her eyes and looked over at me with a grin. “You ready?”
“Probably not.” I laughed out. Dev linked her arm through mine and started pulling me into the mall. Paige and Jada following us into the mall.
Dev didn’t even give us time to breathe before she announced, “First stop is dresses. Let’s go find something that doesn’t look like a funeral.”
I groaned. “You act like black is a crime.”
“It is,” Dev said. “Against fashion.” She dragged me straight into a boutique so bright it physically hurt my eyes. Sequins everywhere. Racks of satin. Mirrors and ring lights like it was built for Instagram models. I turned right around.
Dev shoved me back in. “Don’t even think about it.”
“This place gives me hives.”
Jada snorted. “Relax. They have normal stuff too.”
“Define normal,” I muttered, looking around at dresses that cost more than my soul.
While I was scanning for the darkest corner of the store, Paige leaned down beside me and whispered, “If you run, Dev will tackle you and I will laugh.”
I glared at her. “You wouldn’t.”
She grinned. “Try me.”
God, I hated her. And by hated, I mean… yeah, I didn't at all.
“Okay!” Dev clapped her hands together like a general preparing for battle. “Here’s the plan. Everyone grabs dresses for Presley. She tries them all on. We pick the best. Easy.”
“Wait—why am I the only one trying things on?” I asked.
Jada shrugged. “Because Dev already picked hers two months ago.”
Dev nodded proudly. “I plan ahead.”
“And Jada only wears suits,” Paige added.
“Damn right,” Jada said.
I looked at Paige. “What about you?”
She smirked. “I look good in anything. But I also only wear suits.”
…Okay, fair.
Dev shoved a pile of dresses into my arms. “Go. Dressing room. Now.”
“This is illegal,” I muttered, but I let her shove me behind the curtain anyway.
The first dress was red and way too tight. I stepped out and immediately wanted to die.
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” Dev and Paige said at the same time.
Jada tilted her head. “Goddamn.” Paige side eyed her.
I flushed. “Absolutely not.”
“Spin,” Dev commanded.
“No.”
“SPIN.”
I spun just to get her to shut up.
Paige leaned back in her chair, legs spread, arms folded, smirk so cocky I wanted to kick her. “Pres.…”
She paused, eyes trailing from head to toe.
“…. Red is your color”
My face burned. “Next.”
I ducked back in the fitting room and yanked the dress off before I evaporated on the spot.
The next one was dark green, silky, form-fitting.
I stepped out slowly.
Dev’s jaw dropped. “OH THAT’S THE ONE.”
Jada nodded. “Yep.”
Paige didn’t say anything at first. She just stared, like… actually stared. Her mouth was parted, her eyes soft, almost dazed. It made my stomach do something dangerous.
Finally, she said quietly, “Damn.”
I panicked and blurted the first thing that came to mind. “I look like a lettuce wrap.”
Dev choked. “WHAT?!”
Jada literally doubled over laughing. “Lettuce wrap??”
Paige snapped out of it, laughing too. “Bro, if lettuce looked like that, I’d be vegan.”
I froze.
She said it so casually, but my brain replayed it on loop. ‘If lettuce looked like that, I’d be vegan’ What the HELL was that supposed to mean?! My face was burning. I turned around so they wouldn't see. “I hate all of you,” I muttered, going back into the dressing room.
“You love us,” Dev sang.
“Debatable,” I lied.
By the fifth no I refused to try on more, so Dev dragged us to a different store. When I said I needed a break, she started a fashion show—strutting out in every sparkly nightmare she couldn’t convince me to wear—while Paige, Jada, and I sat like judges on America’s Next Top Model. After her show was over she made me return to trying things on.
Dress after dress. Paige and Jada were commentating like sports announcers.
“Strong entrance.”
“Great color.”
“Point deducted for attitude.”
“Still a 9/10.”
“ELITE hip movement.”
“I will leave,” I warned.
“No you won’t,” Paige said, smirking. “Because we haven’t seen the black one yet.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What black one?”
Dev grinned and dramatically held it up.
It was perfect.
Black. Simple. Elegant.
I sighed. “Fine. Last one.”
I went into the dressing room, pulled it on, and…
Dammit.
I looked… good. Like, really good. It was backless, hugged me in the right places, hit the right length, made me look tall, confident… like someone who belonged.
I stepped out.
Everything went silent.
Jada froze mid-sip of her smoothie.
Dev’s jaw dropped.
And Paige just stared.
No smirk.
No joke.
Just… stunned.
Her voice was low. Honest. “Holy shit.” The way she said it made my heart trip over itself.
Dev shot up. “THAT’S IT. THAT’S THE ONE.”
Jada nodded. “No contest.”
I looked at them. “Really?”
Paige finally blinked, leaning back slowly, eyes still on me.
“Yeah,” she said, softer now. “That’s the one.”
And for the first time all day I didn’t feel awkward, exposed, or out of place.
I felt… beautiful.
And with Paige looking at me like that?
I felt something warm.
Something I wasn't ready to name yet.
We left the mall with shopping bags in each hand and Jada practically skipping to the parking lot happy to be out of there.
“I swear to God, if any of you spill food on your outfits before homecoming photos, I will physically fight you,” Dev announced.
Paige held up her smoothie. “Bold of you to assume I won’t do it on purpose just to make you cry.”
“Ruin your suit and I’ll strangle you with it,” Dev said sweetly.
“Romantic,” Paige muttered.
We reached Paige’s car, and Jada and Dev waved before driving off in Dev’s car. Paige pulled out behind them, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.
“Alright, lettuce wrap,” she said, glancing at me. “You ready for this dance or what?”
I shot her a look. “Drop that nickname before I stab you.”
She laughed. “Seriously, though… you’re gonna look insane. People are not ready.”
My stomach twisted. Compliments from her hit different. “Thanks,” I mumbled before I overthought it.
She grinned. “And as your date, I am required to hype you up.”
I snorted. “Right.” Silence settled for a second, not awkward, but charged. I cleared my throat. “Okay, so be honest. What exactly do I need to expect at this party?”
Paige grinned. “Oh, you know. Music so loud your ancestors feel it. People grinding like it’s their full-time job. Dev yelling at drunk sophomores. Jada stealing alcohol from someone's pantry. The usual.”
I blinked. “What the hell kind of parties do you go to?”
“The educational kind,” she said innocently.
“Paige.”
“Okay, okay.” She sighed dramatically. “Look. It’s chaos. There’s alcohol, people making out or hooking up in literally every room, random drama, someone always ends up crying in the bathroom—”
“Fun.”
“—BUT,” she said, pointing at me. “You’re with me. Which means you’re safe.”
I looked at her. “Safe?”
“Yeah,” she said casually, like it was obvious. “I’m not letting nobody touch you, make things weird, or bother you, that's my job. You just stay with me.”
My job.
Why did that make my heart race?
“You act like I can’t handle myself,” I say, crossing my arms.
She smiled, a little softer. “No. I just want you to actually have a good time.”
That made something in my chest soften. “Okay,” I said quietly. “Then what are we gonna do there?”
“Talk. Make fun of people. Eat stolen snacks from the kitchen. Drink. Dance.”
“Dance?” I repeated flatly.
“Not like weird grinding dance,” she said, waving her hands. “Like vibing. You know with us, with me.”
My heartbeat spiked.
“Do I have to dance?” I muttered.
She rolled her eyes. “God, Pres, I’m not gonna drag you onto a stripper pole. Dev might try but I got you. It’ll be fun I promise”
I stared at her.
She stared back.
I sighed. “Fine. But if anyone tries anything, I’m punching them.”
“See, this is why you’re my fake date,” she grinned. “Built-in security.”
“Built-in ego check.” I smirked back.
“Shut up.”
We both laughed. The car went quiet again, but it was warm. Familiar. She glanced over, softer this time. “You really okay with the whole… ‘fake date’ thing?”
I swallowed. “Are you?”
She didn’t look away. “Yeah.”
Her voice was calm. Happy.
“Then I am too,” I said.
Our eyes met.
That weird electricity—there again. I looked away fast, pretending to mess with my seatbelt. “Just don’t make it weird.”
Her lips curved. “That’s my specialty though.”
I shoved her shoulder. “Paige.”
She laughed—soft and genuine—the kind of laugh that made my chest feel full.
“Relax, Pres,” she said quietly. “It’s just homecoming.”
But it didn’t feel like “just” anything. Not with her.
It was Friday aka homecoming. The second I sat down at our lunch table, I could feel everyone buzzing. The gym was getting decorated, people were freaking out over hair appointments and corsages, and our table apparently was no exception.
Dev slammed her water bottle down like a gavel. “Alright. Business time. What time are we pulling up tonight?”
Jada leaned back in her chair. “Doors open at seven. If we show up at seven, we look desperate. If we show up at nine, we miss pictures and Paige gets yelled at by Mr. Reynolds for being late to another ‘school event.’”
Paige groaned. “He threatened to have Coach make me do suicide runs if I showed up in pictures with red eyes again.”
Jada pointed at her. “Well that’s why you wait to take the edibles at the party, dumbass not before. So we roll in around 8. Enough to be fashionably late, but early enough to prove we were, in fact, there.”
“Then dip by?” Dev asked.
“8:10,” Jada said without hesitation.
Paige snorted. “Ten minutes?!”
“We only need THREE. But I’m being generous,” Jada said, sipping her juice.
Dev nodded. “Then we go home, change for the after party and drive there. It starts at nine.”
Jada looked pleased. “We’re professionals at this.”
I blinked. “You guys plan this every year?”
Dev gave me a look. “You think I leave high school experiences to CHANCE?”
Jada turned to Paige. “You’re still driving us to the after party?”
“Yeah,” Paige nodded. Then she turned to me, more casual but somehow it made my stomach flip. “What time you want me to pick you up for the dance?”
I froze for a second. “Pick me up?”
Dev snorted. “Fake date duties, remember?”
Jada smirked. “She’s gotta arrive with her girl.”
I ignored the sudden heat in my face. “I can just meet you there—”
“Nope,” Paige cut in, shaking her head. “Fake date rules. We pull up together. We walk in together. We leave together.”
“Sounds kinda romantic,” Dev teased.
Paige threw a deadly glare her way. “Shut up.”
Dev grinned at me. “So? What time?”
I hesitated. “How long do you people take to get ready?”
Jada pointed at Dev. “Two hours.”
Dev pointed at Jada. “Fifteen minutes.”
They both pointed at Paige. “Thirty.”
Paige pointed at me. “Probably ten.”
I shrugged. “Five if Lindsey leaves me alone.”
“Lindsey’s doing your makeup,” Dev reminded me. “Good luck.”
I groaned. “She’s going to contour me into a different species.”
“ You'll be fine,” Paige said, smiling a little. “She’s excited.”
I rolled my eyes. “Understatement.”
“So…” Paige drummed her fingers on the table. “I’ll pick you up at… seven-thirty?”
I nod
“Alright then after we leave the dance we go to get to my house, get ready, take pictures, then go to the party.”
I blinked. “Your house?”
“Yeah,” Paige said casually, like this was totally normal. “We’re all getting ready there.”
“All of us?” I asked slowly. “Together?”
“Yup,” Jada popped the ‘p.’ “Gotta change and pre game —tradition.”
Dev nodded. “Plus, her house has the best lighting for pictures.”
“Also Drew,” Dev added.
“Oh my god, yes. I’m only coming for Drew,” Jada said.
Paige stared. “You’ve hung with Drew a thousand times, why do you always act like—”
“PAIGE.” Jada cut her off. “Drew is better than you.”
I tried not to laugh.
Paige turned back to me. “So… seven- thirty?”
I felt something warm in my chest. Being included like this felt… weirdly nice.
“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound chill. “that's fine.”
Paige smirked. “Cool. Bring something comfy to change into for the party.”
Dev wiggled her eyebrows. “Matching pajama sets for the sleepover vibe?”
“Dev, there is not a sleepover,” Paige muttered.
“Yeah but we COULD,” she sang.
Paige flipped her off.
Lunch continued. Jokes, teasing, plans.
I stood in front of my closet, staring at the black dress regretting agreeing to this.
Homecoming.
Fake date.
Paige picking me up.
What the actual hell was my life.
“YOU BETTER NOT BE WEARING SWEATPANTS!” Lindsey screeched from the bathroom.
“I’M NOT,” I yelled back.
“Show me!”
I rolled my eyes and grabbed the dress. “I’m putting it on, psycho.”
“Good. And moisturize your face, I’m not painting on dry skin.”
I sighed. “You’re terrifying.”
“Thank you.”
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in front of my vanity while Lindsey did my makeup like she was prepping me for the fucking Met Gala.
“Close your eyes.”
“Why are you contouring? It’s homecoming in a school gym.”
“Shut up and let me do my art.”
She blended something on my cheek and then gasped. “Oh my God…”
I tensed. “What?”
She smiled. “You’re so pretty.”
I rolled my eyes, but she slapped my shoulder. “No seriously. Paige is gonna—”
“Stop.” My heart jumped. “Don’t even say it.”
She smirked. “Fine, I’ll just think it really loudly.”
By the time she finished, my eyes looked brighter, my skin looked flawless, and the black dress fit perfectly.
Lindsey stepped back, proud. “Paige is gonna pass out.”
“Shut up.”
The doorbell rang.
My heart literally stopped.
“Ohhh she’s here,” Lindsey sing-songed.
“I hate you,” I whispered, trying to breathe.
“Go answer the door, goddess.”
I took one last glance in the mirror.
Okay. I could do this.
It was just Paige.
Just stunning, perfect, heart-attack-inducing Paige.
I walked downstairs, heels clicking on the wood floor. I could see her silhouette through the glass. I took a deep breath then opened the door.
Paige froze.
She was wearing a suit. Black. Clean. Sharp. Hair slicked back but still messy enough to be her. She looked unfair. But her eyes?
Her eyes were glued to me.
Wide.
Soft.
Speechless.
“Oh,” she breathed. “…Damn.”
My face got hot. “Shut up.”
She shook her head slowly, still staring. “I’m—uh. Wow.”
Before I could combust, someone stepped up behind me.
“Well, well, well,” my dad said smugly. “So you’re Paige.”
Paige immediately straightened up. “Yes, sir.”
Sir.
Oh no.
This was going to be bad.
Dad smiled too politely. “You’re the basketball star I’ve heard so much about.”
Paige scratched the back of her neck. “I don’t know about star—”
“Mhmm sure,” Dad nodded. “Tell me—what are your intentions with my daughter?”
OH MY GOD.
“DAD!” I snapped, mortified. “Stop!”
He ignored me. “Are you planning to bring her back by a reasonable hour?”
Paige’s face was turning red. “Uh—yes, sir.”
“Are you a safe driver?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you do drugs?”
“DAD!!!”
He held up a hand. “Let the girl answer.”
Paige, dead serious: “Not on school grounds, sir.”
“Paige!”
Dad barked out a laugh. “I like you.”
Oh God. Of course they get along.
“Have her home by midnight,” Dad said. “Or I’ll hunt you down.”
Paige grinned. “Worth it.” She said under her breath.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Bye, Mr. James.”
I grabbed her wrist and dragged her outside before anyone could speak again. The door shut behind us. We hopped into her car.
Silence.
She looked at me.
I looked at her.
“You look beautiful,” she said softly.
My throat tightened. “You clean up okay yourself.”
She smiled. “Ready, fake date?”
I smiled. “As I'll ever be.”
She offered her hand—teasing, dramatic. “M’lady?”
I shoved her. “No.”
She laughed and pulled out of my driveway. The second we pulled into the parking lot, the louder the music got, and I could already see lights through the gym windows.
“Oh lord,” I muttered as we stepped out of the car.
“Relax,” Paige said, bumping her shoulder into mine. “We’ll be in and out.”
The second we walked inside, eyes turned shocked, surprised, judgy, but mainly why is Paige with HER eyes. I felt my jaw clench as a couple girls from my class blatantly looked me up and down, then at Paige, then at each other… and laughed. My fists curled by instinct.
Paige noticed immediately. “Pres,” she said under her breath, “don’t.”
“They’re staring,” I muttered.
“Let them,” she shrugged. “They’re just jealous they didn’t get picked.”
I rolled my eyes, but… the tension in my chest eased a little. We found Jada and Dev by the balloon arch set up for photos.
Dev whistled. “LOOK at y’all!”
“It’s almost believable.” Jada laughed.
“Shut up,” I muttered, but Paige winked at them.
“Alright let's get this over with, so we can get ready for the real thing.” Jada ordered.
We lined up for pictures. Jada in her suit looked like she was a multi-millionaire. Dev’s dress looked airbrushed on. Paige draped an arm over my shoulders like it was natural and I had to pretend I wasn’t dying inside while flash after flash went off.
“BUECKERS!”
A voice boomed from across the gym.
We turned just in time to see Mr. Reynolds walk over, arms crossed, smirk on his face.
“Shocking,” he said to Paige. “You showed up to a school event on time… and sober.”
The girls cackled as Paige glared at him. “You act like I’m a menace.”
“You’re a delinquent,” Coach corrected. “But at least you’re a punctual delinquent tonight.”
She flipped him off behind his back as he walked away.
I bit back a laugh.
People kept coming up to say hi to Paige—teammates, random classmates, and every single girl that showed up. Every time, she kept her hand either on my back or linked with my fingers or brushing my arm. Casual. Protective. Constant. It made every dirty look I got easier to ignore. Eventually, Jada checked her phone. “8:05. Five minute warning.”
Dev stretched. “Time to vanish.”
“Thank God,” I muttered.
We slipped out the side door, successfully avoiding the crowd.
“Freedom,” Dev groaned.
“Party time,” Jada nodded. “Let’s roll.”
The drive to Paige’s house was quick, familiar now. Her neighborhood was quiet, cozy. Warm windows lit up the street. She unlocked the front door and pushed it open. “We’re here!”
No answer.
Then.
“PAIGEY!”
Drew came sprinting full speed down the hallway and LAUNCHED himself at Paige. She caught him with one arm. “Bro! You trying to kill me?”
He ignored her completely. “You were supposed to be here 20 minutes ago!”
Paige rolled her eyes. “We were at the dance.”
Drew pulled back, unimpressed. “You said dances are boring.”
Then he turned—and saw me.
“PRESLEY!!!!”
Before I could react, he ran at me and hugged my waist like he hadn’t only met me three times. “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!”
I blinked, laughing a little. “Uh school? Life?”
He pouted dramatically. “You haven’t come to see me in FOREVER!”
Paige groaned behind him. “It’s been, like, two weeks.”
“That’s forever!” Drew insisted, still clinging to me. “You promised to hang out with me! You said we’d play Mario Kart and then you never came back!”
I felt my chest soften. “Ok I will. You'll have to tell your sister to invite me.”
He squinted at me. “Promise?”
“I promise Drew.”
He smiled, satisfied then immediately pointed at Paige. “See? SHE keeps her promises.”
Paige’s jaw dropped. “What did I even do?!”
“YOU DIDN’T INVITE PRESLEY TO COME SEE ME,” Drew said, walking past her like he couldn’t bother to be in her presence.
Jada burst out laughing. “He hates you.”
Dev nodded seriously. “He’s not wrong.”
Paige glared. “I am literally the reason he’s alive.”
“And yet Presley is the favorite,” Jada said, patting my shoulder.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered. Then looked at me. “You realize he’s gonna propose to you by Christmas, right?”
“Relax,” I muttered, even though I was… smiling.
“Come on,” she said, jerking her head toward the stairs. “My room is upstairs.”
We climbed up and pushed into her room—big window, messy bed, basketball posters, trophies everywhere, clothes on the floor but it felt like her. Warm. Lived in.
Dev immediately dumped her bag on the bed. “Okay, glam squad time.”
Jada threw herself into the desk chair like a king. “I’ll supervise.”
“You’re not supervising shit,” Paige said, shoving her out. “Get changed or do you plan on looking like the monopoly man all night.”
“Rude,” Jada sighed, grabbing her bag heading to the bathroom.
Everyone spread out like they’d done this a thousand times—music on. Hair tools plugged in. Makeup bags open. Clothes laid over chairs and bedposts.
Dev straightened her hair in the mirror. “Pres, sit. I need to fix your curls.”
“My curls are fine.”
“Sit or I’ll chop them off.”
I sat. “Does anyone have a hoodie I can wear over my clothes till we get to the party?”
Paige threw her Hopkins basketball warmup hoodie to me. “Here. You can wear this.”
I blinked. “Are you sure?”
She shrugged. “Yeah. It’s comfy.”
I tried not to think about how it smelled like her or all the times I’ve seen her wear it at school as I pulled it on.
Dev whistled. “Awwww, wearing your date’s clothes already.”
“Fake date,” Paige said.
Jada smirked. “Sure, babe.”
Paige threw a hairbrush at her.
We got ready together—laughing, teasing, Jada forcing all of us to listen to her “pre-game” playlist. Paige put Jada’s hair into a messy bun as Dev fixed my eyeliner. The whole “getting ready” felt less like chaos and more like what imagined having real friend was supposed to feel like. By the time we were done, the room looked like a battlefield—but we looked pretty fucking good.
Dev posed in the mirror. “We’re so hot, I feel bad for others.”
Jada adjusted her belt. “Somebody take a picture before I’m blacked out.”
Paige looked at me through the mirror, soft smile there before she could hide it. “You ready for your first Hopkins house party?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
We headed downstairs. The living room light was on. Bob was sitting on the couch with a book. Moe was in the kitchen putting away leftovers.
Bob looked up—and grinned. “Well, damn.”
Moe gasped dramatically. “Look at my girls!”
Paige groaned.
Moe ignored her completely. “Presley, honey, you look gorgeous.”
I flushed. “Thank you.”
Bob pointed at Jada, Dev, and Paige. “Y’all clean up nice. Jada, try not to get into a fight this year.”
“No promises,” Jada said.
Moe handed Paige a water bottle. “Here. Drink. You’re not passing out again.”
“That was ONE TIME,” Paige argued.
Dev snorted. “It was TWO times.”
Bob stood, adjusting his glasses. “Alright. Curfew is whenever, but if the cops get called, I’m not bailing you out Paige.”
“Rude,” she said. “But fair.”
Moe stepped forward and kissed Paige’s cheek, then looked at all of us. “Be safe. Stay together. Text us if you need anything.”
“We will,” me and the girls said at the same time.
Bob pointed at me. “Presley, you’re in charge.”
Paige spun around. “WHAT? Why her?!”
“Because I've known the three of you long enough to know not to pick you.” Bob said.
Jada howled. “Fair enough Bobby.”
Dev high-fived me. “Boss lady.”
Paige threw her hands up. “I hate all of you.”
Moe just smiled and opened the door. “Have fun, girls.”
We stepped outside, the cool night air hitting us all at once.
Paige twirled her keys. “Alright.” She looked at me. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
We all walked to the car together, Paige and I side by side. I couldn’t help the thought that kept creeping in. This night wasn’t even close to over and something told me it was only going to get crazier.
Sorry that took so long but I'm happy it's up now for you to read!!! Please leave reactions it means the world to me💛💛💛
