My stomach lets out a growl loud enough to be cast as the lead in a horror movie. A novel is glued to my hands, my nose buried deep in its delicate pages as I blindly stumble into the canteen, unwilling to detach myself from Austen's addictive charm. If books were a banned substances, I would already be in rehab. Elizabeth Bennet has me in a literary chokehold.
This is a great escape from reality.
This week has been a fever dream.
From losing my sketchbook and going fully berserk at the thought of one of my friends finding it to Riley body slamming my pinkie during gym accidentally—which I still remain sceptical about. And to top it off, my former crush decided that blackmail was his latest preferred love language. There are only two days left before my sweet escape of the weekend.
Bless the concept of Saturday.
Everything about this place feels like sandpaper lately from the people to the teachers to the homework.
I need mercy.
Or caffeine.
Luckily, Franklin packed my lunch today, sparing me the long, soul draining queue for food. I spot Taylor bouncing like a golden retriever near the counter, waving at me wildly. A few people blink at her in confusion but she shrugs off the judgement with the elegance of someone born to defy social norms.
I grin back, a full teeth beam, until I remember I forgot to grab a drink.
"Buy me something to drink?" I call out.
She nods with that exaggerated bobblehead energy only Taylor can pull off.
I settle at our usual table, sliding my book aside just long enough to unveil my meal today: fried chicken, chips and a juicy diner burger. Admittedly, I would kill for some Gua Baoright now, but this will have to do. I pluck a chip from my lunchbox, cursing the fact that they're cold. Cold chips are so rank.
My eyes drift back to the pages, imagining myself tangled in Lizzy's tangled inner monologue while Mr. Darcy broods aggressively in the background.
It has me thinking about how Dominic and Darcy share some qualities. Brooding and emotionally constipated.
Then—
"Starr."
I nearly leap out of my seat, clutching my chest like I have just been jump scared by a ghost. "Jesus, Dominic—why the hell do you always creep up on me like that?"
I slam the book shut and shove a bookmark between the pages with an irritated flourish. I didn't even hear him approaching me which in itself is scary. I'm convinced he's part panther.
He chooses not to reply and just slides into the chair beside me, promptly nudging it a mile away from me to maintain some space between us like I have declared myself contagious.
I stare at him weirdly.
He ignores me.
Typical.
Why is he here?
In this rowdy, crowded place?
He has never set foot in the canteen. Ever.
I know this, because I would spend most of recess in the library just watching him reading books by all the bestselling authors.
Inspecting him with mock curiosity, I mutter, "What evil scheme dragged you out of your quiet crypt back into human civilisation?"
He ignores the sarcasm, of course.
His gaze sweeps across the canteen as if mentally filing a noise complaint. The crowd buzzes with laughter, trainers squeaking and trays clattering. Dominic looks as out of place as a tuxedo at a pool party.
"Is this your first time in the canteen?" I press curiously, arching an eyebrow. "Even in our first year, you practically spent all your time in the library as if you had a residency there. I have never seen you here."
He glances at me, his expression halfway between smug and amused. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you used to stalk me."
I press my lips into a thin line.
"Oh wait, I do know better," he says, slapping a hand against his chest with faux horror. "I binged all your vlogs. Heard you talk about how you'd stare at me in the library every break like a voyeur."
I narrow my eyes at him. "So what, did you come here just to rub that in my face?"
"As tempting as that is," he says, tilting his head thoughtfully, "it's not enough motivation to throw myself into this chaos."
His gaze circles the room again, lingering on the table of students who appear to be arguing about something. His nose practically wrinkles.
"I came here for an actual reason," he says cryptically.
I sigh deeply, nibbling on a chip. "That means you're about to ruin my lunch."
His lip twitches.
"So… why are you here?"
Dominic glances around, eyes darting past sticky trays and loud students with alarming paranoia. Then he drags his chair closer, metal legs screeching across linoleum. Subtlety is clearly not his forte.
He leans in just enough to make me feel like we're conspiring under enemy surveillance and whispers, "Did step one go as planned?"
I crunch down on two cold chips and blink at him. "Nope."
At first, he actually seems relieved. "Good."
Then my words click.
His face falters and he stares at me like I have just told him the Earth is flat. "Wait, what?"
"No. Step one did not go as planned."
The disappointment crashes into his face. "What did you do wrong?"
"Nothing." I raise an eyebrow. "Bold of you to assume it was me."
He folds his arms, clearly bracing for a story he didn't want to hear.
"Jodie just doesn't want to be friends with me," I say, licking salt from my fingers. "Apparently she's working on cleansing her chakra before the final football game and can't have me messing up her vibes. Her mum taught her how to sense that stuff."
"What?"
"Apparently, I have negative energy." I lift a chip in mock toast. "Said something about my aura being murky green."
Dominic blinks in confusion. "Murky green aura?"
"Yeah, whatever that means." I nod. "Besides I like murky green."
He throws his head back and yanks his beanie off, raking a hand through his chaotic nest of hair. Frustration rolls off him like steam from a teapot. Within seconds, he shoves the beanie back on, his messy fringe still rebelling against gravity.
"Argh, it was your sketchbook I had to find," he mutters, rubbing his temples.
I glance at him, something soft unfolding in my chest. Sympathy? Mild guilt? Some kind of indigestion?
He looks genuinely defeated. Not only irritated but… disappointed.
And it suddenly hits me.
He really does like Jodie.
For a second, the whole operation seemed like a glorified punishment. A twisted response to all the times I teased him and adored his brooding silences back in year eight even when he tried his hardest to avoid my presence. I convinced myself he was just being petty. That this was his revenge fantasy wrapped in awkward labour.
But now… he's unravelling.
And I'm starting to believe he might actually like my former bestie.
It's weird imagining someone as emotionally allergic as Dominic falling for someone like Jodie, all pastel vibes and extroverted glitter.
They are parallel universes.
Oil and water.
Diary entries and death metal.
Still, here we are.
Dominic is still gazing off into the distance like the canteen wall is offering guidance. His fingers tap rhythmically against the tabletop, calculating something complex. Finally he slowly pivots his gaze back toward me, his dark brown eyes locking onto mine with that trademark unreadable intensity. It's annoying how dramatic he makes even thinking look.
"This is a sign," I say, jabbing a chip into the air. "A clear one. Just give me my stuff back. I'm obviously not the right person for this ridiculous mission. I messed up step one before it even had a chance to be a step."
"You know what?" he murmurs, head tilting slightly as if struck by some epiphany.
"What?"
"No, this is just a minor setback." His lips twitch. "We'll try something else."
I exhale in defeat, burying my head in my chest and letting my shoulders slump like a deflated balloon. That tiny flicker of sympathy I felt earlier? Snuffed out completely, replaced by a growing wildfire of irritation.
That's not the response I wanted.
I was hoping—no, banking—on him finally acknowledging that I'm not cut out for this scheming nonsense. That he'd give up on this absurd quest and hand over the blackmail material. Let me go. But no, Dominic Lachowski, mystery with legs, keeps doubling down like I'm his personal romance envoy.
He's never letting me out of this mess.
Not willingly.
Full confession, I was lowkey thrilled when Jodie rejected me with her mystical energy speech. Sure, I felt insulted at first. Being labelled bad vibes is never fun, but once she whipped out her murky aura detector and started lecturing me about emotional frequency, I thanked heaven for dodging that bullet. One that probably smelled like essential oils.
"Look," I say, trying and failing to sound calm, "how's about you grow some balls and talk to her yourself?"
His eyes narrow slightly.
"Contrary to popular belief," I continue, picking up my burger with renewed aggression, "Jodie doesn't bite. She's probably the easiest person to talk to in that entire dream team."
"I know that."
"So what exactly are you afraid of?"
He doesn't answer right away.
Just stares with his jaw clenching.
And I wonder if there is something he's more scared of that's deeper than rejection.
"You're gonna get your heart broken anyway," I say without an ounce of hesitation. "You might as well just get it over and done with before you get maximally hurt."
Dominic tilts his head slowly, something calculating flickering in his gaze.
"You know, you talk a lot about how this plan is annoying and ridiculous, but sometimes you say things like that."
"Things like what?"
"Things that imply you don't wanna see me get hurt." He leans forward slightly, his voice quieter. "So tell me… why do you care so much?"
The question hangs in the air, heavier than expected.
I open my mouth, maybe to deny it or toss back some deflection but nothing comes out. Because okay, fair point. I could have just ended my sentence without adding that last bit.
"Care is a strong word," I mumble.
"But not inaccurate," he replies, eyes still locked onto me.
I shove a chip into my mouth to buy myself time.
Still cold and a little soggy.
My fingers toy with the edge of my lunchbox, eyes avoiding his like they're too heavy to hold.
"Maybe I just don't like watching people go through rejection," I say, the words leaving slower than intended. "Because I've been there. And it sucks."
I try for nonchalance, toss a shrug in for effect but the truth threads itself into the silence between us.
A little too raw.
Dominic watches me, the air between us tightening just slightly.
Then his gaze drifts past me, locking onto something invisible or maybe just easier than the truth sitting in front of him. The usual indifference clings to his posture with quiet defiance. But there is an indecipherable flicker in his eyes.
He tosses a quiet scoff, barely audible. "Are you trying to guilt trip me for rejecting you three years ago?"
Yes.
"Not everything is about you," I say dismissively, voice lower now. "I was just saying, when someone tells you that you might not be what they're looking for in a person… that shit stays with you."
The words settle in the space between us, raw and unpolished.
His jaw tenses as he shifts in his seat as if the floor is suddenly uneven.
I can tell he's fighting a reaction, something more than the cold detachment he usually wears.
"I don't need you to look out for me," he finally says, but it doesn't bite the way it usually does.
"Who said I was doing any of that?" I reply. "I just told you how rejection feels when it's not hypothetical. When it actually happens to you."
For a moment, the canteen noise fades into something distant. He looks down at the table, fingers tapping rhythmically against the plastic surface before he finally speaks again.
"I was thirteen," he mumbles.
I snort. "So was I."
He narrows his eyes at me. "Unlike you, some of us knew nothing about dating."
He was my first crush…
Without a word, I turn slightly away and cradle my burger between my hands. I sink my teeth into it with a dramatic bite that oozes extra sauce, just enough distraction to avoid meeting his unreadable expression.
Still, curiosity wins.
Through the corner of my eye, I sneak a glance.
He's… thinking. Actually absorbing what I said.
I slide my lunchbox across the table toward him, the motion slow and almost hesitant. A quiet peace offering in the shape of slightly cold chips and fried chicken.
He stares at them blankly like I have just handed him a live pigeon.
I nudge it closer, gently. "Go on."
He doesn't move.
I hate eating in front of people who aren't eating. It feels like flaunting privilege, even if the privilege is just a greasy burger and cold chips.
I bite the inside of my cheek.
Please don't reject my food too.
I have already collected enough rejection to qualify for a heartbreak loyalty program: Dominic ghosting me after eighth grade, James brushing me off during that group fallout and Michael… well, that one stung. I mean even Jodie, with her murky green aura assessment and spiritual chakra, rejected me.
To my quiet relief, Dominic finally reaches out and takes the box. Not enthusiastically. Just… reluctantly. Like accepting kindness is a foreign language he's only partially fluent in.
I smile to myself, barely.
Peering over my shoulder, I spot Taylor still waiting in the queue animatedly. She's behind one guy, who's behind another guy fumbling at the register. She is turned toward a girl behind her, chatting with ease. I don't recognise the girl, probably a transfer or one of those under the radar students who age up overnight.
"So," he starts with his hands intertwined on the table, "taking into account all factors, pros and cons, soul chemistry… what's the statistical chance Jodie doesn't reject me?"
I don't hesitate. "Ninety nine percent."
He blinks. "Wait. Really?"
I have to bite my lip to stop myself from bursting into laughter.
The sparkle in his usually indifferent eyes is wildly misplaced optimism. I mean, I still can't believe he likes Jodie. It's so bizarre. Why her? What about her fits the Dominic Lachowski blueprint? Sure, he said something about her being adventurous and wild, but wasn't I all chaos back then? Or… maybe I was just a loud library gremlin.
The real question isn't why he likes her. It's what she has that I didn't.
Probably boobs.
And a uterus.
I could see that being a dealbreaker.
"Oh," I say slowly. "Sorry, I thought you were asking about the possibility of her rejecting you. In that case, yeah—ninety nine percent."
His jaw tightens.
"Don't get mad at me," I say with my hands raised in surrender. "That's just Jodie Dillon for you."
"What does she even like in a guy?"
I tick the list off lazily. "Spontaneity. Big public affection moments. Openhearted communication. Basically everything you tend to sprint away from."
He glares at me warningly. "So you're saying we're a bad fit?"
Awkwardly, I avoid his piercing gaze and take a loud bite of burger to buy myself buffer time. I chew slowly while his stare stays fixed, intense enough to drill a hole into me.
"I mean…" I mumble around the food, swallowing the lump of honesty lodged in my throat, "You're not the worst fit."
He lifts a brow, not buying it.
I sigh and set the burger down with exaggerated care. "You know, everywhere you go, you seem to advertise that your emotional content may be limited. Whereas Jodie likes being swept off her feet. Dramatic gestures."
His glare softens into something akin to processing.
"But," I continue, gentler now, "sometimes opposites do attract so maybe… you might surprise each other in a good way. Even though you look like you would rather spontaneously combust than buy a flower."
"Why would you think that?" he mutters, eyebrows crumpled in genuine confusion.
"Oh come on." I drop the burger and stare. "You're basically a machine pretending to be a broody teenager and Jodie hates people like that."
"Explain."
"See, even you asking me to explain that is giving absolute robot behaviour. Is this a social experiment? Do I have to do all the emotional heavylifting for you?"
"Unless you want to become a YouTuber…"
My expression immediately dies.
"You know," I say slowly, voice soaked in sarcasm, "instead of resorting to threats, you could just say, 'Seong Jin, please advise me on how to woo a girl. I'm emotionally constipated and this is the first time I've experienced a heartbeat that wasn't induced by caffeine.'"
"Shut up and tell me," he says, narrowing his eyes.
"So, one of her exes booked a whole candlelit dinner on the beach. I'm talking sunset backdrop, twinkle lights, probably a violinist hiding in the dunes. She gushed about it for days like she'd discovered romance for the first time."
"So I need to plan candlelit dinners to impress her?"
"Yeah, then there was another ex who copped her concert tickets to Panic! At the Disco, even though she could've easily bought them herself. But it wasn't about the money. It was the thought. Mental note—Panic! is her favourite band, just in case you plan on spontaneously serenading her."
His frown deepens.
"And," I continue, casually taking a bite out of my burger, "you need to show her your smile bones."
"Smile bones?" he echoes, genuinely baffled.
"Those mysterious little whites hidden somewhere under that eternal scowl." I gesture toward his mouth. "If you always look like you're one emotional breakdown away from having a villain arc, then you'll make her feel like what you look. And trust me, Jodie likes her vibes light."
"If she really likes me," he says, tilting his head with pompous arrogance, "she'll learn to accept me for who I am."
"Yeah… well, she doesn't like you so…" I say with the subtlety of a slap.
He blinks, frowning harder.
I swear, I see a crack in his soul forming.
"Oh, and you need to be a good kisser."
"What?"
"Like, really good." I nod earnestly. "She's picky, so one bad kiss and she'll broadcast your terrible technique across the school."
He looks alarmed. "The whole school?"
"Yes." I lean in slightly. "You don't want her choking on your tongue, Dominic. She'll literally turn you into an outcast… well, more of an outcast than you already are."
He stares at me blankly and then, before he can recover…
"You also need abs."
"Holy, how long is this checklist?"
I shrug. "If your physique gives off pre puberty twig, she's not going to blink twice. So if you look like Joey then you better get yourself a gym membership card or get it packing with some steroids or creatine."
His silence is deafening. He blinks a few times, the sparkle in his eyes fading like a dying star. Cold reality has finally sunk in.
And maybe it's petty, but I feel nothing for his emotional collapse. Let's not forget this is the same guy who rejected me by literally telling me to stop liking him, as if there was a switch I could just turn of at any moment and also decided blackmailing me was a good way to get his crush. So yeah, all my sympathy has been revoked.
"Well," he murmurs, barely clinging to hope, "there's still a one percent chance. That counts for something."
I lean into him and whisper in his ear, "I rounded down."
His gaze abruptly shifts down onto me from how close I am and before he can yell at me to get out of his personal bubble, a shadow hovers over us from across the chairs we're sitting in.
I glance up to see Taylor who is watching me like I am the enigma I always claim I am. Her eyes shift to Dominic, and suddenly her face blanks out—expression iced over, lips pressed tight, fingers clenching her juicebox so hard I hear it crinkle.
Then back to me.
She's glaring suspiciously now.
I blink once, twice… and look away, trying not to make eye contact with the wrath currently bubbling behind her eyes.
Well then.