The morning after their kiss, Penelope awoke to the sunlight filtering through her blinds — soft, golden, and infuriatingly cheerful. Her heart, however, felt anything but calm. It was still doing somersaults in her chest like a gymnast without a mat.
Marc had kissed her like he was starving. And she'd kissed him back like she was drowning.
But now what?
She reached for her phone instinctively, as if it would somehow offer an answer. One message blinked.
Marc: I meant every second of it.
She didn't realize she was smiling until Veronica burst into the room unannounced, throwing herself onto the bed like a teenage hurricane.
"I knew it!" Veronica sang, grabbing the phone. "He texted you first! Men like Marc don't text first. That's like... a lion bringing you breakfast in bed!"
Penelope blushed. "He kissed me. Like, really kissed me."
"Good-kiss or regret-kiss?"
"Good-kiss. No — life-altering kiss."
Veronica gasped dramatically. "I swear, if you guys become Blackridge's Bonnie and Clyde, I'm investing in pepper spray."
They both laughed, the kind of giddy laughter that only comes when you're falling — fast, hard, and without a parachute.
But in another corner of Blackridge, someone else wasn't laughing.
Julian.
He stood at his easel, painting something that looked more like a bruise than a portrait. His hands were stained with blue and gray, his eyes hollow.
He'd seen the kiss. And it felt like something inside him had cracked.
Julian had been too safe. Too quiet. Too slow.
And now he'd lost her to someone who burned instead of whispered.
---
That day at school, things changed.
Marc waited by Penelope's locker. No smirk, no sarcasm. Just... presence. Like a wall, solid and unapologetic.
She arched a brow. "You're not usually this punctual."
He leaned in. "I figured if I'm going to kiss you like that, I should probably show up for the consequences."
Penelope's breath hitched. "And what do you think those consequences are?"
Marc's eyes darkened. "Me falling for you. Hard."
It was the kind of confession that knocked the wind out of her.
Before she could respond, they were interrupted.
By Scott.
He wasn't alone. Veronica stood beside him, her fingers wrapped shyly around his.
It was the first time they'd shown up at school together, and the effect was immediate.
Gasps. Whispers. Disbelief.
Veronica met Penelope's eyes and mouthed: I told him.
Penelope's heart swelled.
Scott had broken her best friend more than once — not maliciously, but with silence and fear. But now, here he was, standing tall, like he had something to lose and knew it.
The four of them stood together in a strangely satisfying square — Marc with his dark, messy fire; Penelope with her stormy resolve; Scott with his quiet intensity; and Veronica with her heart finally untangled.
It was a strange picture. But somehow, it fit.
Until Julian arrived.
He didn't say a word. Just brushed past them, books clutched to his chest, eyes fixed on a world far away.
Penelope's stomach twisted.
"Julian," she called gently.
He stopped, turned slowly. "You don't owe me anything, Pen."
"Yes, I do," she said, stepping closer. "I owe you honesty."
He looked at her like she'd carved open his ribs.
"Then be honest. Do you feel anything when you look at me?"
She hesitated.
The truth was cruel — not because she didn't care about Julian, but because caring wasn't the same as wanting. And he deserved wanting.
"I feel safe," she whispered. "I feel like you're the kind of person who remembers birthdays and texts good luck before exams."
Julian swallowed. "But I'm not him."
"No," she said gently. "And I wish that was enough."
It was the softest rejection. And yet, it felt like a blade.
He nodded once and walked away — and Penelope could feel the finality in each step.
---
Later that day, Penelope and Marc ditched sixth period.
Not because they wanted to skip. Because they needed to breathe.
They found themselves in an abandoned greenhouse on the edge of town — vines curling through broken glass, sunlight dancing across cracked tiles.
Marc lit a cigarette but didn't smoke it. Just watched the smoke curl in the air like thoughts he didn't know how to speak.
Penelope sat beside him, legs folded, heart open.
"Why me?" she asked. "There are a hundred girls who would fall at your feet."
He exhaled. "That's the problem. They'd fall. You'd make me climb."
She smiled. "That's the corniest thing you've ever said."
Marc shrugged. "Sue me. I'm evolving."
He turned to her then, more serious. "But I have secrets, Penelope. Things that'll make you run."
She met his gaze, fearless. "Then tell me before I start sprinting."
Marc looked like he was choosing every word like it was a landmine. "Last year, before I moved here... there was a girl. A fight. A hospital. It wasn't all my fault, but enough of it was."
Penelope's heart thudded. "You hurt someone?"
"I lost control. I got suspended. Blackridge was my last chance."
She sat with that.
Let it settle.
Then reached for his hand.
"I'm not here for the version of you that's easy," she said. "I'm here for the version that's trying."
Marc stared at her like she was a miracle. "You scare the hell out of me."
"Good," she whispered. "Maybe we'll scare each other into healing."
---
That night, Veronica wrote in her journal.
Dear me,
He kissed me in the rain today. Not on the lips — but on my hand. Like I was something precious. Something sacred. Maybe Scott's not perfect. But neither am I. And maybe that's what makes this real.
Across the page, she sketched a heart. Cracked. But stitched back together with gold.