Noah's standing in my doorway, that half-smile daring me to react, and I grab a towel, trying to sound firm. "Get out, I gotta get ready," I say, but my voice wavers, because having him there, filling the space with his presence, makes the air in my room feel heavier, like his closeness churns everything inside me.
"What, don't want me to join you in the shower?" he shoots, with a wink that carries a playful edge, his light, teasing tone spiking my pulse, because he knows exactly how to get under my skin.
I glare at him, trying to keep my cool, and he raises his hands fast, like he's surrendering, though his nervous laugh gives him away. "Alright, alright, bad joke, I'll shut up," he says, scratching the back of his neck, a faint blush on his cheeks, and though he plays it off as a joke, the air between us is charged, because since last week, when he faked that we were hooking up for Morgan, my head's been a fucking mess. For Noah, it was just a trick to keep the scholarship charade going, but for me, it wasn't—his body on mine, his heat burning my skin, his breath so close—it made what I feel for him stronger, so fucking impossible to ignore, even though I know I'll never tell him, not with him, not like this.
I shut the door and press my forehead against the wood, letting the coolness calm me, while the echo of his laugh keeps bouncing in my chest, because that comment, as light as it was, throws me off more than I want to admit. I hit the shower, let the hot water wrap around me, and as the steam fills the bathroom with the smell of soap, I try to clear my head, because I can't let this consume me, not now, with the auction hours away. I step out, dry off, and open the closet, because I need to pick something that fits the event: nothing office-y, something fresh but sharp. I go for a simple white tee that hugs just right without screaming it, a navy bomber jacket with cuff details for a touch of style, dark straight-fit jeans, and my favorite white sneakers, freshly cleaned, laces tight. I add a simple fabric-strap watch, because details matter. I check the mirror, and though it's not designer, it looks good, fresh, perfect for the auction, and though I won't say it out loud, part of me wants Noah to notice, wants his eyes to linger on me longer than they should.
When I'm ready, I head downstairs to Alpha Centauri's main room, and the chaos hits me instantly: laughter, jokes, voices bouncing off the walls. Everyone's dressed up for the occasion: some in crisp dress shirts, others in formal suits that feel out of place, and a few in jeans and jackets screaming casual effort. There's a buzz of anticipation in every corner, guys posing dramatically, others sprawled on couches like they don't care, but no one can deny the afternoon's about to blow up the campus. The second I step in, I cross paths with Nichols, and his eyes lock on mine for a moment, cold as ever, before he turns away and keeps moving, like he doesn't want to deal with me. The tension between us is still there, heavy, but at least he keeps his mouth shut, because after the beating he took, he seems to have learned to stay quiet.
I join the group and end up on a worn-out couch next to Joe, arm slung over the back as we talk, though the room's noise forces us to shout. I try to pry something about Jackson, because I know something's off there, but he dodges with short answers.
"Hey, heard Jackson's bidding on someone from Delta," I say, testing, watching his body tense, fingers digging into his knee, jaw tight.
"Uh-huh…" Joe mutters, voice low, nearly drowned by the chaos.
"Hope he picks someone worth it, right?" I add with a grin, trying to lighten the mood, not wanting him to shut down more.
"Guess so," he says, but his tone's flat, eyes dropping to the floor, like he wants to bolt.
"And you, hoping for a hot date? Maybe someone like Jackson?" I tease, keeping it light, like it's no big deal, though I'm fishing for more.
Joe sighs, shrugs, and mumbles, "Hope so," his eyes still dodging, and I know he's not giving me anything, not now.
Just then, Chris flops down beside us, lazy grin on his face. "What're we talking about?" he asks, scratching his neck as he settles in.
"Nothing big," I say fast, shrugging. "Just chatting with Joe about what we're expecting from the auction. You?"
The room keeps buzzing, laughter and jokes flying, guys posing like models, others nursing beers, and the vibe's charged with that pre-game energy, like we all know the auction's gonna be total chaos. Then Noah walks in, and fuck, I can't help but stare. Earlier he was in simpler clothes, but now he's different: a light gray polo that hugs his frame, beige pants that fall naturally, and tan loafers that look fresh out of the box. Nothing's overdone, but everything screams confidence, and his messy hair, catching the sunlight through the windows, sends a shiver through me. When his eyes meet mine, he flashes a smile that spikes my pulse, a glint that steals my breath for a second, because though I want to ignore it, I can't, and the heat in my chest reminds me of that morning when everything got too real.
"Alright, boys," Morgan says, raising his voice to cut through the noise, standing in the room's center. "I see you all got ready for the occasion."
"Hey, why aren't you dressed up?" Jared calls from a couch, beer in hand. "You're auctioning us off, but you're not up there! You're supposed to be one of us!"
Morgan raises an eyebrow, his smile dripping authority. "I'm the president of this frat, and my job's to organize, not be the show. You guys just follow orders like good minions," he shoots, and a chorus of complaints, laughs, and jeers erupts instantly.
Morgan laughs with them, eating up the chaos, and adds, "Besides, someone's gotta count the money we raise, and that's me." He pauses, adjusting his jacket like he's on stage. "And for the record, I've already got a date tonight with… well, that's none of your business. Let's go!"
The laughter and protests follow him, the room exploding in a fresh wave of noise, and I stay seated, heart beating faster than it should, because Noah's a few steps away, his presence filling the space, and though I want to focus on the jokes, the auction, anything, my eyes drift to him, caught in that damn pull I don't know how to shut off.
****
We leave Alpha Centauri together, crossing campus to the Memorial Auditorium, the cool afternoon air hitting our faces, the guys' voices filling the path with laughs, jokes, and nervous chatter bouncing like ping-pong balls. Some stride with chests puffed out, like they're about to conquer the world, while others keep their eyes glued to the ground, like they want to vanish, and I stick with the group, my stomach churning with auction nerves, because I know this isn't just an event—it's gonna leave a mark, and I'm not sure I'm ready.
We reach the Memorial Auditorium, its towering columns and wide entrance swallowing the campus buzz. Students are everywhere, streaming in groups, snapping pics with White Plaza in the background, shouting hellos, and the energy's so contagious it spikes my pulse, though I try to stay calm. We pass through the doors, and the interior hits me with its scale: the seats nearly full, rows of students and a few professors, all talking in a hum that echoes under the high ceiling. Warm lights bathe the space, and the stage, with a podium and table, is set for the chaos ahead. The place vibrates, not just from the acoustics but from the anticipation in the air, like we all know this is more than a game.
I settle among the guys, scanning the room, as the hum grows and laughter mixes with the creak of seats. The auction's to raise funds for Stanford's Children's Hospital, and though it might seem like a flashy stunt, the cause is legit, which is why the university allowed it. Seeing the crowd packed in, I know this'll be a hit. There's constant movement: some finding seats, others standing, tossing quick glances, and I feel a bit steadier among the guys, because I've opened up more to them lately, though the thought of hitting the stage still twists my gut.
Suddenly, someone grabs my arm and pulls me into a hug, and when I turn, surprised, it's Julie, with a mischievous grin I didn't expect. "What're you doing here?" I blurt, still thrown, her light perfume wrapping around me.
"Came to see what I can get my hands on," she says, eyes sparkling with a playful edge that makes me laugh, though I'm not sure if she's serious or messing around.
"What?" I ask, chuckling, because her boldness always catches me off guard.
"Came to see what I can take home," she repeats, her tone sharpening, almost biting. "I'm bidding on Joe."
"Seriously?" I say, still laughing but catching the tension in her voice. "You gonna force a date with him?"
"Exactly," she nods, no bullshit, though her voice dips, like it's hard to admit. "Since he won't go out with me, I'll make him. See if he finally tells me what's up, because I'm sick of him dodging me."
"Sounds more like a trap than a date," I tease, raising an eyebrow, because I know Julie doesn't play when she's pissed.
"Call it what you want," she shoots back, shrugging, with a sly smile. "I need answers, and if he won't talk, he'll give them on a date."
"Bold way to stir up trouble," I say, though I feel her frustration, having seen how Joe avoids her.
"Or solutions," she replies, winking, then drops her voice, more playful. "By the way, I'm dying to see who bids on you. Girl or guy? I'm curious."
"Honestly, I'd rather no one bid on me," I admit, a faint heat in my cheeks, because the idea of being the center of attention sets my nerves on edge.
"Oh, please," Julie scoffs, giving me a light shoulder shove. "Don't lie. And you're stuck with that asshole Noah."
"It's not like that," I defend, but my voice is weak, because I don't fully believe it myself, and the memory of Noah on top of me, his heat burning me, flashes through my mind.
"The best thing that could happen is you get someone who gives you a fun night," she says, leaning in, whispering. "By the way, I heard Mike's got his eye on you when you hit the stage."
I turn without thinking, and there he is in the crowd, black tee hugging his broad shoulders, smiling at me with a shyness that spikes my heart rate. A warmth climbs my neck, because Mike has this calm that draws me in, a way of looking at me that makes me want to get closer, though I don't know how. But before I can process it, someone yanks my other arm, and Noah's voice cuts through. "Come on, Bennett, move," he says, sharp, almost biting, like he's trying to break whatever's happening, his eyes flashing with something I can't tell is anger or more.
Julie frowns, clearly annoyed, and slips into the crowd, tossing me a mocking gesture. "Say hi to Jackson for me!" I shout, and she fires back a grimace that makes me laugh.
Noah drags me to the auditorium's wings, where the auctioned are prepping, his grip on my arm tighter than needed. "Your friend doesn't like me, huh?" he says, his tone mixing resignation and something else, before shooting me a serious look. "And I saw who you were looking at."
"I didn't say anything to him, okay? Mike's here on his own, not my fault," I reply, uneasy, because his tension feels like a weight in the air.
"Sure, but it still pisses me off he's here," Noah snaps, anger slipping out, his jaw tightening like he's holding back more.
"You're just making shit up," I counter, trying to calm him, though my pulse races. "No reason to get like this."
"Fine, if you say so, I'll drop it," he mutters, though he doesn't sound convinced. "But why's your friend looking at me like she wants to kill me?"
I rub the back of my neck, nervous, because I don't want to dive into it. "She… knows the truth," I admit, lowering my voice, feeling heat in my cheeks.
"What?" Noah stops, eyes wide with shock. "How does she know the truth?"
"Didn't mean to tell her, but she dragged it out of me," I explain, almost defensive. "And I know Joe knows too, and I'm pretty sure Chris does."
"They're my friends," he says, lips tight, clearly uncomfortable.
"And Julie's mine," I shoot back, firm, because I'm not letting him make me feel guilty.
"Does Jackson know?" he asks, eyes down, tense, like he dreads the answer.
"Not sure, I haven't told him, but I wouldn't rule out Julie mentioning it, though they're not talking much lately," I reply, and I see Noah tense more. "Relax, Julie won't screw this up, I swear."
"Fine…" he mutters, not sounding convinced, stepping forward.
"Hey, get ready!" Morgan cuts in from a few feet away, nodding at us.
"We'll talk later," Noah says, tossing me a quick look. "And stop looking at Mike."
I freeze, speechless, as he walks off, his tone and that glint in his eyes leaving a knot in my gut, because I know he's jealous, or at least I want to believe it, though he won't admit it. The backstage is buzzing, guys and girls from different frats, Delta Kappa Delta girls greeting Noah with laughs and arm touches, others mingling. I spot Nichols in the distance, and when our eyes meet, his look is cold, but he turns away fast, like he doesn't want to face me.
Suddenly, someone grabs my arm, and a soft voice whispers, "Hey, handsome." It's Amber, with a smile that dares everyone.
Before I can react, she leans in and kisses me on the lips, quick, bold, the soft warmth of her mouth catching me off guard. People turn to stare, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Noah, jaw tight, eyes dark, like the kiss burns him, and I know he's pissed, not just because of Amber, but because she's the girl he likes, and now she's here, with me. Amber pulls back, and I smile, nervous, feeling Noah's gaze like a weight. Then I glance at Nichols, watching from afar, a mix of resignation and anger before he turns and vanishes.
"You know, right?" I say to Amber, voice low, as the backstage noise hums.
"I know everything," she replies, with a wide grin. "Word travels fast on campus."
"Guess I owe you one," I say, a touch of irony, because I'm not sure if her kiss was a favor or trouble.
"Guess you do," she says, with a light laugh. "Plus, we got attention, didn't we? Aren't you tired of playing with Noah?"
"Uh… it's not exactly like that," I start, but she cuts me off with a knowing look.
"I suspect it's a charade, and maybe he's playing you," she says, voice lower, serious. "Noah doesn't deserve you, he's an idiot, even if he's cute. Trust me: put on your best face, puff out your chest, and let those eyes of yours shine tonight."
I laugh, nervous, because her words hit deep, and though I want to argue, her energy pulls me in. "Oh, and about Nichols…" she adds, with a half-smile. "Hope this shuts down some of the shit he's got against you."
I smile, not sure what to say, as Amber turns and slips into the crowd, her laugh echoing. I push forward, trying to navigate, when I run into Chris, his expression a mix of confusion and doubt stopping me. "Are you two…?" he asks, nodding toward where Amber went.
"No, no, no," I defend fast, raising my hands. "Nothing's going on, just a game. Like a stunt, don't get ideas," I add, words tumbling out, because I don't want him thinking it's something it's not.
Chris sighs, looks me up and down, and says, "Alright, if you say so. Good luck, Bennett." His tone's flat, and he walks off, leaving me with a knot in my gut.
I stand there, breathing deep, as the noise swells, still feeling Mike's eyes on me from afar, his shy smile sparking a warmth I don't want to name, Julie's frustration with Joe heavy in the air, Amber's energy lingering, and whatever's up with Noah burning the back of my neck, all wrapping around me as the auction's about to start.
****
"Good afternoon, Stanford!" Jay, the Beta Sigma Pi guy running the auction, shouts from the Memorial Auditorium's stage, his voice bouncing off the walls as he moves with an energy that lights everyone up from the jump, like he's hosting a damn rock concert.
"How's everyone feeling?" he asks, and the auditorium erupts in a roar of cheers and screams that shakes the air, while I, backstage, feel my pulse racing, caught in the electric vibe humming in my chest.
"See that energy! Ready for what's coming?" Jay continues, his grin feeding the chaos, and the crowd answers with another burst of cheers, paddles waving like flags in a stadium.
"That's the spirit we want!" he laughs, pointing at the crowd. "Before we start, big thanks to the university board, especially Dean Dave, who's with us today."
He waves toward the upper seats, where Dean Dave sits, arms crossed, a tight grimace under his beard, like he'd rather be anywhere else. "He went to bat for us to make this happen," Jay goes on. "Thanks to him, you'll get to take home, at least for an hour, whoever you want… as long as you've got the cash to bid."
Cheers and whistles explode instantly, heating the room, and a group starts chanting, "Dean Dave! Dean Dave!" while others clap, though he stays stone-faced, making Jay quip, "There's Dean Dave, expressive as ever," and laughter fills the Memorial, a light humor that feels like we're all in on the joke.
The place is on fire, lights sweeping the stage, murmurs buzzing, and a mix of excitement and nerves twists my gut, because we all know this isn't just an auction—it's a spectacle that'll stick. "Also worth noting, this is a private event," Jay says, pacing with the mic. "Please don't post about it on socials or spill what happens here, so we don't piss off the glass society. Though you can brag about your glamorous catches, right?" he adds, winking, drawing laughs. "But we don't want the board's efforts, especially the dean's, going to shit."
He turns to Dean Dave, still arms-crossed, and the crowd claps again. "Remember, all proceeds go to Stanford's research projects and the Children's Hospital," he adds, and applause mixes with whistles and cheers, filling the auditorium, while I feel the moment's weight, because being here, waiting my turn, has my nerves on edge.
"Alright, let's lay out how this works," Jay continues, strutting across the stage. "Our auctionees will parade up here, and you pick who catches your eye."
An excited murmur ripples through the auditorium, and I swallow hard, heat climbing my neck. "All bids and funds are tracked by our tech table," he adds, pointing right, where a long table with glowing screens and guys typing fast looks like a control room. "Our table's made up of frat presidents, except Delta Kappa Delta, whose president's being auctioned. Their VP, Christine Reis, is stepping in. Give it up for this beauty!"
The auditorium roars. Christine stands, waves with a smile that lights up the crowd, and backstage, watching the feed on the screen, the place's energy hits us, vivid and alive. "Worth noting, this is streaming on the university's private channel," Jay says, moving under the stage lights glinting off his jacket, "so not just you can bid, but also those who couldn't make it because of capacity or whatever. Only registered students on the platform can join, keeping it secure."
He pauses, letting the buzz settle, then raises the mic with a theatrical flourish. "Now, everyone's got their paddles with a unique number. There's a button at the base: press it, and your bid goes to the system. Our tech table confirms who's bidding until we've got a happy winner."
The camera pans to the table, screens glowing, blue light reflecting on the organizers' faces, keyboards clacking, green lights blinking like a mission in progress. "And, of course," Jay adds, sweeping his arm toward the crowd, "we're counting online bids too. If a virtual bid tops the room, they take it."
He strides to the stage's center, raises the mic, and with a grin that dares the crowd, says, "Alright, ladies and gentlemen… let the show begin!" The ovation hits like thunder, so loud I feel it in my chest, like the Memorial's windows might shatter.
The cheers, sharp whistles, and shouts climb to the rafters, shaking the air. Backstage, watching the giant screen, the lights' glow on the crowd, paddles waving, and the heat of hundreds of bodies wrap around me, and though my nerves are tight, the energy pulls me in. I knew Stanford did fundraisers before, but I'd never been in one, and now I get the scale: this isn't just an event, it's a fucking spectacle.
The Memorial's buzzing like a stadium before a game, lights sweeping the stage, music pulsing through the speakers, and Jay strutting like he owns the place. "Alright, Stanford, time to start the bidding!" he shouts, and the auditorium answers with a roar that shakes the walls.
First up is Maya Thompson, short, light brown skin, curls bouncing as she hops and blows kisses. "Fifty bucks to start!" Jay sings, and paddles shoot up fast.
Bip. Screen: 34 – $100. "One hundred in the house!" Jay points to a tall guy in a gray tee waving his paddle amid friends' whistles.
Bip. 27 – $120 (Virtual). "One-twenty online!" Jay shouts, stoking the chaos.
Bip. 56 – $150. A girl with square glasses raises her paddle firmly, and Maya clutches her chest, faking a swoon that draws laughs. "One-fifty once, twice… sold to the lady in the third row!" Jay declares, as Maya waves like a star, and the auditorium erupts in applause.
"That's how we start!" Jay laughs, eyes gleaming. "Now, Nathan Brooks!"
Nathan strides out, tall, blond, broad shoulders showing under his tee. He stops center-stage, flexing his biceps like a magazine model, sparking screams and whistles. "This guy's straight out of a sports cover. Starting at one hundred!" Jay shouts, and the crowd ignites.
Bip. 41 – $150. A girl in a leather jacket raises her paddle, cheered by friends. Bip. Virtual – $200. Nathan flashes a flirty smile at the camera. Bip. 62 – $250. A guy in a cap waves his paddle amid cheers. Bip. Virtual – $300. Jay raises a hand for calm: "Three hundred online! But looks like the room's not letting him go…"
Bip. 51 – $350. A blonde girl in simple clothes raises her paddle with resolve, and Nathan blows her an exaggerated kiss that makes the crowd roar. "Three-fifty once, twice… sold to the lady in row five!" Jay calls, as Nathan raises his arms like a champ and struts off to cheers.
"Next up, Jessica Lee!" Jay announces, and Jessica glides in like a runway model, tall, pale, red lips shining under the lights. She walks slowly, spins center-stage, and poses boldly, making the crowd howl. "Eighty bucks to start!" Jay shouts.
Bip. 12 – $100. A guy in the front row raises his paddle, red as a beet. Bip. Virtual – $200. Bip. 43 – $300. A girl with glasses raises her paddle, earning a direct wink from Jessica. Bip. Virtual – $450. Jay raises an eyebrow, grinning: "Four-fifty online! Anyone else?"
The room goes quiet for a second before the screen locks green. "Sold for four-fifty online!" Jay shouts, as Jessica blows a kiss and exits to applause.
"Stanford, don't let me down! Here's Aiden Chen!" Jay calls. Aiden steps out with a shy smile, medium height, athletic build, dark hair. He waves, and the crowd cheers. "Seventy-five to start!" Jay shouts.
Bip. 18 – $120. A girl in a blue hoodie waves her paddle. Bip. Virtual – $180. Bip. 07 – $220. A guy with a stubbly beard raises his paddle amid cheers. Bip. Virtual – $300. Bip. 44 – $320. A girl with a black ponytail raises her paddle with energy. "Three-twenty in the house! Sold to the lady on the right aisle!" Jay announces, and Aiden gives a clumsy bow, exiting to applause.
"And to close this round, let's welcome Sofía Álvarez!" Jay shouts. Sofía steps out smiling, short, tan skin, high ponytail. She walks confidently, spins center-stage, and winks, making the crowd erupt. "Ninety to start!" Jay sings.
Bip. 36 – $120. Bip. Virtual – $200. Bip. 05 – $260. A guy in a checkered shirt raises his paddle. Bip. Virtual – $300. Bip. 11 – $310. A guy with short hair raises his paddle hard. "Three-ten in the house! Sold to the gentleman in the center row!" Jay declares, as Sofía blows a kiss and exits, the crowd roaring.
Jay raises his arms, and the Memorial hums with waving paddles, bips ringing, and numbers flashing on the screen, bidders going hard with the same intensity. The energy's a pulse that doesn't stop, and though my nerves are tight, it pulls me in deeper. "And now, let's welcome Christian Anderson!" Jay announces.
Chris walks out, running a hand through his long hair falling over his shoulders, clearly nervous, with a shaky smile that makes the crowd cheer to boost him. "Come on, Stanford, don't leave him hanging!" Jay teases, and paddles shoot up fast. Bip. One hundred. Bip. One-fifty. Bip. Two hundred. Chris ducks his head, then looks up briefly, smiling shyly. A girl in the back, shyer than him, raises her paddle almost secretly, and when the screen confirms her number at 250, the room erupts in cheers. "Sold to the lady in the fifth row!" Jay calls, as Chris gives a quick bow and exits, cheeks burning.
Jay raises an arm for attention: "Stanford, get ready… here's Amber Richards!" The screams start before she appears. Amber strides in with confidence that owns the stage, tall, black hair loose, waving like a celebrity. Her wide smile and playful gestures—spinning, blowing kisses—set the crowd ablaze. "Starting at one-fifty!" Jay shouts, but bips already flood the screen.
The numbers climb fast: 150, 300, 450. Amber eats it up, posing boldly. On the screen, I see Jackson in the stands, raising paddle 99 calmly, like he knows his impact, and Amber shoots him a sly smile. I glance at Joe beside me, stiff, jaw tight, clearly uneasy, and I know jealousy's burning him, his eyes glued to Jackson. The bid hits 550, and the screen flashes 99. "Sold to the gentleman with paddle ninety-nine!" Jay shouts, as the auditorium erupts, and Amber blows an exaggerated kiss, exiting like she owned everyone.
Jay barely gets a word in: "And now… let's welcome Joe Nicolas III!" My heart jumps. Joe steps out with a strong stride, but the tension in his face shows, though he covers it fast with a confident grin, running a hand through his hair. The crowd answers with screams and whistles that echo. "Looks like Joe's here to set this place on fire!" Jay laughs. "One-fifty to start!"
Paddles shoot up instantly. Bip, bip, bip. Numbers climb on the screen and in the crowd. Joe plays it up, spinning slowly, tugging his shirt to show his muscles, tossing a cocky wink to the front rows. I can't help thinking every pose, every smile, is aimed at Jackson, like a silent message. The bids pass 400, hit 500, until a paddle rises firmly in the second row. The screen confirms the number, and the auditorium explodes. "Sold for six hundred to the lady in row two!" Jay announces, as everyone knows it's Julie, and the crowd stays on its feet, clapping. Joe, with a confidence that seems to stick to him, raises a hand in a quick salute and exits, making it clear his performance wasn't just for the crowd.
"Alright, Stanford! This is heating up! Time to welcome our next auctionee… Noah Alexander Whitman!" Jay shouts, and my stomach knots, because his name hits hard. Noah strides out like he owns the stage, arms raised, blond hair gleaming under the lights. The place becomes a roar, girls standing, screaming his name, and my chest tightens, jealousy burning as he soaks it up, though I know I shouldn't feel this. "This guy's stealing the show!" Jay laughs, as paddles fly.
Bip. 17 – $200. Bip. Virtual – $250. Bip. 24 – $300. The numbers climb fast. Noah runs a hand through his hair, messing it more, and arches his brows with a cocky grin, like he's daring more bids, and the screams double. "Four hundred! Four-fifty! Five hundred!" Jay calls, voice rising. "This guy's unstoppable!"
Amid the chaos, a girl in the front rows, straight dark hair, Asian features, raises paddle 12 with crushing confidence, and the screen locks on her number at 650. "Sold to the lady in the center row with paddle twelve, for six-fifty!" Jay shouts, pointing with enthusiasm. Noah looks at her, pride in his eyes, raises his arms like a champ, and struts off, the crowd still chanting his name. Seeing him so thrilled with that girl leaves a bitter taste, jealousy squeezing my chest, though I try to shake it off.
I zone out through the next few, lost in my head, until Jay shouts, "Ladies and gentlemen, here's Ethan Bennett!" and my stomach twists tighter. The guys push me toward the stage, and I walk under the spotlights, light blinding me, legs shaking. "Come on, Stanford, don't leave him hanging!" Jay teases, pointing at me with energy, and the cheers with my name pull a shy smile from me, the crowd's vibe loosening my tension.
Bip. 15 – $200. Bip. 42 – $300. Bip. 57 – $400. Paddles rise, girls laughing, guys bidding, and the auditorium's energy wraps around me, easing the nerves. Then I see Mike in the back, raising paddle 123, his soft smile piercing me, and every time his number flashes on the screen, a warmth I can't ignore hits me, his calm but intense gaze pulling me in, making me forget everything for a second. "Five-fifty to paddle one-twenty-three! Six hundred… six-fifty!" Jay calls, pacing like he's tightening an invisible rope, loving the suspense, while I barely breathe, caught in Mike's eyes.
But just when I think Mike's got it, the screen flashes red: Virtual – $2000. The auditorium goes silent for a beat, stunned, then erupts in a deafening roar. "Sold for two thousand dollars to a virtual bidder!" Jay shouts, raising his arm like he's seen a miracle.
The noise overwhelms me, and I manage a nervous smile, the stage vibrating under my feet. I glance at Mike, his smile fading slightly, as the Memorial's energy engulfs me, leaving me breathless, because I don't know who won me or what's next, but the weight of it all hits hard.
****
The auction was a fucking hit, and I, to my shock, ended up the highest bid of the night. I still couldn't wrap my head around it, because I never imagined someone would drop that much on me. I felt flattered, sure, but also like my mind was spinning: who the hell bought me? A girl? A guy? Someone I know? It couldn't be Mike, that was clear, and honestly, I didn't know enough people at Stanford to guess. The mystery weighed on me, a knot in my gut, and all I could do was wait, nerves eating me alive.
When it ended, the Memorial Auditorium emptied in a sea of laughter, chatter, and nervous excitement. Each auctionee left with their "date" for the night, some laughing, others with awkward gestures, and the buzz filled the air as the stage lights dimmed. I didn't see Noah again after his moment on stage. He was probably eager to hang with his date, that girl with straight hair who won him, and part of me, though I hated admitting it, felt a stab of jealousy picturing him with her, hoping it wouldn't fuck up the lie we'd built for the charade.
Before I left, Morgan Sarkozy came up to me. "Your date's meeting you tonight, nine, at Elizabeth Gamble Garden," he said, then walked off with a quick nod, leaving me with a slight lump in my throat.
The name rang a bell, because I'd passed it walking to campus, but never went in. They say at night the garden's like a magical hideaway, with lit paths and flowers glowing under the lights. The thought of going there made me more nervous, because I had no clue what to expect or who'd be waiting.
Before getting ready, I caught Joe and Jackson near the auditorium exit. They were arguing, gesturing hard, neither looking happy. Joe seemed especially pissed, saying something to Jackson I couldn't hear, fists clenched, voice low but tense. For a second, I wanted to step in, but then Julie appeared, smiling like she didn't notice the heavy air. They both straightened up instantly, like nothing happened, and Julie took Joe's hand, still smiling, oblivious to the tension. Jackson stayed back, jaw tight, clearly annoyed, before turning and leaving. Damn, I was dying to know what was going on between them, because that scene screamed more than their words let on.
Nine o'clock came, and I headed to Elizabeth Gamble Garden, heart pounding faster than I wanted to admit. The place was gorgeous, like something out of a dream: warm lights hung among the trees, lighting gravel paths that crunched under my steps. The scent of flowers floated in the air, mixing with the soft murmur of a distant fountain, and the garden's calm clashed with the chaos inside me. I sat on a wrought-iron bench, trying to relax, watching couples pass hand-in-hand under vine arches, laughing quietly or sharing looks that said everything.
Time dragged, and my date didn't show. I tried distracting myself, watching a couple laugh over a shared ice cream, when a noise behind me made me turn.
"Noah?" I blurted, confused, seeing him standing there, looking at me with that calm, cocky grin, like the world was his.
"Thought you were with your date," I said instantly, a lump in my throat, because seeing him here, in the garden, threw me off.
"Already was," he replied, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Took her for a walk, grabbed a drink, done my part."
"And where's she at?" I asked, unable to hide my surprise, because my head was still spinning.
"Don't know. Probably back at her dorm," he said, with a calm that made me nervous.
"Okay… so what are you doing here?" I shot, because I didn't get it, and his presence made the air heavier.
"Came for my date," he said, with the same ease as talking about the weather, his eyes locking on mine, spiking my pulse.
"But… I thought she was at her dorm," I replied, confused, my mind racing to keep up.
He smiled, tilting his head, the garden's lights glinting in his blue eyes. "Came for my second date," he said, his voice carrying a tone that froze me.
I stared, thrown, heart hammering. He held my gaze, smile steady, then said, "Came for you, Ethan." He said it with a calm that didn't match what just happened. "I was the one who bid on you."
Fuck. Those words hit like a gut punch, all the air leaving me at once. I froze, unable to move, heart slamming in my chest, the garden's lights burning brighter, like the world stopped. The jealousy I'd felt earlier, the sting of seeing him with his date, all mixed with the shock, and I didn't know if I wanted to laugh, yell, or just stay there, trapped in his gaze, as the garden's hum swirled around us.