Chapter 7 - A "Yes" Under The Stars
The hallway used to feel like a war zone.
Lockers were landmines, whispers were grenades. I used to keep my head down, praying to make it to the exit without catching shrapnel.
Now? It's just a hallway.
Ryan from the soccer team passes me and says, "Nice save in math yesterday." I have no idea if he's teasing or not, but I grin and nod like it's the most normal thing in the world. Feels good not to care.
At my locker, a younger kid bumps into me so hard my books nearly spill. "Sorry," he mutters.
"All good," I say, catching his arm before he can bolt. "Watch out for that hinge. It'll bite your fingers off." He laughs, and so do I.
Yeah, there's still that twitch in my shoulders, that scan of the hall for the usual suspects. Old habits die hard. But the funny thing is…I don't feel like prey anymore.
It didn't happen overnight. After the day Josh stood up for me, I realized something: I couldn't wait for someone else to fight my battles. So I started small by talking to other kids who felt the same. Turns out, there were more of us than I thought. Together, we spoke up. We wrote about it in the school paper, told the principal, told the teachers.
And slowly, the rules changed. They stopped getting away with it. They backed off.
By the time high school rolled around, I'd grown into some confidence of my own. Hard not to, when you've got bold kids like Lena and Josh in your corner.
The hallway's just a hallway now, and I walk through it like it belongs to me.
The front doors are open, sunlight spilling in like it's been waiting for me. I step out slow, letting it hit my face.
I'm heading toward somewhere I actually want to be.
By the time I get to the Carters' place, the driveway is already full of cars and the front yard looks like a craft store exploded in it.
Streamers. Lights. Balloons in Lena's favorite shade of pale blue.
Nate Carter is in the middle of the chaos, stringing a ridiculous row of fairy lights along the fence. He spots me, waves, and shouts, "Ash! Perfect timing. Grab those boxes before the wind does!"
I set my bag down and jog over. The boxes smell faintly like frosting, and my stomach growls. Inside are trays of cupcakes that look too perfect to eat. Nate catches me eyeing one.
"Go on, quality control," he says with a wink.
This is what I love about being here. The Carters' house doesn't feel like walls and furniture, it feels like a heartbeat. There's music playing somewhere inside, people laughing in the kitchen, and every corner smells like something just came out of the oven.
I follow Nate out back where Josh is wrestling with a tablecloth that the wind clearly has a personal vendetta against.
"Finally," Josh says when he sees me. "Help me before this thing takes off and strangles me."
We pin the tablecloth down with plates, and Josh nods toward the yard where Lena's hanging lanterns with a couple of friends. She's laughing at something, hair catching the light.
Josh leans in, smirking.
"Tonight's the night, man. You're gonna tell her, and it's gonna be epic."
I laugh like he's joking.
But my heart's already pounding.
Josh corners me in the kitchen about half an hour later, right between the fridge and a stack of birthday plates.
I'm just trying to refill the lemonade pitcher, but apparently that's not allowed without a motivational speech.
"You've been carrying that torch since, what, the fifth grade?" he says, leaning against the counter like he's in a crime drama.
I roll my eyes. "More like seventh."
"Whatever," he says. "Point is, tonight's the night you finally stop setting yourself on fire and actually light something up."
I laugh, but it's the nervous kind that tastes like lemon pulp in the back of my throat.
"She's… she's Lena," I say. "What if I screw it up?"
Josh shrugs. "Then you'll screw it up. But you'll screw it up honestly. Which is way better than saying nothing and wondering for the rest of your life."
He lowers his voice like we're plotting a heist.
"Here's the plan: I'll get her away from the crowd later, you give her the gift, say what you gotta say, then…boom! First kiss."
I stare at him. "Boom?"
"Boom," he repeats, grinning. "Just don't go all Shakespearean on her. And for God's sake, try not to sweat through your shirt, it's bad optics."
I mutter something about him being an idiot, but he just claps me on the shoulder like he knows he's right.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
It's just starting to feel like I've got a grip on my nerves when I see him.
Max Green.
Of course. Strutting up the driveway like he owns the place.
Late, because why wouldn't he be? Makes for a better entrance. Let everyone stop and stare. The golden boy has arrived.
And yeah, I've seen the way he looks at Lena. Hard not to when it's practically tattooed on his forehead. She hasn't noticed, but me? I've known for years. Which is hilarious, considering Max was the guy who called me and Lena "best friends forever" when we were five. The same guy who stood on a cafeteria table at ten and announced we were basically married because we sat together and she shared her cookies and crayons. Guess that didn't age well.
Now the third wheel has turned himself into the main act, and I'm… what? Background music no one listens to.
Max has always been a good friend. Still is, technically. But after I figured out his feelings for Lena, something broke. Talking to him feels like a formality now—because deep down, he's my rival in love.
On paper, Max is perfect for her. Rich. Football captain. Can own a room with one joke. Probably even smells like confidence and overpriced cologne.
And me? I'm the boring nerd who still can't survive a party without looking for an escape route and a book.
So yeah. Against Max Green, I'm totally winning this. If this were a tragic comedy.
He's wearing a crisp button-up, sleeves rolled halfway like he's in a magazine ad, and he's carrying a small, perfectly wrapped present.
The ribbon alone probably costs more than my entire gift.
"Great," I mutter under my breath.
Josh follows my gaze. "Don't let him get in your head," he says, but I can tell he's watching Max just as closely.
Nate greets Max like an old family friend, clapping him on the back, but Max's eyes aren't on Nate, they're locked on Lena.
She's over by the patio, adjusting the music speaker, hair falling over one shoulder.
Max's expression softens, and I feel that ugly, twisty thing in my chest that I'd hoped was long gone.
I keep myself busy carrying trays from the kitchen, arranging drinks, stringing the last of the fairy lights.
But every time I glance toward the crowd, I catch Max still watching her.
I wonder if "boom" is going to end up blowing up in my face.