The rest of the week dragged by like molasses, but for Mia, it felt as though the clock had forgotten how to tick altogether. Despite her efforts to fade into the background, the "Dylan and Mia" rumor mill refused to die down. It was relentless—everywhere she turned, hushed voices and curious glances followed her. Claire, of course, thrived in the attention, basking in the reflected glow of her best friend's unexpected fame.
"Mia, you have no idea how many people are talking about you," Claire said during lunch on Thursday, practically vibrating with excitement. "I heard even the juniors are obsessed with figuring out whether or not you're secretly dating Dylan."
"I'm not secretly dating Dylan," Mia replied, stabbing at her salad with unnecessary aggression.
"But that's what makes it so juicy!" Claire teased, earning an exasperated eye roll from Mia.
By the time Friday arrived, Mia thought she had mastered the art of pretending the rumors didn't bother her. But that façade crumbled the moment she walked into the gym after school and saw Dylan waiting for her.
He was standing near the bleachers, spinning a basketball lazily on his finger. As soon as he spotted her, he stopped and gave her one of his trademark grins—charming, effortless, and utterly maddening.
"You came," he said, his voice laced with amusement.
"I almost didn't," Mia shot back, crossing her arms. "What do you want, Dylan?"
He dribbled the ball once before tucking it under his arm. "Relax, Anderson. I just thought we could...talk."
"Talk?" she echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Because the last time we 'talked,' half the school decided we're a couple."
Dylan winced slightly, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. "Yeah, about that. I might've...added fuel to the fire."
Mia's jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me?"
"Okay, hear me out!" Dylan raised his hands defensively. "Someone asked me about you, and I didn't exactly deny anything."
"You didn't deny it?" Mia's voice rose in disbelief. "Why would you do that?"
Dylan shrugged, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. "I don't know. I guess I liked the idea of people thinking I was hanging out with someone who's not fake for a change."
Mia blinked, momentarily thrown off by his honesty. "Not fake? What are you talking about?"
He sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bleachers and gesturing for her to do the same. Reluctantly, she joined him, though she kept a safe distance between them.
"Look, Anderson, I know I come off as this guy who has it all figured out," Dylan began, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "But honestly? Most of the people in my life only care about me because of basketball or my reputation or whatever. They don't actually know me. Not the real me."
Mia frowned, unsure of what to say. She had never thought about Dylan in those terms before. To her, he had always been the golden boy, the star athlete with a perfect smile and an even more perfect life. But now, sitting here with him, she realized there was a depth to him she hadn't expected.
"So...what does this have to do with me?" she asked cautiously.
Dylan gave her a small, almost shy smile. "Because you're different. At the party, you didn't treat me like some celebrity. You didn't try to impress me or get something out of me. You just...listened. And I guess I wanted to hold onto that for a little while longer."
Mia's cheeks flushed. She wasn't used to being the center of anyone's attention, let alone someone like Dylan Westwood.
"That's...nice, I guess," she said awkwardly, fiddling with the strap of her backpack. "But you should know, I'm not exactly cut out for this whole 'center of attention' thing."
Dylan chuckled. "Yeah, I kind of figured that out. But don't worry, I'll fix it."
"Fix it? How?"
He stood up, spinning the basketball on his finger again. "Leave that to me. By Monday, everyone will have forgotten all about us."
Before Mia could ask what he meant, he tossed her the basketball. She barely managed to catch it, stumbling back slightly from the weight.
"Think fast, Anderson!" Dylan called as he jogged toward the other end of the court.
Mia watched as he grabbed another ball and started shooting hoops, his movements fluid and confident. She couldn't help but roll her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself.
Dylan Westwood was a mystery she wasn't sure she wanted to solve.
The weekend came and went without incident, though Mia found herself replaying her conversation with Dylan more times than she cared to admit. True to his word, he didn't text or call her, and by Monday morning, she was beginning to wonder if he had already moved on from whatever strange connection they had formed.
But when she arrived at school, she was greeted by a sight that left her completely dumbfounded.
Dylan Westwood, the school's untouchable basketball star, was standing in the middle of the hallway...wearing a bright pink tutu.
"What the—" Mia's words caught in her throat as she watched him strike an exaggerated ballet pose, much to the delight of the surrounding students.
"Good morning, Anderson!" Dylan called out cheerfully, spotting her in the crowd.
Mia covered her face with her hands, mortified. "What are you doing?"
"Taking the spotlight off you," he replied with a grin. "Figured it was the least I could do."
The hallway erupted into laughter as Dylan performed a dramatic pirouette, his movements surprisingly graceful for someone his size.
Mia couldn't help but laugh along with everyone else, though her cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude.
Dylan might have been a walking enigma, but one thing was certain—life with him around was never boring.