Sixth grade, halfway through the year. PE class.
I sat alone in the bleachers, my head buried in my hands, tears and snot streaking my face. My chest felt heavy, like the sadness would swallow me whole. Suddenly, I heard the creak of wood next to me.
"What's wrong with you?" a boy's voice asked.
Startled, I looked up. A boy about my age was sitting beside me. He had an athletic build, but my eyes were drawn to the white cast on his left leg.
I sniffled, wiping my face. "Nothing," I mumbled.
"Hmph," he replied, turning his gaze toward the kids playing football on the field.
I studied him cautiously, wondering why he cared. His black hair stuck up in messy tufts, and his tanned skin made his dark eyes stand out even more.
"It's fine if you don't want to tell me," he said after a moment. "But crying is a waste of energy. It just makes you feel worse. Depressed, even." He tilted his head, motioning to his cast. "Like my leg—it hurts like hell, but am I crying?"
I shook my head, caught off guard by his honesty.
"Exactly." He smiled, a wide grin that lit up his face. "Think happy thoughts instead. Me? I think about how, as soon as I'm better, I'm gonna be out there kicking ass on that field."
Before I could reply, the PE teacher blew the whistle, signaling the end of class. The boy stood, favoring his good leg, and turned to leave.
"Cheer up," he said over his shoulder, flashing another grin. "You're too pretty to let whatever's bothering you make you cry."
End of Flashback
I woke up feeling giddy. Two days had passed since Emmett texted me, and now it was finally Saturday.
I stood in front of my closet, which was a chaotic explosion of pink, trying to choose the perfect outfit. After some deliberation, I settled on a pink skirt, a white K-pop graphic tee, and matching pink Converse. My brown hair hung in springy coils down my back, styled in a half-up, half-down look with a pink satin bow.
After one last glance in the mirror, I grabbed my pink backpack and headed downstairs.
Connor, my older brother, sat at the kitchen table shoveling cereal into his mouth like he hadn't eaten in days.
I grabbed a bottle of my favorite tea and sipped, watching him. "I can feel you staring at me," Connor said without looking up.
"I wouldn't have to if you'd stop eating like a caveman," I retorted, smirking.
Connor glared at me, but before he could respond, my dad stepped in. "She's right. Wipe your mouth," he said, ruffling Connor's hair.
My dad, a hardworking nurse practitioner, always carried himself with warmth and patience. His honey-brown eyes, the same shade as Connor's, matched his kind demeanor. Although he tried his best to take care of us after Mom left, I knew he still missed her.
"So," he said, turning to me. "Where's my darling daughter off to all dressed up?"
"I have a school project," I replied. "I'm heading to my partner's house."
His eyes narrowed as he studied me. "Is this partner a boy?"
I felt my cheeks heat up at the mention of Emmett. Before I could answer, Connor chimed in, "It's Emmett Pierce, the star quarterback."
Dad's eyebrows shot up. "Well, well. I want updates, and you're to be home by nine."
I nodded, smiling as I stood on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "I will."
"Bye, T!" Connor called out as I grabbed my car keys and left.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled up to Emmett's house—or rather, his mansion. The modern design was striking, with sleek lines, a massive balcony, and a circular driveway. My nerves kicked in as I stepped out of my car, clutching my bag.
"Deep breath," I whispered to myself, ringing the doorbell.
After a moment, the door swung open. But instead of Emmett, a tall girl with raven-black hair and piercing dark eyes stood there. She looked younger than me but carried herself with confidence.
"You must be a new one," she said flatly.
I blinked, caught off guard. "I'm Emmett's... uh, project partner. He told me to meet him here."
Her eyes scanned me from head to toe, and then she smirked. "I like you. Definitely more polite than the other bitches. Come in."
I stepped inside, overwhelmed by the grandeur. The house screamed wealth, from the polished floors to the modern black-and-gray aesthetic of the kitchen.
"I'm Isla," the girl said as she led me through the hallway. "Emmett's younger but hotter sister. He's not here right now, but you can wait in the living room."
I nodded, feeling slightly disappointed but grateful for her hospitality. I set up my laptop and notebook on the plush black couch, trying to focus.
Time dragged on, and by the time the clock read 5:00 PM, my patience had run out. I began packing my things, ready to leave.
Isla appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. "Sorry about him. He's an asshole, but you seem nice. Maybe you can choose another partner. I love your whole pink obsession, by the way."
I smiled weakly. "Thanks. But I don't think I can change partners—our teacher picked the pairs."
"Ugh," she groaned. "Fine. But I'll yell at him for standing you up."
She walked me to the door and waited until I got in my car. As I drove away, my heart sank. At the red light, I sighed, gripping the steering wheel.
"He stood me up," I whispered, the words bitter in my mouth.