I still couldn't get over it. He held my books like we were in one of those 90s rom-coms. And my favorite author? She thought we made a great couple. Me and him. He and I.
Then there was the way he looked at me, the way his fingers brushed my hair so softly. The memory alone made my cheeks flush as I snuck a glance at Emmett during Literature class.
Something felt different now—like we weren't just friends anymore. But what were we? My mind kept playing out scenarios, each more ridiculous than the last. And then his question echoed again:
"Will you come to my game?"
The thought of football made my stomach churn. I hated violence—always had. Ever since my parents...
The memory came rushing back.
"Malcolm, what the fuck is wrong with you?" my mother shouted.
I winced, standing at the cracked door of my room, too scared to move.
"Miranda, it's not that serious," my father replied, his tone weary. "She wanted her ears pierced, like some of the other girls at daycare. I thought it'd make her happy."
My mother paced, fuming. Then she stopped. Her hand flew, and I turned away before I could see. But I heard the slap, sharp and loud.
"You're a bitch," she spat. "You never listen to me! You just gonna let me hit you? Do something!"
"I won't hit a woman," my father muttered. "Do whatever you want, Miranda. I just wanted our daughter to be happy."
I closed my door, trembling, and flinched when something heavy crashed against the wall.
The shrill sound of the school bell jolted me from the memory. I glanced at the clock, shivering. Would going to the game bring back those feelings?
Gathering my things, I stepped into the hallway, only to run into Milton and Kyle.
"Babe," Milton frowned, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I said, trying to sound normal.
Milton stiffened, but Kyle's grin widened. "Nothing," Milton mumbled under his breath.
Before I could press him, Emmett appeared in front of us, effectively stopping us in our tracks.
"T," Emmett said, his tone casual but his eyes focused on me. "You haven't answered my question."
"What question?" Kyle asked, leaning against a locker.
"I asked her to come to our game on Friday," Emmett explained, his gaze never leaving mine.
Kyle grinned, jumping in before I could respond. "This game's huge, Tasha. If we win, we're going to the playoffs. Plus, Emmett's throwing a party afterward."
"My parents will be out of town," Emmett added, as if that sealed the deal.
"You should come!" Kyle encouraged. "Even Milton's coming, and that took a lot of convincing."
Milton scoffed. "She hates contact sports. She's only been to two of her brother's games, and that's it."
"I know," Emmett said, his voice softer now. "She told me. I just thought... maybe you'd come as my good luck charm."
My breath hitched. His good luck charm?
"Okay," I said hesitantly, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "I don't know how much luck I'll bring, though."
"She thinks she's bad luck," Milton teased.
"I'm just saying," I mumbled, looking anywhere but at Emmett.
"I don't believe you," Emmett said with a small smile.
Before I could reply, the sound of heels clicking against the floor caught our attention. A hand rested on Emmett's shoulder, and I froze.
"Giana," Milton muttered.
"Let's go to lunch," Giana said, her tone firm as she glared at me.
"I'll meet you there," Emmett replied, still looking at me.
Giana's expression darkened as she turned her attention to me. "Rasha, isn't it?"
"It's Tasha," Emmett corrected sharply.
Grabbing Giana by the arm, he led her down the hallway, speaking in hushed tones. Even from a distance, the tension was obvious—arched eyebrows, exaggerated hand movements. Finally, Giana stomped away, throwing a venomous glare in my direction.
My heart raced. Did he just end things with her? For me? Maybe I was reading too much into it, but maybe... just maybe, this wasn't all in my head.
Later, Milton and I fell into our usual routine. He grabbed Chick-fil-A, I got us shakes, and we met back at my house to eat in my room.
Once we'd finished, Milton seemed much happier, leaning back on my bed with a satisfied grin.
"So, all you needed was food to stop acting so grumpy?" I teased.
He wrinkled his nose, sticking his tongue out. "It wasn't about the food."
"Then what was it?"
Milton hesitated, glancing at the door before getting up to close it. He turned to me, his expression conflicted.
"Okay, okay," he blurted. "I had sex."
My eyes widened. "What?! With who?"
"Who do you think? Kyle, of course," Milton said, his grin so big he looked like a little kid.
I squealed, jumping up to hug him. But as soon as I wrapped my arms around him, he winced, pulling back.
"Are you sore?" I asked, biting back a laugh.
"Yes, and it's your fault for hugging so hard!" he groaned, flopping onto the bed dramatically.
I couldn't hold it in anymore and burst out laughing. After I calmed down, I leaned forward, biting my lip.
"So... how was it?" I whispered.
Milton's face softened, a dreamy look crossing his features. "It was... uncomfortable at first, but then it felt amazing. I could show you the marks on Kyle's back as proof. Plus, let's just say he's well-endowed."
"Milton!" I exclaimed, covering my face as I turned bright red.
We both dissolved into laughter, the awkwardness melting away.
"You really like him," I said softly, playing with a napkin.
"Yeah," Milton admitted, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "At first, he annoyed the hell out of me. But that day I got sick? He texted me, showed up at my house, and brought me soup."
My heart melted. "Aww," I cooed.
Milton shook his head, smirking. "Enough about me. What's going on with you and Emmett? Why does he want you at the game so bad? And don't try to tell me it's just because he's nice."
I laughed awkwardly, avoiding his gaze. "The real question is... what should I wear to the game?"