“It was…” I search for the right words, brushing past a group of freshmen clustered like confused ducklings by the trophy case. “Weird at first. I thought Madame Loretto forgot to add my name to the roaster. I panicked for a good thirty minutes.”
Tyler chuckles under his breath. “Classic Penny drama.”
I elbow him lightly in the ribs, pretending to glare. “Rude.”
He laughs again, and the sound makes my stomach flip in a way that feels so stupidly teenage I almost want to roll my own eyes.
“But,” I continue, pashing open the door to the science wing, “then I got called up. And… It just clicked. I didn’t miss a beat. I hit everything. Even the stupid quadruple pirouette I always mess up during practice.”
Tyler’s grin widens. “That’s amazing, babe.”
I flush bttle, ducking my head. “Yeah. It felt amazing. Like… like maybe I actually belong there.”
He tightens his arm briefly around me, like he’s proud, like he always believed I could do it even when I wasn’t so sure myself.
I want to stay in this moment in this bubble where everything is simple and good.
But the words tie up anyway – the edge of what happened after, the sharp, bitter twist of the night that undid all the pride I fought so hard to build
I open my mouth and then snap it closed.
No.
Not now.
Not today.
Tyler doesn’t notice the hesitation. Or maybe he does and chooses not to push. Either way, he just bumps his hip against mine playfully as we reach our classroom
“We should celebrate,” he says. “Gel pizza or something after school”
The offer catches me off guard, but in a good way.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling up at him. “I’d like that.”
We slip into our usual seats in the back just as the bell rings.
Tyler ster stretches out lazily, arms crossed behind his head, looking about as concerned about schoolwork as a housecat would be about paying
I pull out my notebook, tapping my pen against the margin.
Beside me, Tyler leans over and bumps his knee against mine under the desk.
“You’re amazing, you know that?” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear over the chatter of the classroom
And even though part of me the small, sore part – remembers that he forgot about me when it mattered most, another, louder part of me melts under the simple kindness of it.
Because today, he’s here.
Today, he’s trying.
The bell rings and the whole classroom jolts meske like someone electrocuted a nest of squirrels. Papers rustle, chairs scrape back, and everyone makes a break for the door like it’s the starting line of the apocalypse.
Tyler slings his backpack over one shoulder and modges me lightly with his elboss,
“You need to grab anything before we go?
I shake my head, swinging my men bag onto my shoulder. ‘Gotta run to the admin office, though. I missed a couple classes last week because of rehearsals I need to hand in my excuse papers before they send a search party.”
He grins, easy and warm. “You’re so responsible.”
I roll my eyes at him but secretly ly file the compliment away for later. It’s not every day you get praised for being mildly organized
“I’ll be back in a few,” I say, squeezing his hand quickly before heading down the hallway.
The admin office is tucked into a depressing little corner of the main building – all beige walls, buzzing fluorescent lights, and a sad ficus that looks like it gave up sometime around 2006. I drop off the papers, sign the ancient clipboard the secretary slides across the counter like a relic from another era, and head back toward the courtyard.
It doesn’t take long. Five minutes, tops
But when I get back, Tyler isn’t alone anymore.
He’s standing with Jonathan Jo, the same guy who’d been weirdly nice to me at that team event a few weeks ago and another guy I don’t know, probably another teammate. Zoe’s there too, perched against the stone railing like she’s posing for a low-effort Instagram story, laughing at something lo says.
For a second, I hesitate.
It’s not like they’re doing anything wrong- they’re just talking, laughing. But still, there’s something about it that twists uncomfortably under my ribs. Something small. Sharp. Easy to ignore if you try hard enough.
I square my shoulders and walk over me first. His face breaks into a wide grin and he steps toward me without hesitation, reaching for my hand.
Tyler spots me f same moment and flashes me a grin all dimples and boyish charm like he’s auditioning for a toothpaste commercial.
To catches my hes my eye at the sa
“Hey, Penny,” he says, voice low and easy.
I smile hack because I’m not a monster. “Hey, lo.”
I glance at Zoe, polite “Hey, Zoe
She gives me a half-smile-the kind of smile you give someone right before you tell them there’s spinach in their teeth.
But whatever. I’m not here for her approval.
Tyler squeezes my hand and leans down a little. “Good news,” he says, all excited energy. “Coach opened up the field for a bit. We’re gonna run dailis – nothing serious. You should comy watch for an hour, and then we’ll all go grub pizza.”
Before I can answer, Zoe pipes up, figging her hair over one shoulder. “Sounds good.”
Tyler flashes her a quick grin-friendly, natural but then Imaheshlately turn back to me, eyes soft
“It’ll be fun. COIL
And somehow, despite the tiny coll of weirdness tightening in my stomach, I find myself nodding-
“Sure,” I say, “Sounds Jun. “
He beams, squeezing my hand again, and just like that, everything inside me softens a little,
Tyler leads me toward the back of the school, through the maze of crisscrossing paths that snake between the buildings. I trall a step behind him, our hands linked, trying not to overthink it.
The athletic department building is massier – newer than the rest of the campus, all glass walls and sleek metal beams that glitter under the weak fall sunlight. Beyond it, the field sprawls out like a green ocean-wide, open, vibrant.
The grass looks freshly cut, bright and almost painfully green. There’s a track circling the field – faded red lines peeling a little at the edge and a handful of battered soccer goals stacked like forgotten furniture off to one side. The faint smell of fresh grass, sweat, and something vaguely rubbery hangs in the air.
The bleachers stretch along one side, tall and silver and slightly blinding where the sun catches on the metal.
I climb up a few cows, settling halfway up where I can see everything without feeling like a creepy stalker.
The guys dump their bags near the edge of the track and jog onto the field, kicking at each other’s heels and shoving like oversized puppies.
Zoe trails after them for a few steps before veering off and collapsing dramatically onto the bottom row of the bleachers, already scrolling through her phone like her life depends on it.
For a few minutes, it’s just them lo, Tyler, and the others goofing around, trying to out-slide-tackle each other, missing the ball half the time, laughing like the point isn’t to win but just to be louder than the rest.
I pull my hoodie tighter around me and let myself just watch.
Tyler looks… happy.
Not the kind of happy you put on
The real kind. for someone else.
The effortless kind.
He’s got this way about him-like he’s a walking magnet for good energy. Like he’s hardwired to make everyone around him feel lighter, brighter, important
And that’s the thing, isn’t it?
He makes everyone feel special.
Not just me.
I watch him laugh as jo slaps the ball out of his hands, watch him jog back to his spot, tossing a grin over his shoulder at Zoe, who’s still pretending not to pay attention but definitely is
It’s not jealousy, exactly, that flickers in my chest.
It’s something thinner. Sadder
Not that I’m mad he’s friendly. Tyler’s always been good at that making people feel sen, making the world feel a little less sharp-sized.
It’s just….
When someone shines that Night on everyone, it stops feeling like it’s meant just
I shift a little on the bench, wrapping my arms around my knees, and force myself to look away, letting my eyes wander across the field instead.
A few minutes later, Rebecca and a couple of other girls -I recognize them vaguely from the soccer team fan club-show up, chattering and laughing too loudly, and slide onto the row of bleachers closer to the Belt.
Zoe perks up immediately, abandoning her phone and leaning in to whisper something that makes them all giggle like they’re sharing state
I tilt my head back and close my eyes for a second, letting the weak sunlight wash over my
Almost two hours.
Two full hours of sitting on a cold metal bench while the guys an endless drills, tackled each other like hyperactive puppies, and showed off like someone was handing out gold medals for Most Likely to Palla Mesele,
And now, because apparently the universe thinks i haven’t suffered enough, we’ve entered the second phase of the afternoon: The Girls Are Totally Helpless With a Soccer Ball, Please Track D, Big Strong Men.
Tyler had jogged over a little while ago, sweaty and breathless, halt sticking up in every direction. He tried to convince me to come play with them, tossing me that crooked smile that usually makes my brain short-circuit in a good way.
But today?
Today my body felt like it was held together with duct tape and had decisions.
“Nope,” I told him, stretching my legs out in front of me and grimacing. “I couldn’t muster the strength to kick a ball if my life depended on it.”
He laughed, leaned down, pressed a quick, sweaty kiss to my temple, and said, “Your loss, Vale, before jogging over to where Rebecca and Zoe were draped casually across the sidelines like extras in a bad teen movie,
He called to them, gestured toward the field, and like obedient golden retrievers, they bounded over.
Now they’re “playing and by playing. I mean making an absolute spectacle of pretending they don’t know which part of their foot to use to kick a ball.
Rebecca lets out this fake, breathy laugh every time she misses which is every time and Zoe keeps clapping her hands like a toddler trying to summon magic. r’s so cliché I almost admire the commitment.
Like, genuinely. It’s Oscar-worthy.
You’d think the guys would be immune to it by now, but no- they’re eating it up, falling over themselves to “help” and “show” and “teach,”
Maybe it’s not about being fonled
Maybe they just like feeling important
I pull my hoodie tighter around me and rest my chin on my knees, watching Tyler jog over to Rebecca to demonstrate-hand on her back, guiding her posture.
And yeah, that little twist in my stomach?
Definitely not jealousy.
Not even a little.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.