CHAPTER TEN #4
I've had seventeen years of practice reading those stupid, stupid silver eyes. He feels trapped. And he hates it.
And I hate them for it.
For making him the rope in their little tug-of-war. Tyler, with his smug, punch-me-now face. Cici, with her Barbie smile sharpened into a knife. Both circling Zach like vultures waiting for scraps.
My fingers curl so tight into my palms I'm pretty sure I've drawn blood. Because honestly? I'd love to swing at both of them. Just once. But no—I'm not violent. (Yet.) And I refuse to crawl into the mud with them. Zach doesn't need me adding fuel to this dumpster fire.
I swear Tyler and Cici are basically the same person. A perfect pair. A match made in heaven. No, that isn't right. More like a match made in hellfire and cheap cologne.
Conceited, cruel, addicted to their own reflections. Honestly, they should just date already and save us all the drama. Except they'd probably implode in a week because of two oversized egos smashing together.
Still. Ugh. I hate it, but they're not totally wrong. Beating Easton is a huge deal. And as captain, Zach probably should be out there celebrating with his team.
I sneak a look at him. His expression has gone flat. It's the mask he puts on right before he caves. And I know what that means. He's already talking himself into it. Already drifting their way.
And just like that, I feel my shoulders sag. Heavy. Like the last balloon keeping me afloat just popped and I'm sinking, sinking, sinking.
Cici slinks in closer, perfume wrapping around him like smoke. Her voice drops into that sugar-sweet drawl that makes my teeth grind.
"Come on, Zach," she purrs. Her hand spreads over his chest, fingers drifting slow like she's staking her claim. Nails skim his collar. Lips hover by his ear—close enough to look intimate, loud enough for the whole crowd to hear.
"You know I'll make your night feel sooo good if you come with us."
The guys behind him start nudging each other, barely holding back snickers. One of them mutters, "That's our captain," while another fist-bumps the air, like Zach's already scored.
Their faces light up with that stupid mix of envy and pride, watching the hottest girl in school drape herself all over him.
She presses closer, her breath skating over his ear as her hand trails down his stomach, nails catching the hem of his shirt. "Remember the hot tub last time?" she practically moans, letting the memory hang in the air.
"Didn't think you had such a feral side in you...and the way you kissed me," She lets out a low hum, the kind that earns her a few wolf whistles from the boys. "Too bad we got interrupted before we could, you know, finish." she giggles.
A couple of the boys howl, eating it up.
Her lips hover at his jawline now, playful and daring. "Come tonight, Zach. We'll finish what we started."
Her grin widens, eyes flicking to the boys as if they're part of the deal. "And this time? I'll make it even better."
Her words slam into me like a sucker punch, sharp and brutal, and I swear my chest caves in at the sound of it.
Zach suddenly coughs, enough that a couple of the guys slap his back and laugh. They don't even try to hide their grins.
One of them elbows another, muttering something about the captain finally getting some with the hottest girl in school. More snickers follow, like this is all some big inside joke.
My stomach twists.
I don't want to believe it. I refuse to believe it!
Before summer break, I heard the rumors—Zach and Cici, sneaking around. I asked him once, pretending I was just curious, keeping it light so he wouldn't suspect how much I cared.
He denied it, swore nothing happened.
I remember walking away so lightheaded, so stupidly happy, like the denial itself was a gift I could hold onto.
My eyes squeeze shut.
The images her words paint flash too vividly in my head—her hands on him, her lips where mine will never be. My hand trembles on my side, but I force my expression into something calm, unbothered. I can't let them see me break.
Not here. Not in front of them.
Still, it feels like someone dumps a bucket of ice straight into my chest, scraping against my heart as it freezes over. I bite down on my lip so hard I taste copper.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I blink them away. Crying in front of them isn't an option.
When I finally dare to look at him, his face is red, his jaw clenched. That's all it takes. The confirmation I never wanted.
Damn it!
I really didn't want to believe it. But I should've known better. He's my best friend—and this is Zach Westbrook we're talking about.
I've heard the rumors. Everyone has.
At Everglades High, news about Zach spreads faster than wildfire. His reputation isn't just big—it's filthy.
Every guy in the locker room swears he's the one who doesn't even have to try. He shows up at a party, and half the girls are already wet, praying he'll pull them into a dark corner.
Guys joke that Zach can get a girl off better than her boyfriend ever could—quicker, harder, and without even breaking a sweat.
And the girls? They don't deny it. They brag.
They say his mouth will drag anyone straight to heaven. The way he touches—like he's got a sixth sense for what makes a girl come undone. Others swear once they've had Zach, everything else feels like a downgrade.
Everyone knows the rules, though—Zach doesn't do repeats. He doesn't do feelings. One night, maybe two, and then he's gone. Doesn't matter—there's always a line waiting.
And every time I hear about one of them, it stings.
Why them? Why not me?
I could give him what they give him. Sure, I don't have the experience they do, but I'd learn. For him, I'd learn.
I tell myself it's fine though. That it doesn't matter because none of them matter. They're just flings to him, throwaways. He never sticks around long enough for it to mean anything.
I've always told myself that's why it doesn't hurt so bad.
Because one day, he'll get tired and stop playing games. One day, he'll look at me and finally see more than just the best friend who's always there, always making herself available, always waiting—for him.
That's the fantasy I've been dumb enough to cling to for years.
But this—Cici—hurts different.
Because she isn't just another girl.
She's everything I'm not. Gorgeous. Hot. Popular. Cheer captain. The girl everyone wanted. The girl who never missed a chance to make me feel small, ugly, invisible.
And knowing Zach—my Zach—hooked up with her?
That he could let himself fall into her arms, knowing damn well how she treats me, how she talks down to me, how she laughs at me in front of everyone—how she made it her mission to make my life miserable since freshman year.
That gutted me.
And the worst part? He looked me in the eye and lied.
My feet shift before I can stop them, dragging me back a step. It's not much, but it feels like miles. I always want to be close to him, like I can't breathe right if I'm not.
But right now?
Being this close makes me want to throw up. The air between us feels toxic, every inhale clawing down my throat until I'm choking on it.
And Cici knows it. Her manicured claws don't just cling to his arm—they dig in, a little harder, a little closer, her lips curling into this smug little twist that screams, Yeah, I win.
My chest tightens. I want to leave.
To run.
To get as far away from here, from them, from him, as my legs will carry me. I'm seconds from blurting some lame excuse—bathroom, headache, anything—when Zach finally looks at me.
Something flickers in his eyes, like he can see me being uncomfortable, and then, just like that, he pulls away from Cici.
The shift is instant. He steps closer to me, his arm slinging casually over my shoulders, pressing me into his side like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Normally, his touch would light me up. Butterflies in my stomach, warmth flooding every inch of me, my heart cartwheeling just from being pulled under his arm.
But right now? There's nothing.
No butterflies. No warmth. Just this dull, aching heaviness in my chest. His arm feels like a weight instead of wings, pressing down instead of lifting me.
"Sorry, guys," he says, flashing that grin that gets him away with everything. "We've gotta bounce. Rain check on the victory party, yeah?"
He waves them off with his free hand, walking backwards like a showman, dragging me along with him so smoothly no one even thinks to argue.
That's Zach—always in control, always smiling, the golden boy who can charm his way out of anything.
Behind us, I hear her jaw practically hit the floor, the sharp intake of her offended gasp. When I risk a glance back, she's standing there with her arms crossed, huffing like Zach just ripped her crown off her head in front of the whole school.
Part of me should feel victorious, like maybe I got the last word without even opening my mouth.
But the truth? I don't feel like I won anything at all.
CHAPTER THREE
CAROLINE
The drive home is... quiet. Too quiet.
And me? I'm never quiet.
Not in our car.
Normally, this is when I'd have Taylor Swift blasting on shuffle, screaming along like I'm auditioning for American Idol: Tone-Deaf Edition.
Zach would join in too, because duh—he's contractually obligated as my best friend.
Not because he's a Swiftie (though, let's be real, I converted him years ago).
Flashback: we got our licenses two years ago, our parents threw us a joint Toyota RAV4 for our 16th birthday, and the deal was we had to share it.
Translation: endless drives together. And because I loved Tay Tay and Zach loved me—ugh, not in the way I want, but still—he let me hijack the stereo every single time.
He used to groan, "Sugarplum, this is too girly for my taste."
Three weeks later? He was humming All Too Well.
Two months later? Belting Love Story like his life depended on it.
Point is, car rides with us are usually chaos. Loud. Off-key. Fun.