CHAPTER TEN #11
Iwake up the next day with the brightest smile plastered on my face. Like, blinding. Honestly, if anyone saw me right now, they'd think I won the lottery, got cast in a Netflix show, and had Harry Styles propose to me—all before breakfast.
Prom day.
My body practically hums with excitement. I can't even erase what happened last night—what was supposed to happen—out of my head. The almost-kiss. The way Zach looked at me like I wasn't just best friend Caroline but... something else. Something more.
And I'm sorry, but guys don't look like they're about to kiss you if all they see is friendship. Right? Right?
I roll around in my bed, hugging my pillow and kicking my feet like an absolute maniac. Today feels different. Like everything is about to change. I can feel it in my bones, in my heartbeat, in every cell of my lovesick body.
I crank Taylor Swift on my speaker—Enchanted, duh—and hum along while scribbling in my diary. Okay, fine, not scribbling. More like squealing and giggling every five seconds like a deranged Disney sidekick.
But can you blame me?
My life is finally aligning exactly how I pictured it in my delusional fantasies.
If last night was real—and I know it was—then Zach and I are finally about to level up. Best friends to boyfriend-girlfriend. Before graduation. Which is literally less than a month away. Then? Ridgewater U. Together. Our shared dream. The rest of our lives starting this fall.
And it's not just me living in dreamland. Zach's already ending senior year on the highest note imaginable. Two months ago, he led Everglades High to the USA Hockey High School National Championship, skating off with the trophy and another banner for the school.
Everyone's still hyped about it—posters, announcements, the whole Natty Champs glory tour. He was the star, the captain, the guy who delivered what no one else could. Basically, he's already peaked—and I'm right here, part of the story.
See? Everything's falling perfectly into place.
I hop into the shower, singing at the top of my lungs because yes, I am That Girl today. After, I fix my hair, fluff it a little, swipe on some gloss, and then... my eyes catch in the mirror.
My fingers immediately reach for the heart necklace Zach gave me.
The locket feels warm against my skin, like it's been absorbing my heartbeat all night. I touch it gently, tracing its outline, and bam—there go my insides again, melting into sugary goo.
He got this for me. Thought of me. Asked me to prom properly.
Zach Westbrook, hockey superstar, my best friend, my almost-first-kiss last night, my soon-to-be boyfriend (probably, hopefully, please God).
I sigh, smiling at my reflection like the fool I am. "Tonight's the night," I whisper to myself.
In just a few hours, Mom's going to drag me into full-on prom prep mode—hair, makeup, nails, the whole sparkly shebang. Which means this is literally the only window of time I have to do something important.
Give Zach his boutonniere.
Yeah, yeah, I know. I was supposed to hand it to him last night. But excuse me for being a little preoccupied with... you know... almost kissing my best friend in the middle of a very cliché rom-com setup.
Boutonnieres weren't exactly on my mind when his face was two inches from mine.
So now, here I am, scarfing down brunch like I'm in some eating contest, then yanking open the fridge to grab the tiny white box I shoved in there yesterday. Inside: one perfectly fresh boutonniere, carefully picked out just for Zach.
I hurry back upstairs, the box clutched to my chest like it's a crown jewel, and head straight for my balcony. My pulse is already racing, and I haven't even stepped onto the bridge yet.
The bridge. Our stupid little connecting bridge. I've crossed it a million times since we were kids, but right now it feels like a tightrope strung over a canyon with no net. Every step makes my heart beat faster, louder, like it wants Zach to hear me coming before I even get there.
What am I supposed to say to him?
"Hey, here's a flower to stab on your chest, oh and by the way, did you also feel like the universe tilted last night when our faces almost collided, or was that just me being delusional again?"
Ugh.
I shake my head, cheeks burning just at the thought. Every time I replay that almost-kiss—and believe me, it's been on repeat every five seconds since it happened—I feel like my whole face turns tomato red.
The worst part? I'm not even exaggerating.
But whatever. Boutonniere first, sanity later.
I tighten my grip on the box, straighten my shoulders, and keep walking across the bridge toward his room. Because the truth? I need to see him. I need to know I didn't just imagine all of it.
Yeah, yeah, I know I sound like a broken record. Deal with it.
So I keep walking.
His balcony door is ajar, which is weird, but okay. At least I don't have to knock. And I can already hear his voice.
Oh good, he's awake.
Weekends after hockey season ended meant one thing: Zach turned into a hibernating bear. Sleeping until late afternoon, wandering the house shirtless, raiding the fridge. Lazy Saturdays were his thing. So, him being up at this time? Rare.
I step closer, the boutonniere box pressed tight against my chest like armor. Through the crack in the doorway, I catch a glimpse of him.
Headphones on, controller in hand, legs stretched out as he sits on his bed, eyes glued to the TV. The familiar glow of his PS5 screen reflects off his face. Of course. Elden Ring.
He's laughing at something. Talking trash into his mic. Which means—yep—it's Jacob on the other end. They've been obsessed with that stupid game for weeks.
I'm about to step inside, maybe scare him a little—just to see him jump and yank off his headphones like a dork—when I freeze.
Because then I hear it.
The words.
The ones that will split me wide open and leave me bleeding.
"Dude, trust me, you don't want to tap someone like Caroline."
My whole body goes rigid.
"She's way too out of your league. I mean, come on... she's not worth your time."
The room tilts. The box nearly slips out of my hand.
He pauses, listening to whatever Jacob says, then chuckles. Chuckles. Like this is all just some casual locker room banter.
"No, man, I don't swing that way. She's just my friend.
Nothing more in there. I'm only going to prom with her because it's... expected, you know?
Our parents want the whole 'last high school dance together' thing.
And, come on, she didn't really have anyone else asking.
Well—besides you, I guess. But that was already too late. "
He laughs again, like it's the funniest damn thing.
My ears ring. My chest caves.
And then—he goes in for the kill.
"I don't see her that way. I never will. She's not... girlfriend material. You know me. You know the girls I go for. I don't date fat chicks."
Silence.
The kind that crushes.
The kind where you can literally hear your own heart splitting, splintering into a thousand shards.
I stumble back a step, pressing a fist to my mouth to keep from making a sound. Because if I let it out, if I scream, sob, anything, he'll hear me.
My world—our world, the one we built since we were kids—crashes down all at once.
This isn't Zach. Not my Zach. My Zach doesn't talk like this. My Zach doesn't laugh at me behind my back.
Did I... step into some alternate universe? Is this another Zach Westbrook, some cruel twin who stole his voice and face?
Because my best friend—the boy I've loved for almost eighteen years—he wouldn't say that. He wouldn't rip me apart like this, with words so sharp they'll scar me forever.
Right?
...Right?
I don't move.
I can't move.
My feet are glued to the wooden planks of the bridge, my body frozen like it's been turned to stone. My lungs forget how to work, my throat closes up. Every second that ticks by, his words replay louder, sharper, carving deeper until I swear I can feel them etching into my bones.
I don't date fat chicks.
God.
It's Zach. Not some random jerk in the hallway. Not Cici with her poisoned tongue. Not Tyler with his smug smirk.
Zach. My Zach.
The same Zach who's been my protector, my defender, my everything. The same boy who brushed off my insecurities, told me I was perfect just the way I was, made me believe for one stupid second that maybe, just maybe, he meant it.
And now? He's laughing with Jacob about how he'd never, ever see me as anything more than his fat, pathetic best friend.
It's like he reached into my chest, ripped my heart out with those hands I used to think were safe, and shredded it into confetti.
I stand there for another minute—maybe more, I don't know. Time's gone slippery, meaningless. My ears ring, my vision blurs, and my whole body feels like it's caving in on itself.
But then I force myself to move. Because if he sees me like this—eyes swollen, lips trembling, my whole soul hanging out raw—then it'll destroy me even more.
So I run.
As quietly, as quickly as I can, I tear myself away from his door and bolt across the bridge. My vision is a watery mess, my breaths ragged, but I don't stop until I'm back inside my room.
I slam the balcony door shut, lock it, then lock the bedroom door too. Just in case. Just in case he decides to follow, to come strolling in with his easy grin, like he didn't just gut me alive.
The boutonniere is still clutched in my fist. That stupid little flower I'd been so excited to give him. I don't even think—I just hurl it somewhere across the room. It hits the wall with a soft thud and falls, forgotten. Just like me.
Music. I need music. Something loud enough to drown out the echo of his voice. I crank the volume until Taylor Swift is screaming through my speakers, vibrating through my ribcage. But even that doesn't cover it. His words are louder than anything.
I crawl onto my bed, curl into the smallest ball I can make, and clutch myself like maybe I can hold the broken pieces together.