CHAPTER FOUR
Kate
Haley is sprawled across my bed, her laptop balanced on her stomach, with Bon and Emily’s faces flickering on the screen.
It’s time for our usual FaceTime call. Bon only lives a few houses away, but Emily is halfway across the world, and keeping her in the loop has become something of an unspoken rule.
My cat, Siopao, is curled on the rug beside my bed.
I named him Siopao because I picked him up as a stray kitten who always stole my food, and I liked to joke that I saved him from becoming actual siopao meat, which, if you grew up here, you know is the punchline of many questionable street food rumors.
“Sorry, I’m late,” I say, kicking off my shoes. I rush to Siopao to scratch his ears. His white fur falls on my carpet as I scratch.
Haley waves a dismissive hand. “We forgive you. But tell us…” She leans in like she’s about to hear the town’s juiciest secret. “How was your first meeting with the celebrity of the day?”
I blink. “How do you already know that?”
Bon snorts. “Kate, this is the same town that speculated about me and Ryan before we even did—and we weren’t even here.”
I roll my eyes, but she’s not wrong. Back when Bon and Ryan were off on a medical mission in Batanes, Magnolia Heights was already taking bets on whether they’d hit it off.
I didn’t participate, mostly because it felt weird to gamble on other people’s love lives.
Turns out, the townies had better instincts than me. Bon and Ryan are now married.
With a sigh, I plop down on my bed and launch into my recap of Michael Lee (aka The Worst Person I’ve Met Today, Maybe Ever). I tell them about his smug attitude. His unwarranted arrogance. His indoor sunglasses.
By the time I finish, Emily tilts her head, unimpressed. “So… you didn’t do anything?”
I pause.
It’s funny how they already expect me to do nothing. That’s just the default assumption, isn’t it? Kate doesn’t pick fights. Kate lets things go.
And maybe that’s why I don’t tell them. Not about the snarky comeback. Not about the brief flicker of satisfaction when I actually pushed back. Not about the way his smirk faltered, just for a second.
Instead, I sigh. “Yep.”
Haley frowns. “If he bothers you, Kate, you tell me, I’ll march over there, and—”
“It’s fine, Hale.” I chuckle, shaking my head. Haley has always been headstrong and protective. Most days, I love that about her. But this? This feels like my battle. Something about Michael’s insufferable smugness is sparking something in me. Something that’s long been buried under kindness.
After a few more rounds of gossip, we end the call and Haley runs out to make it in time for her rehearsals. For a moment, I’m left alone in my bed. I think about preparing for tomorrow’s activity, but honestly? Today was emotionally exhausting. Which means it’s time for... the secret thing.
I quietly make my way out of our house, through the backyard.
I scan the surroundings to make sure no one sees me, and I open the hidden gate in our backyard that connects to the neighbor’s.
Well, technically, it’s a neighboring house, but for the longest time, we haven’t had a neighbor who lived here.
I’ve been coming here for some much-needed alone time when I can’t get it anywhere else.
Sometimes, I’d go to Lily’s but there’s a movie marathon going on there tonight.
Another option is the Treehouse–a literal treehouse that no one knew how or when it was built.
But to go there, I’d have to pass through a lot of people and then I’d have to socialize more.
So this backyard has been my secret area.
This is also the only area where I can do the other secret thing.
I reach for the pocket in my dress and take the box of cigarettes.
I know it’s bad. I know it’s gross. I know if any of my friends saw me, they’d stage an intervention. But smoking isn’t my ‘thing.’
I don’t even like smoking. The taste? Disgusting.
The smell? Sticks to my hair like I’ve been slow-cooked.
But somewhere along the line, this became my weird little coping mechanism.
A pathetic attempt at rebellion I only let myself indulge in here, in my secret spot.
The flick of the lighter, the soft crackle of the paper catching fire, the way the smoke curls up like a ribbon and disappears into the air.
It feels... controlled. Predictable. Like I’m in charge of something for once.
For those few minutes, I can convince myself I’m in control of my life.
I light one, take a deep inhale, and immediately cough like I’ve swallowed a cloud of regret. Perfect.
Feeling more human, I flop down on one of the rickety old benches the previous owner left behind and I pull out my Kindle.
Ever since Haley got me one, life has never been the same.
For someone who reads a lot and reads more than one book at a time (I like alternating between romance and murder books–it’s the perfect balance, you know), I am forever grateful. I lean back and cross my legs.
Just as I’m about to get cozy, I hear a male voice behind me.
“Who are you and why are you smoking in my backyard?” I stand up and drop my cigarette in shock. It hits my toes so I do a little tiptoe dancing to get the heat off. It doesn’t work and I probably only look like a tap dancing fool.
“Sorry, your what?” I say, whirling to finally look at the man who spoke.
Oh, you gotta be kidding me.
“Miss Kate? I never pegged you for a smoker.” Michael Lee walks down the back porch steps in one stride. “You know they’re bad for you, right? Cigarettes are—”
“Spare me the lecture about how my body is a temple,” I say, holding the cigarette box and lighter in my hand. “What are you doing here?!”
“I couldn’t care less what you do with your body, but my body is an actual temple that cannot be inhaling that crap. So please. Shove it somewhere.”
I stash the cigarettes back in my pocket and give him a fake smile. “Because shoving is your solution to everything?”
He ignores me. “And while we’re on the subject of psychopaths,” he continues, “may I ask why you’re trespassing in my backyard?” Michael asks.
I shake my head. “This is not your backyard.” Because this can’t be his backyard. This is an abandoned neighboring house. This is my secret safe haven! “This place has been empty for years,” I say.
“Exactly why I bought it,” he says, crossing his arms. “So unless you’re here to mow my lawn or fix a faucet, then please explain why you’re burning my favorite patch of grass.”
I blink at him. “No. Nope. Absolutely not.” I jab a finger at the house.
“This is my quiet spot. My sanctuary. My place to hide from tiny humans who demand that I sing the ABC song fifty times in a row. My place to escape nosy aunts who question every life decision I’ve made in the last five years.
” I remove my glasses and pinch the bridge of my nose.
“I can’t lose my one place where I could scream into the void. ”
“Well,” he drawls, leaning lazily against the porch railing, “if you’re screaming in hiding that much, maybe the problem isn’t everyone else. Maybe it’s you.”
“Oh you think so?” I say, putting my glasses back. “I didn’t realize you’re qualified to give advice. What’s next? Should I start pushing people when I don’t get my way?”
His smirk disappears. “You don’t know the whole story.”
“And I don’t care,” I shoot back. I can’t believe I’m saying these things.
I’m a professional doormat and queen of awkward apologies.
But something about him makes me uncharacteristically hostile.
Or maybe I’ve been bottling this up for years and he’s just the unfortunate soul who’s about to take the hit.
Or maybe I’m jealous of his ability to just stand there and be indifferent. Either way, I’m not stopping now.
“I mean, congratulations,” I add, flashing him a too-sweet smile. “You’re already famous for being a hothead. If you keep this up, you’ll be trending again by the weekend. Maybe this time for yelling at a preschooler.”
He takes a step closer, towering over me like his height is supposed to be intimidating. But I refuse to shrink back.
“For someone who doesn’t know me,” he says, voice low, “you sure have a lot to say.”
“And for someone who doesn’t want to be here,” I counter, “you’re sure… possessive of this patch of grass.”
I turn on my heel, muttering angrily as I stomp away. This was supposed to be my quiet place, and now it’s been claimed by the world’s worst person.
“Three months,” I mumble under my breath. “I can survive three months.”
Just as I’m about to step back through the gap in the fence, Michael calls after me. “Don’t forget your lighter, Miss Kate.”
I whirl around to see him holding it up between two fingers, smug as ever.
“Keep it,” I say with a sarcastic smile. “Maybe make a bonfire. Or light a candle. Or, you know, set yourself on fire.”
Michael pockets the lighter, smirking. “Appreciate the suggestion, but if I wanted to burn in hell, I’d just stand close to you.”
I ignore him and stomp out of his backyard.
Goodbye, secret sanctuary. You will be missed. I’ll light a candle for you… assuming I get my lighter back.