CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kate
Oh my God, he saw me?!
My mouth opens in terror, so I carefully walk back to my window, and very carefully push aside the curtain. Michael’s still there, this time waving his phone like a flashlight.
I shut it quickly, and fire a text.
Kate (Me): How did you get my number?!
Michael: From the Little League Document you gave me.
I stare at his text for a few seconds more, before he sends another one.
Michael: So, you coming out or am I gonna have to throw pebbles at your window?
And just like that, I’m sixteen again. Except I was never sixteen like this. I never had boys tossing pebbles at my window. Never had anyone texting me late at night, daring me out of bed. This feels like some alternate timeline where I’m a leading lady in a love song.
As absurd as it is, I text back anyway, smiling like an idiot while rolling on my bed.
Kate (Me): That's a threat. I'm gonna report you.
Michael: Report me... from the window you were spying on me from?
Kate (Me): I wasn't spying!
Michael: Sure, Psychopath Katie.
Kate (Me): What do you want?
Michael: Come join me.
Kate (Me): No.
Michael: Yes...
Kate (Me): It's midnight.
Michael: And?
Kate (Me): It's past my bedtime.
Michael: You were just gawking five minutes ago. Now, come down.
Kate (Me): I wasn't gawking.
Michael: Fine. Admiring.
Kate (Me): I hate you.
Michael: Good. Hate me outside.
Kate (Me): No. Bye.
Michael: Countdown starts now. Ten...
Kate (Me): Nope.
Michael: Nine. Come down, Katie.
Kate (Me): No, Mikey.
Michael: Cute. Eight. I'm gathering the pebbles.
Kate (Me): You wouldn't...
Michael: Seven. Warming up...
Kate (Me): Seriously!!!
Michael: Six. I have great aim. National athlete and all.
Kate (Me): Wow.
Michael: Five. I can send Haley a photo of you lurking behind your curtain.
Kate (Me): Blackmail?!
Michael: Four
Michael: Three. Come on, Miss Noodles.
Michael: Two. KATHERIIINEEEEEE
Kate (Me): FINE!
Michael: Knew you couldn't resist me.
I throw my phone aside and stare at the ceiling, heart pounding.
Am I really going out at midnight to play basketball with my neighbor?
I pace my room in a tiny circle.
We literally just saw each other earlier. Normal people don’t hang out twice in one night, right? That’s… obsessive. Clingy. Weird.
And yet here I am, attempting to tame my hair.
It’s pointless. It’s not like he didn’t already see it earlier. Still, my fingers hover at the edges of my curls, somehow trying to salvage them into looking proper.
Stop it, Kate. You’re not trying to impress him.
Except maybe I am. Or maybe I want to.
Ugh. Gross.
I creep down the stairs as quietly as possible, avoiding every creaky step I know by heart. Mom’s asleep. Haley’s probably asleep too, but even unconscious, she can sense chaos like a guard dog.
I take a few of my cookies to bring, and then quickly step out into the backyard, the door clicking softly behind me.
As I walk toward the shared gate, I feel something giddy in my chest. Not exactly because of him, but because it feels like I’m making up for lost time.
Like some part of me that never got a teenage love story is finally, belatedly, living one.
I know this isn’t a love story, but for some reason, it feels like it.
Cool night air hits my face. The sound of a bouncing basketball fills the space between our houses. Michael’s in the court, spinning the ball on his finger. The second he sees me, that smug grin spreads across his face.
“Katie Cruz, past bedtime?” he says in mock surprise. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Relax,” I say, holding up the cookies as a peace offering. “I’m hoping these will shut you up?”
He gasps dramatically. “You know me so well.” He takes them and finishes the cookie in two bites. “Incredible,” he says. “Definitely worth you breaking curfew.”
“I didn’t break curfew, I don’t have curfew. I’m an adult,” I say.
“Sure,” he says. “Totally explains why you crept out like you were dodging things.” He looks at me up and down and adds, “Also, cute heart pajamas.”
“Thanks,” I wiggle my pajamas. “But I wasn’t creeping out. I just didn’t want anyone to see and fuel gossip trains around here.”
I look around at the quiet neighborhood, lampposts and Christmas decor illuminating the gloomy roads. The village is quiet, and everyone is peacefully asleep. Normally, I would’ve been too. But now, I’m here. Smiling. At midnight. With someone.
He bounces the ball toward me. “Alright, Miss Noodles. Show me what you’ve got.”
I catch it—barely—and nearly drop it on my foot. Michael bursts out laughing.
“Wow,” he says. “Natural talent. Scouts will be calling any minute.”
“Shut up!” I reposition my hands on the ball. “I don’t even know how to hold this thing.”
“Good thing you’ve got me.” He steps forward, close enough that I can smell his cologne. Or shampoo. Or whatever. It’s clean and warm, with a hint of something citrusy. “Okay, feet apart. Bend your knees. Elbows in.”
I glare at him. “Don’t tell me what to do.” I blink, momentarily stunned with myself.
I’ve always wanted to say that—to my mom, my coworkers, the entire town of Magnolia Heights. But it’s never come out this easy. Somehow, with Michael… it does.
“I’m literally coaching you.”
“Still.”
He smirks, clearly enjoying this. “Fine. Do it wrong.”
I bend my knees, hold the ball awkwardly, and shoot. It ricochets off the rim and bounces halfway across the court.
“Solid form,” he deadpans, as he jogs to retrieve the ball. “Okay, okay. Try again. This time, will you listen to me?”
“Fine.”
“That’s the spirit,” he says. He steps behind me, guiding my elbows with gentle taps. “Here. Like this.”
I freeze. It’s casual. Very casual. We’re barely touching.
Until he moves.
His arm extends past mine, slow and unhurried. I watch it happen in excruciating detail: the long line of his forearm brushing close, the veins shifting under his skin, the way his hand—big, steady, unshakable—slides over the ball. And then over me.
His palm curves over my fingers, coaxing them into place, his thumb brushing the side of my knuckle. My whole hand disappears beneath his, swallowed up.
Heat surges through me so fast I forget how to breathe. I forget how to stand. I forget how to function.
“Relax,” he says softly. “It’s just basketball.” He thinks it’s basketball nerves.
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. “You’re good at it.”
“Everyone starts somewhere.” He steps back. “Shoot.”
I toss the ball. It bounces off the backboard, swirls around the rim… and drops in.
My mouth falls open. “Oh my God.”
Michael claps like I’ve just won an Olympic medal. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a prodigy!”
I quickly look behind me and say “Shh!” only to realize he’s still inches from me, and I just slammed onto his chest.
“Whoa,” he laughs, steadying me with one hand on my shoulder. “Careful there, rookie.”
My face is on fire. “You–you were standing too close!” I take a step back.
“You have zero awareness and the reflexes of a turtle.”
I gape at him. “But it’s fine,” he adds. “Happens all the time. People run into me constantly.”
“Because you block their way.”
“Or,” he says, smirk widening, “maybe people are just drawn to me.”
I glare at him. “Oh my God. I hate you.” I don’t.
He leans in just enough to cross my personal space and set off every alarm bell in my body. “If this is how you hate me, Katie,” he says, voice low and teasing, “then I hope you hate me more often.”
“Well, I hope–” I stop and I blink. Because that’s all my brain can manage. Thankfully (or mortifyingly) I don’t have to think of what to say, because the balcony light of the house next door flickers on.
Someone steps out. Actually, three people do—Julia (Manong Jose’s daughter), Lila (Emily’s sister), and Ingrid (the sleepover host). Great. Just what this moment needs. Witnesses in the form of screaming teenage girls.
“OMG, Ate Kate!” Lila says.
“Are you guys on a date?” Julia asks as she props her elbows on the balcony.
Ingrid gasps. “I love this. I ship you.”
I narrow my eyes at them, my brain still a haze. Michael doesn’t miss a beat, though.
“Only one way to get teenagers off your back,” he whispers to me.
“How?”
“Play along,” he says. And then he cups his hands around his mouth. “You’re kinda ruining the moment, ladies. Don’t you have to brush your teeth or something?”
Lila squeals. “Okay, enjoy!” Lila sing-songs, and they vanish back inside—though I can feel their eyes still peeking through the curtains.
“Now, where were we?” Michael asks.
“I was just leaving,” I say, backing away.
I can’t stay. Not after that very obvious meddling from our neighbors. I can’t handle attention like that. I might internally explode if someone else comes over and sees. I might melt into a puddle if Haley wakes up and judges me.
Because, around here, I’m Katherine. Kind, quiet, keeps to herself. Bakes the cookies. Quirky at times, but that’s about it.
But out here, with him, I get to be… Katie. The one who sneaks out at midnight. The one who talks back. The one who doesn’t have to hide her vices. The one who… feels different.
Michael doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t call me out on bolting. He just smiles like he knows exactly what’s going through my head.
“See you tomorrow, Miss Noodles.”
I tell myself it’s just tomorrow, like always. But my chest doesn’t seem to believe me.