Chapter 18
The orange beams of sunlight streaming through the window blinds gradually diminish, yielding to the gentle shades of early evening.
I open the creaking closet doors and comb the hangers, assessing my clothes. Tonight isn’t just any night; it’s the night I get to see BTS live at Lancaster Arena, floor tickets; the night I spend with Theo—our first official date.
As I envision us holding hands, dancing, and staring into each other’s eyes like we’re the only ones in the venue, the warmth and fuzzies in my belly prompt me to fan my face with both hands and inhale deeply, and I struggle to control my expectations while the bubbling excitement persists. I need to focus.
My fingers grow restless as I slide hangers aside with increasing frustration. Sweatshirts, T-shirts, jeans—nothing special enough for tonight. How am I supposed to stand next to someone like Theo looking so plain?
Stephanie’s words sound in my head. You seriously need a wardrobe upgrade if you’re going to start dating.
As I rifle through the same boring clothes I’ve worn since forever, I can’t help but admit how right she was to say that. Is this really all I have?
Wait. Maisie’s clothes.
My sister left behind a box when she moved out—things that no longer fit after she grew out of them. She’d always had better style than me.
I drop to my knees and reach under the bed, dust tickling my nose as I drag out the forgotten cardboard box. The tape peels away with a satisfying rip, and my breath catches when I see it—Maisie’s midnight blue dress from her graduation party. The one that made dad tear up.
I lift it up with awe, the silky fabric cool between my fingers. Could I actually pull this off?
I strip down to my underwear, goosebumps racing across my skin from the evening air coming thought the slightly parted balcony door. The dress slides over my head and settles against my body with surprising grace, hugging my curves in just the right way. I step toward the mirror and freeze.
Is that really me? The fabric shimmers as I twist from side to side, like stars twinkling in the night sky. It falls just above my knees—definitely date-worthy.
Will Theo’s eyes fly wide when he sees me? The thought sends a wave of heat rushing to my cheeks and my toes curl against the hardwood floor.
My white sneakers peek out from the closet—practical for dancing and cute enough to complete the look. I slide them on and grab my beige sweater blazer. My outfit is complete.
A quick twirl sends the dress floating around my thighs. For the first time in forever, a flicker of confidence ignites in my chest. Not bad, if I may say so myself. Maybe even good enough to make Theo’s easy-going smirk falter for just a second.
I move to my vanity, stomach fluttering with butterflies. Makeup is next.
I follow Stephanie’s instructions—champagne eyeshadow, steady-handed eyeliner, lash curling with the once-scary tool, zigzag mascara, ring-finger concealer for “the lightest touch,” peach blush, highlighter on cheekbones, nude lip liner, and rosy lipstick with clear gloss—her trick for “kissable” lips—although I’ll leave that last bit for Theo to see.
I step back from the mirror, hardly recognizing the girl staring back at me. Stephanie was right—makeup highlights your features rather than hiding them.
Time to show off a bit.
I walk over to the bathroom and knock.
“Come in,” Theo says.
As I enter, I find him leaning slightly over the sink, squeezing a tube of hair paste onto his fingers. His reflection in the mirror catches mine, and his mouth parts. “Wow. You look . . . gorgeous.” His expression is just the way I imagined it.
Unblinking, his eyes glide all over me, and I can’t help but feel immense satisfaction only the gaze of someone you like can bestow.
“Thanks.” I’m not used to receiving compliments, given that I’ve been picked on most of my life, but it definitely makes for a nice change—especially coming from Theo.
“I see you’ve learned your lesson,” I say, although stealing another glance underneath the slim fit navy-blue button-down shirt that accentuates the contours of his chest wouldn’t be so bad.
His signature smirk graces his mouth. “When in Rome.”
We fall into a routine, preparing in front of the mirror. I pull out my lipstick while Theo works the hair paste through his thick, unruly hair. Unable to avert my gaze, I watch as his biceps flex and he ruffles his hair into place.
“You know,” I say, capping the lipstick, “it’s not that hard to appear presentable.”
Theo raises an eyebrow at me in the mirror. “Says the girl who just spent twenty minutes deciding what dress to wear.”
“It was a critical decision,” I shoot back, grinning. “Unlike whatever it is you’re doing with your hair.”
Turning to me, his expression is one of utter astonishment, as if he had just heard the most unbelievable statement. “Excuse me, Miss, but this whatever that you speak of”—he points to his hair—“takes great effort and care. Hair like this doesn’t just happen.”
“Let me guess. You’re born with it?”
“Precisely.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners as we both laugh.
I set down my lipstick and watch him fuss with his mane. “Do you always spend this much time styling your hair? It’s like watching someone carefully craft a bird’s nest.”
“This is hair style engineering.” Theo tilts his head, examining his work with the concentration of a brain surgeon. “Each strand has its purpose.”
“Oh really? Because to me it looks no different than when you roll out of bed.”
“Tease all you want, but this is the difference between amateur and professional dishevelment.” He scoops another dollop of paste onto his fingers, working it between his palms.
“Professional dishevelment? Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”
“Keep it up and you’re next.” He waggles his product-covered fingers in my direction, taking a step toward me.
My eyes widen. “Don’t you dare.”
“What’s wrong? A little texture wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Theo, I swear”—I back up, but the bathroom isn’t exactly spacious.
He lunges forward, and I grab his wrist to stop his hands from reaching my carefully styled hair. My fingers wrap around the warm skin of his wrists, and suddenly I feel it—the tapping of his pulse under my fingertips. Or is it mine? Because it’s getting faster.
“Careful,” he says, voice dropping an octave. “You don’t want to mess up my artistic process.”
I release his wrists, and my hands hover in the air just in case he gets another funny idea. “Your artistic process can stay on your own head, thank you very much.”
Theo backs away, a small smile playing at his lips as he returns to the mirror. “Spoilsport.”
My heart won’t stop racing.
“Ready to go?” he asks, washing his hands.
I nod and find myself hoping for more moments like this at the concert—his body close to mine.
The drive to Lancaster Arena takes twenty-five minutes, but time flies by as I prep Theo for the concert by forcing him to listen to BTS’s greatest hits.
The streets around the venue are what you’d expect on a night like this—police officers controlling the traffic while fans dressed in BTS merch wave light sticks and chat excitedly as they pour through the main gate.
Theo purchases two bottles of water, and then we join the long line fans waiting to see their favorite band.
People file in one by one, and once we’re inside of the arena, the sheer scale of it rivets me. This is it. My first BTS concert—and I’m here with the guy I like. A dream come true.
Standing in the middle of the arena, my short stature does me no favors as everyone around me blocks my view. “I can’t see the stage,” I tell Theo.
He takes my hand, his grip firm as if he’s afraid I’d let go, and we pry our way through the crowd inch by inch until we reach the barricade in front of the stage.
Theo hands me one of the water bottles, and by the time we drink half of it, the lights dim, and the arena erupts into deafening noise as the band members take the stage, their presence larger than life. I can’t help but scream my lungs out, too. The music starts, and the bass thumps in my chest.
As people around us jump and dance and bump into us, Theo maneuvers behind me, his hands clutching the fence, boxing me in.
His warmth blankets me like a protective cocoon.
We dance, jump, and sway with the crowd, and I sing along to every word, my voice lost in the roar of thousands of fans.
Every time I glance at Theo, he’s smiling, making my heart flutter.
During the band’s performance of Yet To Come—a song I love—Theo spins me around, bringing us face to face.
I gasp as he draws nearer. The world seems to blur, the music fading as I focus on his lips. He leans in and then—
“Hey guys,” a voice, sharp and unwelcome, banishes the moment into oblivion.
I pull back, blinking in disbelief as Paige appears from the crowd beside us, her styled hair and smug expression out of place in the sea of passionate BTS fans.
Theo frowns. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re not the only one who likes to try new music,” she says with a shrug.
Of all the people in this packed arena, it had to be her. The warmth that had been blooming in my chest seconds ago evaporates like morning dew under a harsh sun.
“I didn’t know you were into K-pop,” I manage to say, my voice barely audible over the music. Every word tastes bitter on my tongue.
Paige flips her hair over her shoulder, inching closer to Theo. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Funny, I’ve never heard you mention BTS before,” Theo says, his arm wrapped around my waist, which calms my frazzled nerves.
“I’m expanding my horizons,” she replies, her eyes traveling from Theo’s face to his hand on my hip. “Mind if I join you? The view is so much better here.”
“Actually—“ I begin.
“It’s pretty crowded,” Theo says, as if he read my mind. “We barely have space for two.”
“Oh, I don’t need much room.” She wedges herself next to Theo, pressing against his other side.
I purse my lips. Her timing is as bad as mom’s—no, worse. And there’s no way she’s here for the music. I’ve never once seen her listen to anything other than whatever pop playlist is trending. She’s here for Theo—that much is obvious.
I want to stay and keep an eye on her, but I need to use the restroom. I excuse myself and head toward the back exit. The line moves so slowly, I’m afraid I’ll miss the rest of the concert.
When I’m back out, I hurry to the front, jostling through the raging fans, and when I get there my heart breaks into a thousand pieces at the sight before me.
Theo is kissing Paige.
The bottle of water slips from my fingers, and I get queasy. It’s as if the floor is pulled from right under me.
Theo pulls back, his eyes widening as he notices me. He says something, but I can’t hear him.
My vision blurs with tears, and the lump in my throat is too big to swallow. How much more of this am I supposed to endure?
I allowed myself to believe that Theo liked me for me, that I might have a place in his world. But I never stood a chance. The crushing pain in my chest is sharper than any humiliation I’ve ever felt, because this time, I let myself hope with all my heart.
I disappear into the crowd. Theo calls after me, but the scream of thousands of fans swallows his voice as I move father away.