Chapter Two
Sean
If this is how a typical party at Raymond’s unfolds, then I’ve been missing out on a lot.
By the time I get back from Flora’s condo, my brain in overdrive, Josie’s already by the car, twirling the keys between her fingers. “The designated driver is tired. Let’s find Jake and Dylan and go.”
We pile into her car. I take shotgun, Dylan claims the back, and Jake fumbles for his seat belt but doesn’t bother to click it before he pipes up, “Broski, what was that all about?”
Good question. What was that? It’s not every night that the most beautiful girl at school looks you straight in the eye and tells you she can’t stop thinking about you, then proceeds to praise the bare-bones Python platform you built, along with providing a running list of reasons why she likes you.
Not sure my fragile male ego is equipped for that level of validation.
“Nothing worth talking about,” I say.
Josie plugs in her playlist, and some unfamiliar indie song spills from the speakers. Whatever she picks, we listen. Being the lead singer of her band gives her that authority. I turn up the volume, hoping it’ll shut down this conversation.
Dylan leans forward from the back seat, raising his voice over the music. “Seriously, man. What was so important that she had to drag you upstairs? You were gone for a while.”
“Yeah, that’s a long time for nothing.” Jake finally clicks his seat belt. His grin is wide enough to fill the rearview mirror. “Very suspicious behavior. You can’t expect us to let that slide.”
“Leave him alone,” Josie says, eyes on the road. “Healthy boundaries, guys.”
“I knew Flora liked you,” Jake says. “Remember that one time I hung out with her? She kept trying to steer the conversation back to you. ‘Are you close with Sean?’ ‘Is he secretly a softie?’ At some point I started dropping your name randomly to mess with her. And she was riveted, dude. Funniest thing ever. I told you, right?”
“Yes, the evening of, and the next day. And the week after.”
“I also told her you disabled the parental controls on my laptop, and she couldn’t be more impressed.”
“Of all the things you could’ve said about me . . .”
Dylan snickers. “Imagine Jake being a stepping stone because Seany is too intimidating to talk to.”
“Yeah, to be used like that,” Jake agrees. “Truly humbling experience. Man, I understood . . . all too well.” He starts to sing, and Dylan, because he has no shame, jumps in on backup vocals.
I rub the bridge of my nose. “Jacob. Please.” That’s not his real name, but I use it when he annoys me, which is daily.
“She’s way too chatty, by the way,” Jake says. “It’s like we were competing for an invisible microphone. I’m just waiting to tell my story, which is way funnier than hers, and she keeps cutting me off with more questions like, ‘Has Sean ever had a serious girlfriend?’”
“Hey, play ‘Love Story’ next,” Dylan says.
Josie may know all about obscure bands but she’s not above some mainstream fun, so I suffer through the bros bellowing in harmony about Romeo for the next four minutes.
Nothing bonds them tighter than making fun of me, especially when they can do it at maximum volume.
I try to steer the conversation elsewhere.
It takes three tries before I finally get them talking about the latest Elden Ring expansion.
Jake’s house comes into view, we drop him off, and then it’s just the three of us heading back to Cedarbrook, the neighborhood we grew up in together.
The farther we drive, the more reality settles in.
The streets narrow, and the houses shrink block by block.
“You know what they say about Flora, right?” Dylan says. This again? “Just so you’re prepared for all that drama.”
Josie scoffs. “None of that is true.”
“Not saying it is. Just want our boy to be aware.” Dylan pulls out his phone and scrolls, then shows it to me over my shoulder.
I’m in at least twenty-five different text groups, and I mute twenty-four of them, leaving only our core squad open.
I rely on Dylan and Jake to relay anything truly worth knowing.
So far, that hasn’t happened. These chat groups are, at best, white noise, and at worst, truly vicious, like the one staring me down right now.
Anonymous 453: Search up Lakeridge High, she’s literally under “Things to Do.”
Anonymous 17: Flora’s your basic cheerleader. Easy and desperate for attention.
Anonymous 226: Pretty sure she’s been with half the football team. Maybe more.
The words land like a punch to the gut. For a second, the thought flashes through my mind—tracking their IPs, finding out who’s hiding behind those cheap shots. Then Dylan’s reply pops up.
DylanReyes: Talking trash behind an anonymous post? Pathetic.
I hand the phone back, tension still burning under my skin. “You should leave that group. It’s a cesspool for cowards.”
Does Flora know? I hope she never finds out.
“There’s a lot of talk about Flora because guys catch feelings, and when they realize she’s not into them, they trash her reputation,” Josie says. “In this day and age, you can’t be an attractive and approachable girl without people misinterpreting the vibes. In any day and age, actually.”
“Sure,” Dylan says, “but let’s not pretend all Flora does is hang out with guys and pick daisies together. Sometimes there’s more.”
“So?” Josie shoots back. “I don’t see you calling Jake out for his drama.”
Jake’s notorious for his sexcapades, and never apologizes for them, nor does anyone expect him to.
Dylan raises his hands in surrender. “Look, we all like Flora. She’s cool, and she always picks up the tab. I’m looking out for you, Seany. Don’t get too caught up.”
“I’m not. I get why people gravitate to her, though. She’s . . .”—disarming and hard to ignore—“She’s sharp. And funny.”
“Sure, man. Not caught up at all.”
“It’s an observation,” I say.
Josie pulls onto our street. Dylan gets out first, heading to his place just a few doors down.
Josie parks in her driveway, and I get out with her since I live next door.
Before heading inside, she pauses, giving me the best-friend look that says I know there’s more.
“Anything you want to get off your chest?”
I hesitate. Part of me wants to spill, but I promised not to tell anyone.
“You should hear it from Flora.”
Josie nods like she expected that answer. “Yeah. Thought so.” She turns to head inside. “Don’t let other people make up your mind for you, okay? Flora’s worth it.”
The night air feels heavier without the distraction of their voices. The house is dark when I step inside. My family is asleep, and I creep upstairs, avoiding the floorboards that creak too loudly.
It’s past midnight and I’m in my room now, but sleep isn’t coming. My brain churns like an endless algorithm. There’s something about Flora, an allure that’s effortless and overwhelming. Her eyes are huge, and her face keeps flashing through my head like a glitch.
And those legs.
Why would someone like her want to spend time with me? We’re on different wavelengths.
Restless, I flip open my laptop to check my MIT prep. My dream school. The dream school. My grandfather was a physics professor there before he retired, and I can’t wait to go to his alma mater. He makes it sound like more than a school, that it’s the place where you prove you belong.
I scroll through my Schoolhouse profile. Over one hundred hours logged tutoring students. Then I check the due dates for all my homework and update my planner with the weekend’s study goals. Lastly, out of habit, I click on the MIT admissions website, even though I’ve memorized every word.
This goal has been years in the making. I can’t afford distractions. I’m not ready to be dazzled by Flora. She’s too pretty, too flirty, too far out of my league.
Focus.
MIT wants risk-takers. People who know how to balance. One of the essay questions literally asks: Tell us something you do simply for the pleasure of it.
What if I went on one date, one casual date, to see what Flora Morgan is all about?
It wouldn’t ruin me, right?