Chapter Four
Sean
Sunday brunch with my family has been a tradition for as long as I can remember.
Every other weekend, after paycheck Friday, we squeeze into the same sticky booth by the window at our usual hole-in-the-wall breakfast spot, where the scent of warm maple syrup and spiced chorizo hangs in the air.
The menu never changes. I typically refill my coffee at least three times to hype myself up for the day ahead, which is usually a combination of working out with Jake, two tutoring sessions, and catching up on any studying I feel shaky on from the week before.
Today, I might need four cups.
My lips still tingle with the feel of hers. It’s ten in the morning. I wonder if she sleeps in.
“You came home after midnight two nights in a row,” my mom says. Her tone is calm, more of an observation than a lecture. If anything, she’s usually telling me I study too hard.
“It’s just back-to-school stuff. You know how it is.”
“Make sure you’re getting enough rest.” Dad flips through the menu, like he’s ever going to order something other than the frittata with extra salsa. “You look tired.”
“He’s just ugly,” my kid sister, Lindsey, says, and my mom reprimands her. Middle schoolers are insufferable.
Grandpa, across from me, stirs cream into his coffee.
When Grandma passed five years ago, he left Massachusetts for Washington, trading New England snowstorms for the endless gray skies of the Pacific Northwest. His eyes flick to me over the rim of his mug.
He never misses much. “Anything good happen this week?”
Making out with Flora on her bed for hours while losing every last scrap of self-control I thought I had. I stare at the worn wood grain of the table. “Made a lot of three-pointers at practice.”
“Lame,” Lindsey says, practically bouncing in her seat. “I got first place in the regional creative writing contest!”
“Well deserved.” Mom ruffles her hair, even though we’ve known since the night she found out, and she hasn’t stopped reminding us.
Dad joins in with more praise, and Lindsey launches into an info dump of her world-building.
I tune her out after elf politics come into play.
To be fair, I read the story and it’s good, just not hear about it three times good.
Text her. I never touch my phone during family time, but then again, I’ve never been kissed like that before either. What the sorcery, really.
Under the table, I scroll through Flora’s Instagram.
She has 8,946 followers. She posts almost daily, and I can’t even reach the bottom of her feed.
Every post is greeted with at least a hundred comments.
The latest pictures are from the bonfire last night, where she was glowing.
Before that, a mix of lake house photos, luxe lunch spots, European vacation highlights.
Capri. C?te d’Azur. I was spot on when I told her she has a glamorous lifestyle.
Madison, Josie, and Carmen are in most of them, plus a revolving door of new faces. She wasn’t lying. She has enough friends to build an army.
Raymond Corbett makes frequent appearances too. There are pictures of them attending some fancy black-tie event, and even a couple of them on a . . . yacht? Her hair whips in the wind and her sun-kissed skin is flawless.
And then I see it.
A photo from summer. Cheerleading camp and basketball practice before school started. Flora and me, standing together, her in her cheer uniform, me drenched in sweat, a basketball tucked under my arm. I forgot this existed.
“Addicted to your phone much?”
I flinch. Lindsey leans over and tries to pry it from my hand.
“Cut it out.” I pull back, but not fast enough.
“Oh my god. Are you thirsting over a girl right now?”
“Lindsey, seriously, back off.”
Too late. She lunges again, and in the struggle her thumb double taps the screen. A bright red heart pops up.
I freeze.
“Oh no,” Lindsey says gleefully. “What now, should I unlike it?”
I yank my phone back, my face flaming.
Grinning, she pulls out her own phone and wastes no time searching Flora’s handle, then, like a traitor, turns it to the group. The adults merrily peruse Flora’s feed and bond over my agony. Mom seems particularly impressed by a rose-colored drink at a café where Flora was biting into a croissant.
“Stunning girl,” she says. “Is she a friend from school? Wait, Josie’s in this one.”
I shift in my seat. “Yeah, we’re all friends. We’ve been hanging out a little, that’s all.”
“You’re hanging out with people in a different tax bracket now?” Grandpa chuckles.
“Et tu, Grandpa?”
Dad, without missing a beat, lowers his voice into a deep narrator tone. “And on this day, Sean vowed never to play with his device in the presence of his meddlesome family again.”
Lindsey snorts, always appreciative of Dad’s humor. “I wonder what filter she uses. Her skin looks perfect.”
“That’s exactly how she looks.” A lie. If anything, the pictures don’t do her justice. They don’t capture how the light shifts in her hazel eyes and the sound of her laugh.
Our food arrives.
“Phones away. Time to eat,” Dad says, snapping his napkin across his lap. He reaches for the hot sauce while Mom passes out forks and knives.
With how many followers Flora has, my accidental Like will drown in a flood of notifications.
I pull my plate toward me. My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Ignore it. But my heart’s already racing.
Five minutes. Wait five minutes and—
“Be right back.” I slide out of the booth and head to the bathroom, ducking behind the corner to check my phone.
Flora: Stalker
Thumbs flying, I type: Who’s the mysterious heartthrob next to you?
The reply is almost instant.
Flora: He’s an incredible kisser too. Can’t wait to see you again. Can we hang out?
The corner of my mouth twitches. I lean against the wall, typing. I want to see you too. I can’t today, but we have a practice game tomorrow after school. Come see me? We can get dinner after.
Flora: I’ll be there. See you at school
Sure. Enjoy your day. I hesitate for a second. Then I type one last message: P.S. You’re a cute button.
She hearts my message, and I slide my phone back into my pocket and head back to the table. My eggs are cold by now, but I don’t care.