A few weeks pass. Then spring break comes and goes, and somehow—without anyone really announcing it—Luke just... sticks.

By the time we're back in school, he's no longer Luke the New Guy. He's just Luke. Which is weird. And kind of annoying. And also—if I'm being honest—comfortably familiar.

We're in the cafeteria, squeezed around our usual table. Trays half-empty, books everywhere. Luke has his head bent over a stack of notebooks, pencil moving like it has somewhere better to be.

Henry is mid-spiral.

"I just don't know how to talk to her," he groans for the tenth time. "Every time I see Sophia, my brain just... leaves."

Maya leans forward, instantly invested. "Okay. Rule number one: don't panic."

"I only panic," Henry says miserably.

"Wrong mindset," Maya replies. "You walk up. You smile. You say something casual. Like—hey, I was wondering if you'd like to study together sometime."

Josh snorts. "That's not casual. That's terrifying."

"It's adorable," Maya counters. "Girls like adorable."

Henry looks hopeful. "You think?"

"I know," she says confidently, then flicks her gaze toward Luke, who hasn't looked up once. "Or—you could do what Maddie did. Make a bet."

Luke pauses his writing.

Maya grins. "And end up doing all of Sophia's homework."

Henry's eyes light up. "I would love to do Sophia's homework."

Luke finally looks up, deadpan. "You wish not. Do not wish that for yourself."

I smile into my juice box.

"Well," I say lightly, "you could always make your first move at the next party."

Maya freezes. "Wait. Party?"

She squints at me. "We're not invited to parties. Seniors don't invite us."

I shrug. "You might not be."

Her eyes narrow. "You cheeky little—what does that mean?"

"Well," I say innocently, "turning fifteen is kind of a game-changer."

Everyone stares at me.

Except Luke. He just keeps writing.

"What do you mean?" Maya demands.

"Colton talked to me," I say. "He invited me."

Silence.

Josh drops his fork. "Colton?"

Maya blinks. "The quarterback? He is like three years older than you."

"Technically," I say, "he's only two and a half years older."

"Only," she repeats, scandalized.

"The guy every girl wants to date?" she presses.

"Yes."

"And he invited you?"

Josh and Henry explode at once.

"We're going to a party."

"Oh my God, we're going to a party."

"The football party!"

Luke looks up slowly. "I don't think that sounds particularly safe."

I roll my eyes. "Of course you don't. But for your information, you're only in this group because I invited you."

Josh snorts. "You didn't invite him. He's just doing your homework and sitting nearby."

Luke glances at Josh. "I actually like your company. You seem like a very nice person. I'm sorry you have to witness her behavior. I wish I could save you."

Josh beams. "I feel seen."

Maya laughs. "Luke just rolled his eyes?"

I grin. "Right? It's new."

Luke sighs. "You're happy because I've changed. For the worse."

"You didn't change," I say. "You improved. You always had it in you. You just needed a trigger."

"Stars," he mutters.

"Exactly."

He shakes his head and goes back to his homework, but there's a smile he doesn't bother hiding anymore.

And that's when it hits me.

Somewhere between bets and arguments, spring break and cafeteria lunches, Luke stopped being the weird new kid. He became... ours.

He talks more now. Pushes back. Smiles at the wrong moments. People actually like him. Teachers trust him. Students respect him.

And somehow—without trying to—

He's part of the group.

Still doing my homework.

Still impossible.

But no longer untouchable.

Just... Luke.

And honestly?

I don't hate it.

Ten Years Ago

Maddie

The party is exactly what I thought a real high school party would be.

Red cups everywhere. Music way too loud for the size of the living room. Someone yelling over beer pong like it's the Olympics. Someone else already sitting on the stairs looking emotionally wrecked—and it's not even nine yet.

I'm dazzled. Completely.

Maya is grinning like she just discovered religion.

Josh keeps whispering, "This is insane," like we broke into a movie set.

Henry looks like he might pass out.

Luke looks like he's calculating emergency exits.

"I hate it here," he mutters the second we step inside.

"You hate everywhere," I say, shoving his shoulder. "Relax."

"I am relaxed."

He is very much not relaxed.

Maya claps her hands. "Okay. Ground rules. I will drink."

Luke blinks. "That's not a rule. That's a threat."

"And Luke will be the responsible one," she continues, pointing at him. "Which means we can all drink."

Josh cheers. I cheer. Someone I don't know cheers.

Luke exhales. "Sometimes I think I'm only in this group because I'm useful."

I glance at him. "You're thinking too much again."

Then I grab his wrist and drag him toward the kitchen before he can escape.

The kitchen is chaos. Someone spills something sticky on the counter. Red cups are stacked like art installations. We pour whatever's available—something fizzy, something definitely illegal, something that smells like regret.

We take cautious sips.

Maya coughs immediately. "Why does it burn?"

Josh nods solemnly. "Because it's adulthood."

Before I can respond, two seniors appear—loud, confident, terrifying.

"Beer pong?" one of them asks, already setting cups.

Maya and I exchange a look.

We're in.

Luke watches us go like we've just boarded a ship without lifeboats.

Josh and Henry hang back with him, pretending not to stare at the table where Sofia is laughing with her friends.

Henry keeps pacing. "Should I go now?"

Josh shakes his head. "No, wait."

"Or maybe now?"

Luke finally looks at him. "You like her."

Henry freezes. "Yeah."

"Then go talk to her."

Henry blinks. "That's it?"

Luke shrugs. "Don't overthink it."

Henry hesitates—then smiles, takes a breath, and walks away.

I turn to Luke. "That's not how things work."

He points across the room.

Henry is smiling. Sofia is smiling back.

They're talking.

Maya gasps. "We have a Cupid."

Josh whispers, "Luke Parker, Love Counselor."

Luke winces. "Please don't call me that."

I laugh, feeling warm and light and a little dizzy—not just from the drink.

For the first time, Luke doesn't look like he wants to leave.

He's still awkward. Still stiff. Still pretending this isn't kind of fun.

But at least, he's here.

The party stretches out in that strange way nights only do when you're fifteen—too loud, too bright, too fast, and somehow never-ending.

Maya and I are dancing like we don't care who's watching, which is mostly true. The music is terrible, but that doesn't stop us. Someone spills a drink near my shoes and apologizes like it's a life-altering mistake. Josh tries beer pong and misses so badly the entire kitchen erupts in boos. Henry disappears again—presumably still talking to Sofia, which makes all of us ridiculously proud.

And Luke?

Luke is... still here.

That alone feels like a miracle.

At some point, I notice him standing near the couch, red cup in hand, looking uncomfortable but not panicked. Which, for Luke, is growth. He's talking to a girl—actually talking, not lecturing, not correcting, not staring at the floor like it might give him answers.

I lean toward Maya and shout over the music, "Who's that?"

Maya squints dramatically. "Oh. Her."

"That clears nothing up."

"That's Victoria," she says, lowering her voice like she's sharing state secrets. "Some people call her Vic. She's, like, very popular. Supposedly next big cheerleader. Everyone thinks she's untouchable."

I glance back at Luke.

Victoria is pretty in that effortless way—perfect hair, perfect posture, laugh that sounds rehearsed but still lands. She's leaning toward him, twirling a strand of hair, clearly interested.

Luke says something. She laughs.

I blink.

"Huh," I say.

Maya smirks. "Shocking, right? Nerd boy has game."

I shrug, forcing a casual smile. "Good for him. Honestly. If someone likes him, that's basically a gift."

Maya raises an eyebrow. "You're weirdly okay with this."

"I'm always okay," I say, spinning her around dramatically. "Now dance before I die of secondhand awkwardness."

So we dance.

We jump. We scream-sing lyrics we don't know. Someone starts a conga line that lasts approximately seven seconds before collapsing. Josh joins us at some point, wildly off-beat but committed. I lose count of how many times Maya spills her drink.

Every now and then, my eyes drift back to Luke.

He's smiling.

Not a polite smile. Not a restrained one.

A real one.

And for some reason—one I absolutely refuse to analyze—I feel this odd, unfamiliar tug in my chest. Not jealousy. Definitely not that.

Just... something.

I turn back to Maya and dance harder, louder, like if I move enough, I won't think at all.

Because thinking is dangerous.

And Luke Parker smiling at a party?
That feels like the start of trouble.

The music gets louder, or maybe my head does. Maya spins away from me, her blonde curls flashing once, twice, and then she's gone—swallowed by bodies and red cups and terrible dancing.

For a second, I panic.

I don't see Henry.
I don't see Josh.
I don't see Luke.

It's just me and the room and the bass thumping straight into my ribs.

And then—Colton.

He's right in front of me, too close already, taller than I remember, smile lazy and confident in a way that should feel flattering. He looks me up and down like I'm something he already owns.

"Damn," he says. "You're so hot."

The words hit me weirdly. Not bad. Not good. Just... loud. But I smile anyway, because that's what you do when an older guy—the older guy—says that to you. Because part of me wants this to be a story I'll tell Maya later, laughing.

Before I can think too much about it, his hands are on my hips.

It's sudden. Firm. Possessive.

My smile falters.

He pulls me closer, his face dropping toward mine like this is already decided, like I missed a step somewhere and now I'm behind.

"I—" I frown, putting a hand on his chest, not pushing hard enough. "I just... I barely know you. Like, a week. Maybe."

He grins, unfazed. "Relax. Doesn't mean anything. We don't have to date or whatever. We can just... do this."

Something in my stomach twists.

The way he says this.
The way his hands tighten instead of loosening.

I don't like it.

I try to pull back, but he doesn't really let me. Instead, he shifts, pressing me closer, his grip more insistent now, like I'm supposed to understand the rules without anyone ever explaining them to me.

My head feels fuzzy. My limbs feel heavy. I don't know if it's the alcohol or the music or the fact that my body is suddenly not listening to me fast enough.

This should feel exciting, I think distantly.
So why do I want to disappear?

"Hey."

A voice cuts through the noise.

Sharp. Clear. Angry.

Colton barely looks away. "What?"

Someone steps between us. Or maybe just closer. I don't fully register it at first—just a sudden absence of pressure, a hand no longer gripping my hip.

"Let her go," the voice says.

I blink.

It's Luke.

He looks... different. Not stiff. Not polite. His jaw is tight, eyes dark, shoulders squared like he's bracing for impact.

Colton laughs. "What, you? The cool nerd?" He snorts. "Relax, man. I'm just—"

"What are you doing?" Luke cuts in.

Colton shrugs, crude and careless. "I think you can see. I'm about to—"

He doesn't finish.

I see movement—fast, sudden—and then a fist flashes across my vision.

There's a sickening sound. A crack. A body stumbling.

Colton hits the floor.

The room seems to freeze.

My head clears all at once, like someone dumped cold water over me. I stare at Colton on the ground, stunned, then at Luke, who's breathing hard, fist clenched, eyes blazing like he can't believe what he just did either.

"Are you okay?" Luke asks, already reaching for me.

I don't answer. I just nod, because my throat feels tight and words seem optional.

He grabs my hand.

Firm. Certain. Safe.

And then he pulls me through the crowd, past staring faces and shouted comments and the music that feels suddenly wrong, too loud, too much.

I don't resist.

I don't look back.

All I know is that my heart is pounding, my hand is locked in his, and somewhere in the back of my mind, a quiet, stunned thought keeps repeating:

He broke the bet.