Maya didn't even hesitate.

She downed another cup of punch like it was water, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and declared, "You know what? We should dance."

Josh's eyes lit up. "That—right there—was the smartest thing you've said all night."

Maya rolled her eyes. "Shut up," she said fondly, then shoved me forward with both hands. "Come on. Ignore Victoria. Ignore Luke's past. Ignore everything. Let's just get crazy."

"I don't—" I started, but momentum was already working against me.

Josh whooped and followed us, already moving to the beat, when suddenly—
I stopped short.

Literally.

Because someone was standing right in front of me.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair that fell just messy enough to look effortless. Blue eyes—really blue, the kind that felt like they were actually looking at you instead of through you.

For a split second my brain short-circuited.

He looked like someone had taken young Brad Pitt, mixed him with Leonardo DiCaprio, and decided to ruin my evening with it.

He smiled.

"Maddie, right?"

I blinked. Once. Twice. "Yeah."

"Evan," he said, like I was supposed to already know that.

Oh.

Evan.

Of course it was Evan. Everyone knew Evan. Senior. Hot. Nice in that dangerous, effortless way. The kind of guy teachers trusted for no reason and girls whispered about like it was a hobby.

I nodded dumbly. "Evan."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Maya absolutely lose her mind—hands over her mouth, bouncing on the balls of her feet, mouthing oh my god like she'd just witnessed a religious experience.

Traitor.

Evan tilted his head slightly, studying me. "You going to dance?"

"I was," I said carefully, gesturing vaguely behind him. "Before you... appeared."

He laughed. A real laugh. Not annoying. Which felt unfair.
"Well," he said, stepping just a little to the side—but not enough to let me pass. "I was wondering if you'd dance with me instead."

My stomach flipped. Unhelpfully.

I glanced again at Maya. She gave me two aggressive thumbs up and a GO gesture so enthusiastic it should've been illegal.

Josh, already halfway onto the dance floor, yelled, "DON'T MESS THIS UP," before Maya smacked him.

I sighed.

When I looked back at Evan, he was still there. Patient. Confident. Waiting.

"Just one song," I said, pointing at him. "And then I'm stealing my friends back."

He smiled wider. "Deal."

He offered his hand.

I hesitated for exactly half a second—long enough to wonder why my chest felt weirdly tight for no good reason—

Then I took it.

As he led me onto the dance floor, the lights flashing and music swelling around us, I had the strange, unsettling thought that this night was about to get a lot more complicated.

And judging by the way Maya was already plotting my future from across the room—

I was probably right.

We were swaying to the music, slow and awkward in that prom way where everyone pretends they know how to dance. Evan's hands were careful—respectful—but close enough that I could feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric of my dress.

He smiled down at me, a little nervous now, like the confidence had softened.

"You know," he said, lowering his voice, "I was really indecisive about whether I should talk to you or not."

I blinked. "Why?"

He shrugged lightly. "Because everyone knows who you are."

I frowned. "What do you mean, everyone knows who you are?"

He laughed softly. "Everyone cool, at least. It's kind of impossible not to know you when you look like... this."

I tilted my head, genuinely confused. "Like what?"

He hesitated, then rushed on, suddenly flustered. "I mean—it's a good thing. You're beautiful. Not just tonight, not just the dress—though the dress is incredible—but, like, always. People notice you. You and Maya. You're kind of... known."

The words hit me strangely, like something I wasn't sure I was allowed to believe.

"Oh," I said. "Thank you."
It came out quieter than I meant it to.

Then I frowned again. "But how does that make you hesitate to talk to me?"

He sighed. "Because of the rumor."

My stomach dropped. "What rumor?"

He glanced past my shoulder, then back at me. "Everyone thinks you're dating."

I stared at him. "What?"

"Yeah," he said quickly. "A friend of mine asked Jack—you know, from the football team—because Josh is friends with him, and Josh is close to you, so... yeah. People think you're taken."

I laughed before I could stop myself. "Wait—no. That's not true. At all."

He smiled, relieved. "That's what I figured. Still, rumors spread fast."

I shook my head, incredulous. "But I'm literally here with you. What are people even saying?"

He nodded toward the punch table. "They think you and... the guy who looks like he wants to kill me are dating."

I followed his gaze.

Luke.

Standing stiffly by the punch bowl, jaw tight, eyes locked on us like I'd committed some kind of crime.

"Oh," I said. "No. He's just my best friend."

Evan studied my face. "You're sure?"

"Yeah," I said firmly. "It's weird people think that, but we're not like that. We're just close."

He exhaled, relieved. "Good. Because he genuinely looks like he's about to beat the hell out of me."

I laughed. "He just looks like that sometimes. He's... intense."

Evan nodded, though he didn't look convinced.

The song ended. People clapped, shifted, moved away.

I turned back to Evan, ready to say something—anything—but he was already stepping away, melting back into the crowd with a polite smile and a quick, "See you around."

And then he was gone.

I didn't even think. I followed.

I found Luke halfway down the hall, already pushing through the doors and out into the cool night air.

"Luke," I called, jogging to catch up. "Hey—what are you doing?"

He didn't stop until we were outside, away from the noise, breathing in cold air like he needed it to survive.

"You should go back in," I said. "The prom's still happening."

"I don't want to," he replied flatly.

I crossed my arms. "Okay. Then tell me why you're being like this."

He frowned. "Like what?"

"Like you're about to punch every guy who talks to me."

He scoffed. "That's not what I'm doing."

"Luke," I said sharply, "you were glaring."

"I was standing."

"You looked like you wanted to commit murder."

He turned to me, frustrated. "You're exaggerating."

"No, I'm not," I shot back. "This isn't the first time, either. Every time someone gets close to me, you act like they're a threat. It's weird."

"That's not—" He stopped himself, dragged a hand through his hair. "I just don't like him."

"You don't even know him."

"And I don't have to."

"Why?" I demanded. "Why does it bother you so much?"

He looked away. "I just wanted some air."

"That's not an answer."

He finally snapped back at me. "Why do you care what I think?"

"Because you're my best friend," I said, my voice rising. "And best friends don't act like jealous boyfriends."

The silence hit hard.

His jaw clenched. "I'm not jealous."

"Then stop acting like it."

"I'm not!"

"Then what is this?" I demanded. "Because it's confusing, Luke. It's sending signals you don't get to send."

His voice dropped, sharp and angry. "Maybe you're reading too much into it."

"Or maybe you're not being honest," I shot back.

He laughed bitterly. "About what?"

Maddie

I exhaled sharply, rubbing my face.
"Okay. Fine. Let's forget this part," I said, gesturing vaguely between us. "Whatever this weird... territorial thing is. I'll just assume you're being protective. Which—fine. Kind of nice. Weird, but nice."

He snorted and turned away.

"But," I continued, stepping after him, "we do need to talk about you not being honest."

Luke kept walking.

I grabbed his sleeve. "I'm talking to you."

He stopped, stiff as a board. "I'm listening."

"Then why are you walking away from me?"

He turned, irritation written all over his face. "Because there's nothing to talk about. I'm fine. You're overthinking. I don't like you like that."

The words landed harder than they should've.

There was a small, sharp ache in my chest that I absolutely refused to acknowledge.

"Okay," I said, forcing my voice steady. "Great. That's... good. But that's not even what I'm asking."

He frowned. "Then what are you asking?"

"Why you're not honest with me."

"I am being honest," he shot back. "We're friends. That's it. What else do you want me to say?"

I swallowed. "Victoria."

His jaw tightened. "What about her?"

"You talked to her," I said. "You didn't say anything. Not to me. Not to any of us."

"So?" he snapped. "Why should I?"

"Because she's clearly important," I said. "Or at least she thinks she is. And she likes you, Luke."

"She doesn't."

I laughed without humor. "Oh, please. Have you seen her? That's Victoria. Liking someone is basically her personality."

"She doesn't like me," he repeated.

"And even if she didn't," I went on, frustration spilling over, "you could've said something. 'Hey, I met a girl.' 'Hey, someone talked to me.' That's normal friend stuff."

"I don't need to report my life to you."

"That's not what I'm saying!" I shot back. "I'm saying you never say anything. I find out things days later. Weeks later. Sometimes months later. Like you're living this whole other life and we just get the highlights—if that."

He scoffed. "I don't owe you a rundown of every person I talk to."

"That's not what I want," I said, my voice shaking now. "I want you to tell me the things that matter. The things that affect you. I tell you everything. Maya does. Josh does. Henry does. Why are you the only one who can't?"

He crossed his arms. "Because I don't want to."

There it was.

Simple. Brutal.

"I like keeping things to myself," he continued. "I like figuring things out alone. Just because we're friends doesn't mean I have to share every emotion I have."

"I'm not asking for every emotion," I said. "I'm asking for any."

He looked at me then, really looked at me, eyes sharp.
"I can express myself, very clearly, unfortunately."

I laughed, bitter. "Oh my God, not this again. Let's blame me."

"I mean it," he said. "I'm arguing with you right now, aren't I? I wasn't like this before you."

I stared at him. "You didn't change because of me. You changed because you finally stopped locking everything inside."

"No," he said. "I was fine before. I didn't feel all this—anger, jealousy, whatever this is. And then you came along and—" He cut himself off, frustrated. "I don't want to feel things, Maddie."

That stopped me cold.

"I don't want rage. I don't want sadness. I don't want any of it," he went on. "I was better when I didn't."

My chest tightened. "That's not better. That's just numb."

"And that was enough for me."

"Well, it shouldn't be," I said softly. "You feel things whether you admit it or not. The stars broke you, Luke. Not because you're weak—but because you were already full."

He shook his head. "I don't want to be like that. And you need to respect that."

I stared at him, exhaustion settling in.
"Fine. I'll accept it."

He looked relieved.

"But hear this," I added. "If you ever need help—real help—and none of us know what's going on with you, we won't be able to be there."

"I don't need help," he snapped. "Has that ever crossed your mind?"

I hesitated. Then, quietly, "Maybe you don't want our help. Maybe you'd rather have hers."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh my God."

"See?" I said. "Deflection. Every time."

"Be sarcastic all you want," he muttered. "I don't care."

I stared at him in the cold night air, realizing something awful and undeniable.

He cared.
He just didn't know how to let himself.