°°

When we step outside, I walk away from Naomi, trying to keep my cool, but it's pointless.

My heart is practically trying to come out of my chest, and I can't wipe this ridiculous grin off my face.

I could just float right down the hallway.

Her number is scrawled on my palm, a little smudged since it's been there since morning, but I can still make out the numbers or maybe I might have memorized it.

I can't stop replaying her words in my head, her smirk, her little deliberate brushes.

I know it should not, but the boldness of it makes my skin tingle, and my cheeks are still warm. There's this giddy, buzzing energy inside me, that I can't shake, even if I wanted to.

She's the last thing I should be thinking about, but right now, she's the only thing I am thinking about.

I let out a breath. Too much stuff for one day, but I can hear Naomi chuckling with her friends behind me.

"You guys really don't have to share your fries with me," I say for the third time, watching Mia feed one to Dylan across the booth at Martin's Diner. "I'm good with my milkshake."

"Don't be ridiculous." Mia pushes the basket toward me. "We always share fries."

Yeah, but that was before she started dating Jacob Walsh and every french fry became an excuse for them to be adorable together.

Don't get me wrong-I love that my best friend is happy. Jacob's a good guy, and they're cute together.

But watching them feed each other makes me feel like I'm intruding.

It's obvious they're in their own little bubble, no matter how hard they try to act like I'm part of it. And I get it. I'd feel the same if I were in Mia's shoes.

I pick at the fries, dipping one in ketchup just to keep my hands busy, but I can't shake the feeling. It's like there's this invisible line separating us, and I'm on the outside looking in.

They're sweet, and they laugh at my jokes, but there's something I can't quite reach-a shared intimacy, a language I don't know. They've got inside jokes, glances, and whispers that make me feel like I'm sitting at a different table.

Mia leans over, giving Jacob a quick peck on the cheek, and he squeezes her hand in response.

I look away, pretending to be interested in the paint on the wall across from us, but my mind wanders to Naomi.

"So," Jacob starts, bringing my eyes back to the couple. "Mia mentioned something about Naomi Hayes?"

I nearly choke on my strawberry milkshake.

"Did she now?" My eyes snap to Mia who gives a sheepish grin.

This was supposed to be just between us!

Mia at least has the grace to look slightly guilty.

"I had to tell him! It's not every day the fling queen of Brentford High decides she wants to date my best friend."

"About that..." I stir my shake with my straw, thinking about how Naomi's fingers felt against my palm this morning.

About how she kept finding excuses to touch me in AP Lit. About how her presence next to me made it impossible to focus on anything.

"I think it's just silly."

"Oh?" Mia's eyes light up with interest. "Do tell."

Against my will, I find myself spilling to them about the hallway phone number exchange thing, the texting. Naomi bullying Campbell into his seat. I don't tell them about the contacts during class because I do know if I'm ready to let them know that it all is making me too excited than it should.

By the time I finish, Mia is practically bouncing in her seat.

"Luna! She's totally into you for real!"

"Doubt that," I protest, but my cheeks feel warm. "She needs someone to pose as her girlfriend for whatever reason, and I'm not falling for the trick."

"Uh-huh." Jacob looks skeptical. "Because writing her number on your palm and flirting with you all day is totally normal."

I don't respond to that but somehow the conversation twits to the food, grasshoppers and their valentine's plan.

When I get home, Mom's car is in the driveway, which is a surprise. She doesn't usually get off this early, especially since she's been picking up extra shifts, not that we need extra money desperately but anything to keep herself occupied.

I close the door behind me, kicking off my shoes as I make my way into the kitchen.

She's sitting at the table, flipping through some mail with a half-hearted look on her face. Her blonde hair's pulled back in a messy bun, and there are dark circles under her eyes that haven't left since Dad moved out.

"Hey, Mom," I say, trying to sound upbeat. "Didn't expect to see you home."

She looks up, a moment of recognition passes before her face goes back into that blank expression.

"Hi, sweetie. Just... got off early." Her voice is flat, tired. I can tell she's not in the mood for small talk, but I try anyway.

Maybe today will be different.

"How was work?"

She shrugs, not glancing at me.

"Same as always." There's a beat of silence, before she adds, "Did you have a good day?"

It's a routine question. I know she's asking because she feels like she has to, not because she really wants to know.

"Yeah, it was fine," I reply, matching her energy. "Nothing special."

She nods, her attention already back to the mail.

Dissapointment slaps my face but I remember it's a feeling too familiar.
It's been like this ever since Dad left. I used to think she was the strongest person I knew, but she's a shadow, here but not really present.

I give up on the conversation, heading to my room to find some kind of distraction. I try watching a movie, scrolling through Netflix until my eyes blur, but nothing holds my attention.

Editing photos from the party helps for a little while, but my mind keeps wandering back to Naomi.

I can still see that smirk on her face as she watched me blush under her gaze.

I pick up my phone and stare at her number, heart racing as I debate my next move.

I could just text her. It was okay in the afternoon. But I had something to day then, what do I say now?

Then I remember that I owe her some photos I took at the party.

I pick the ones where she looks effortlessly stunning, even in the middle of a crowded room.

I attach a few of them to an email and hit send. No message-just photos.

It's risky, even a little reckless, but there's a thrill in it, too.

But I think I like it.

I set my phone down, waiting to see if she'll respond.

I don't mind the uncertainty. For once, it feels good to let myself get carried away.

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