I'm staring at our last text exchange from three days ago when Sarah drops into the seat across from me at lunch.

"Earth to Naomi? Hello?"

"What?" I lock my phone, but not before catching another glimpse of Luna's last message.

Luna: Thanks for tonight. I had fun.

"You're doing it again." Sarah steals one of my fries. "The whole brooding thing. It's very un-Naomi-like."

She is not wrong.

I haven't been myself since the pier. Since Luna went from constantly texting me to radio silence. Since I started catching glimpses of her in the hallway only to watch her duck around corners or suddenly become very interested in her camera settings.

It's weird really how things rapidly change and I'm having a hard time getting used to the new stuff.

"I'm not brooding." I am absolutely brooding. "I'm just tired. Dad's on my case about Harvard again."

"Right." Sarah's not buying it. "This has nothing to do with a certain photographer who hasn't been around lately. Who you're supposed to be 'dating'?" She air qoutes 'dating'

I pick at my salad, ignoring how she is making me feel.

"We're keeping things low-key." Lies.

"Since when does Naomi do anything low-key?"

Since I realized I might actually care what Luna thinks of me. Since I spent an entire evening watching her eyes light up every time she spotted a good photo opportunity.

Since I felt her arms around my waist on that motorcycle ride and damnit I haven't been able to think about anything else.

"It's complicated," I say instead.

"What's complicated?" Meg appears with her lunch tray. "Haye's love life?"

"It's not—" I start, but then I see Luna entering the cafeteria with her camera bag.

Like I've conjured her, her eyes snap to me. Our eyes meet for a split second before she quickly looks away, heading for the other tables across.

Something in my chest tightens. I swallow.

"Oh honey." Meg follows my gaze. "You've got it bad."

"Shut up." But there's no heat in it.

Because yeah, maybe I do have it bad.

Maybe that's why it doesn't feel nice that Luna's avoiding me after what felt like a perfect evening.

My phone buzzes, and for a second my heart jumps, hoping it's her trying to talk again—but it's just Dad.

Dad: Don't forget - dinner with the Richardsons tonight. 7PM sharp. Wear something appropriate.

Right.

Because God forbid I miss another networking opportunity with one of his partners who is also a Harvard alumnus.

Heaven forbid I have one evening to myself to, I don't know, figure out why the girl I can't stop thinking about suddenly won't look at me.

I hear Luna laugh at something across the cafeteria with her usual friends, the brunette and her boyfriend, and it's like a magnetic pull.

I glance over to see her showing the brunette something on her camera screen.

Today, she's wearing dull overalls and a tee. Her hair is falling to her side and it kind of reminds me of that night at the pier.

"Just talk to her," Sarah says, surprisingly gentle. She'd be gladly teasing me about this right now.

"I don't know what to say."

And isn't that pathetic? Me, Naomi, who always has these killer pick up lines is completely tongue-tied over a girl.

"Since when?" Meg burns her eyes through me.

I shrug. "I have no fucking idea."

"Do you know what you need?" Meg starts.

I nod for her to continue.

"Sex."

Sarah gasps next to her. "She's is in a relationship. And it's exclusive." She looks at me. "It's exclusive right? That was the best!"

I just shrug and continue with my fries.

After school, I'm heading to my bike when I overhear two juniors talking about the regional photography competition.

Apparently Luna's entering. She's been staying late in the darkroom all week working on her submission.

Is that why she's been distant? Or is she avoiding me because the pier was too much? Because I pushed too hard, moved too fast? Because she realized this whole thing was becoming a lot more real?

I pull out my phone, type and delete about fifteen different messages before settling on:

Me: Good luck with the competition.

I hit send then immediately regret it. Too casual? Too intense? Why is this so hard?

My phone buzzes almost immediately and my heart stops.

Luna: Thanks. How did you know about that?

Me: I have my sources.

Luna: Stalking me, Hayes?

Me: You wish, Pretty

It's the most we've talked in days, and I'm pathetically grateful for even these small things.

I want to ask why she's been avoiding me, I want to tell her I haven't stopped thinking about how she felt pressed against me on the motorcycle, how her smile looked in the pier lights.

Instead, I type

Me: Need any help with your submission?

The typing bubble appears, disappears, appears again.

My heart's actually racing over three stupid dots on a screen.

What is wrong with me?

Luna: Don't you have a date with your new fling this week?

The text feels like a bucket of cold water. Right. Because that's my reputation, isn't it?

Me: That's just mean. You know I want you.

Luna: You're a player, Hayes, it's cute.

Is she flirting? It feels like she's flirting. I'm about to respond when another text from Dad pops up:

Dad: Car's waiting out front. Don't make us late.

I look at Luna's message again.

But something in her casual response makes my chest hurt.

She doesn't believe me. She doesn't trust me.

How the hell do I win her over? Even if it's for a fake dating dare?

I get in the car, already dreading another evening of my father. But all I can think about is Luna in the darkroom.

I should be there. I want to be there.

Instead, I straighten my blazer and prepare to be the perfect Hayes daughter.