Just me and you

High school is the definition of predictable. The same people dating, breaking up, and pretending it all matters more than it actually does. I barely know anyone at Green Field yes, that's the name of our high school, and no, I don't know why either. And just like most people don't know me, I don't particularly care to know them.

The highlight of my day? Seeing the three girls I call my people.

Today, like every other, we're sprawled across the hallway floor during lunch. The "model squad" sits inside the cafeteria, hogging three tables like their faces are endorsed by Gucci. Out here, the lighting is worse-but at least it's real.

Stella, my best friend since first grade, lets out a loud cackle. A poor ninth grader had just face-planted over a redhead's intentionally-placed leg. Stella lives for chaos like that. Her laughter rings out like a bell, her blue eyes practically gleaming with mischief as she flips a golden lock of hair over her shoulder.

"I'll never understand why you find public humiliation so entertaining," I said, giving her a sideways look.

"Because the way he fell was comedy gold," she said, still cracking up, her hair bouncing as she giggled.

Stella is all curves and confidence, barely five feet tall, but impossible to ignore. I, on the other hand, am tall and lanky, with long hazel hair and brown eyes. We're visual opposites, but we work.

Lola, seated beside me, snorted. "That boy is going to have a perfectly round bruise tomorrow."

That's Lola for you-calm, observant, and always trying to land the best punchline. Her strawberry-blonde curls framed her face like a halo, which didn't at all match the mischievous spark in her hazel eyes.

Piper, our resident rebel and blunt-mouth truth-teller, pulled a soft fruit out of her oversized purse. "Wanna talk ripe? I'll show you ripe!" she yelled, pretending to launch a sad-looking banana at Lola.

Piper's wild curls-dyed blonde in streaks-bounced with her laughter. Her tan skin shimmered in the fluorescent light as she tossed sass like confetti. She was all fire and zero patience.

As the girls screamed and laughed over rotten fruit, I sat back and smiled. These girls? They were my world. I didn't need popularity or attention-I just needed them.

I had just picked a tomato off my salad when it happened.

Sticky. Cold. Wet.

Something sugary soaked through the fabric of my shirt, chilling my skin instantly. The smell hit me first-something sweet and artificial. Fruitopia?

My head jerked up.

Drops of red liquid slid down my forehead, and standing in front of me was a tall boy with tan cheeks and unruly dark hair, his green-gold eyes sparkling with amusement. He was trying hard not to laugh.

"What the actual hell?!" Lola shrieked, her eyes wide.

That was all it took. He cracked, letting out a deep, uncontrollable laugh.

I didn't say a word. I just stood up and rushed to the nearest washroom, red liquid dripping down my face. I knew the girls would follow.

After scrubbing my hair and soaking half my shirt in cold water, I changed into the sweater Piper had in her bag. I sighed, stuffing my soaked shirt into my backpack.

"You okay, Hope?" Piper asked. Her voice had that rare older-sister tone she only used when she was genuinely concerned.

"Yeah, it's just a stain. Nothing life-shattering," I said, brushing hair out of my face.

"Alright, but... who even was that guy?" she asked, glancing at Stella and Lola.

Good question.

And a weird one too.

At Green Village, everyone knew everyone. The school's small-maybe 10 to 20 students per class-and we're all connected in some way. So how did I not know this guy?

Stella shrugged. "Whoever he is, he's hot."

I gaped at her. "You do realize he poured an entire drink on me and didn't even apologize, right? I'm sorry, I missed the part where assault-by-Fruitopia was attractive."

"He's still a jerk," Piper muttered, slapping Stella lightly on the arm.

"He didn't do it on purpose," Lola chimed in. "I saw him trip."

"Oh, come on. You really think that was an accident?" I said, exasperated.

"I recognized the guy he was walking with. Lives down the street from me. Didn't even know he went here," Lola added thoughtfully.

"Well, I don't care who they are," I declared, standing up just as the bell rang for third period. "I'll be perfectly happy never seeing them again."

As I walked off, I barely heard Piper whisper, "Okay, drama queen."

Four hours later...

After sitting through the world's dullest lecture on why phones are banned during class and being threatened with detention for my "attitude," courtesy of Mrs. Katherine (aka: my least favorite English teacher), I was finally free. Apparently, texting memes during Shakespeare gets you on the naughty list.

Thanks, Stella.

I trudged down the hall, pulling open my locker. The halls were eerily empty-Mrs. Katherine had kept me late. I glanced at my watch.

3:10 PM.

Ugh. Twenty-five minutes of my life I'll never get back.

I reached for my sweater, mind already halfway home when the sound of heavy laughter hit me like a slap.

Male voices. Footsteps. Too loud.

I turned slightly, peering over my shoulder.

Nope. Nope. Nope.

There he was. Drink-boy. The fruit-slinger. Along with three of his friends.

Just my luck.

He probably wouldn't even recognize me. We only saw each other for a few minutes, and I looked like a red-drenched raccoon. He'd walk by. I'd breathe again. No big deal.

I turned back to my locker and pretended to dig for something like I'd lost a secret map to Narnia.

The footsteps came closer. Still laughing. Still talking.

Then silence.

Everything stopped.

No footsteps. No voices.

And then-

"Hey, aren't you the girl I spilled my drink on?"

Great. Just great.

I turned slowly, considering my options. Maybe I could pretend it wasn't me, or better yet-bolt. My heart sank the moment I realized they were standing directly in front of the only way out.

"...Yes," I muttered, eyeing the boy I was quickly beginning to hate.

It was the first time I got a proper look at him. His green-and-gold eyes weren't exactly forgettable. His hair was somewhere between black and deep brown, tousled in a careless way that somehow worked. He wore a black T-shirt under a faux leather jacket with a speckled gray hoodie lining. His jeans weren't designer, and his black sneakers were the kind you grab on sale, but his gym bag-definitely name-brand. Some expensive sports company.

"Yeah... sorry about that," he said, grinning. "But you've gotta admit-it was kinda funny."

No. No, I didn't.

"Well, you weren't the one soaked in red sugar sludge," I said flatly, slamming my locker door with a satisfying clang.

"Look, I need to go," I added, already stepping sideways. "So if you'd be so kind as to move your giant ego out of my way, that'd be awesome."

"I think she just politely told you to screw off, bro," one of his friends snickered.

I shot a deadly glare in their direction, not entirely sure which one of them said it-juice boy's broad shoulders were blocking my line of sight. I was practically backed into my locker, and he stood way too close for my comfort.

"Thanks for your half-hearted apology," I snapped. "Now please move."

"Only if you tell me your name," he replied, folding his arms across his chest.

His friends copied him like some high school synchronized squad of idiots. Even the one with the scruffy blonde hair was wearing a matching faux leather jacket, clearly trying to mimic their leader.

"Oh, so we're playing 'hostage at the lockers' now?" I asked, sarcasm dripping from my words. "What are you gonna do, juice boy-keep me here until I cave?"

His friends burst out laughing.

"Juice boy!" they howled, practically body slamming and fist-bumping each other like they'd heard the best joke in the world.

His eyes twinkled with amusement. "Alright, now you've done it. I'm not moving."

Okay. That's it.

I was done with this whole conversation.

"You're not moving?" I repeated with a smirk. "Alright then."

Without another word, I raised my boot and stomped down-aiming straight for his foot. Unfortunately for me, I had the balance of a newborn giraffe and missed completely.

I shrieked and fell forward.

Straight into his chest.

His arms instinctively caught me, holding me upright for a moment that felt... way too long.

I pulled away, mortified. My face turned the color of boiled beets. His cheeks were a bit pink too, which only made it worse-was he blushing from the contact, or just strained from holding me up?

His friends were howling.

Like, actually crying-laughing.

I shoved him back and stormed off without another word.

-Later that week-

Wednesday morning. Second period geography. I was seated beside Lola, who leaned over mid-lecture with a knowing grin.

"So, the guy who was walking with mystery boy-you know, the one I said I recognized?" she whispered.

I nodded slowly, now half-interested.

"Well, turns out I was right," she said, eyes gleaming. "His name is Roman Carter. And he didn't go to our school until, like, three weeks ago."

"Okay...?" I said cautiously, not understanding the big reveal yet.

"He got expelled from his last school. Oaks High. Rumor is he sent some guy to the hospital, and the cops were this close to charging him. His mom had to talk the officers down."

I blinked. "You're serious?"

Lola shrugged. "It's what I heard."

Was it gossip? Probably. But the thought of a semi-criminal casually roaming our halls was unnerving.

"Any updates on mystery boy?" I asked reluctantly.

"Oh, I do know more," she said, grinning wickedly. "But you said you didn't care, remember?"

"Lola, I swear," I groaned. "I need to know his name so I can spend the rest of my high school years actively avoiding him. That's all. I'm not crushing-unlike someone I know."

She raised a brow at me and turned back toward her textbook, clearly offended.

Lunch rolled around. And with Lola still giving me the silent treatment, it was pretty uneventful. I made it to the end of the day without a single glimpse of juice boy, Roman Carter, or any of their obnoxious friends. Maybe my avoidance tactics were finally working.

But as I approached my locker, I saw them.

Stella, Piper, and Lola.

They stood frozen in front of my locker, phones in hand, whispering and scowling like something had just gone very wrong.

My stomach dropped.

"What's going on?" I asked, walking up slowly.

Piper stepped aside, giving me a grim look.

Taped to my locker in a giant frilly pink paper heart... was a photo.

Of me.

In mystery boy's arms.

The moment from the hallway-my face inches from his chest, his arms around me-had been snapped and printed. And it looked like something intimate. Something shared.

And it was out here. Where everyone could see it.

I ripped the paper down, crumpling it in my fists. "It's not what it looks like. Seriously."

"Oh? Then explain it," Stella said, arms crossed. "Because that's not the only place it's been posted. It's on Instagram. And tagged."

"What?" I gasped.

Lola handed me her phone. Sure enough, there it was. Tagged.

My name. His arms. The hallway. Everything.

Now the entire school would think I was head over heels for a boy who practically baptized me in red sugar syrup.

And worst of all-he knew my name now.

I told them everything as we walked off campus, start to finish. And like true best friends... they burst into laughter.

"Oh my God," Stella said between gasps. "You literally threw yourself at him."

"Hope, I didn't know you were that desperate!" Piper howled, holding her sides.

"I was trying to stomp on his foot!" I shouted. "I missed, okay? It's not like I meant to fall into his arms like a rom-com extra!"

"Actually..." Lola said, scrolling on her phone, "the person who posted the photo wasn't him."

"What?" I turned to her, blinking.

"It was one of his friends. Max Stewart. He's in my English class," she explained, showing me the account. The profile pic was a skinny guy with blonde hair and brown eyes.

I recognized him instantly.

He was one of the idiots laughing during the drink incident.

So maybe mystery boy wasn't the evil mastermind after all.

...Or maybe he was just letting his idiot friend do the dirty work.

Either way, we'd need answers-and fast.

"Friday," I said aloud, "we find Max Stewart. And whoever juice boy really is."

"Oh right," I added, turning to Lola. "You do know his name now, don't you?"

She grinned.

"Finally ready to meet your nemesis?"

I nodded. "Bring it on."

Because how can I plot this boy's social downfall if I don't even know his name?

Now that I would.

The battlegrounds were finally even.

We were all crammed into Lola's bedroom-me, Piper, Stella, and Lola herself-waiting for the tea to spill. It was one of those rare silences where everyone was too jittery to speak. Lola sat cross-legged on her bed, her eyes scanning ours like she was preparing to recite some ancient incantation. Honestly, it felt like a ritual.

"So... do all of you know who Roman is?" Lola asked. "Did I already tell you about him?"

"Yes, for the hundredth time!" I said, practically shouting. "Now who is mystery boy?!"

"Alright, alright. Chill, Eva," she said, her hands raised in surrender. "His name is Sam Hutchins. He came to our school with his cousin-Roman Carter. Apparently, Sam's parents died in a car crash. Roman's mom-his aunt-is also his godmother, so she got custody."

Sam Hutchins.

Poor Juice Boy.

My fingers brushed through my hazel hair as I let it sink in. That changed things. Not everything, but a little.

"That's... really sad," Stella said softly, breaking the silence.

"Poor guy," Piper murmured, shaking her head. Her dark curls bounced gently with the motion.

"My parents go to the same community group as Mrs. Carter," Lola explained. "They're pretty close. I overheard them talking about Sam when I walked in during dinner one night."

I stared down at the peach blanket beneath me, my thoughts swirling. Then, an idea sparked in my head-one that smelled like vanilla and chocolate chips.

-Later-

"Knock on the door," I hissed to Lola, my hands full with a heavy tray of chocolate chip cookies-almost a hundred, all made with love and vengeance.

Lola's glittery pink nails hovered over the wooden door of the Carter house but refused to touch it.

I groaned. "Ugh, give me that," I said, shoving the tray into her arms. "Time for those flashy nails to earn their keep."

I rapped hard on the door. The knock echoed against the solid wood and its little triangular glass window. It left my knuckles aching.

Suddenly, a creak echoed from above, and then a shout-"Now!"

SPLASH.

Freezing water drenched us head to toe. I squealed, gasping as cold seeped through every layer.

Footsteps thundered down the stairs. The front door swung open. And there stood Sam and Roman, grinning like little devils.

Until they realized who we were.

Sam's eyes widened. "Shit."

His white T-shirt clung to his chest, and his red-and-black plaid pajama pants hung low on his hips. His dark brown hair was messy and free of the usual leather jacket. I was freezing, furious, and-annoyingly-still noticing how attractive he looked.

I tilted my head, squeezing water from my hair. "Wow. Your apologies are just as bad as your aim."

For some reason, I didn't feel like strangling him this time. Progress?

"Sorry," Roman muttered behind him. He leaned casually against the stairway wall, arms crossed over his chest. His fitted grey T-shirt stretched across his broad frame, paired with loose navy jeans. His short curly brown hair was damp with sweat-or from watching too much chaos. His sharp grey eyes watched me like I was a puzzle.

"Maybe you both need glasses," I snapped. "Or functioning brains."

I yanked the tray of now soggy cookies from Lola and shoved it into Roman's arms. "These were for you. Congrats. Enjoy the mush."

Roman fumbled with the tray but managed not to drop it. I turned to grab Lola's arm-because she was still frozen like a statue-when Sam called after us.

"Wait. Come in. Dry off. It's the least we can do."

It might've been the dumbest decision of the week, but I nodded. Honestly, we were already halfway to popsicles. If they wanted to murder us, now was their shot.

We stepped inside, and Roman shut the door behind us. Sam bolted up the stairs, leaving me and Lola dripping on their entryway rug.

"You talk?" Roman asked, turning to Lola like she was some kind of mystery creature.

She blinked, startled. "I-I do. I just... don't have much to say."

She fiddled with the sleeve of her pink faux-sherpa hoodie, which matched the soft strawberry-blonde waves on her head.

"You scared of me or something?" Roman smirked, puffing his chest just a little.

Lola looked like she might say something, but then-thump-thump-thump-Sam came down the stairs carrying two enormous fluffy towels.

They looked like clouds from heaven.

I snatched mine gratefully. "Thanks," I muttered, wrapping myself up like a burrito.

Lola took hers more gracefully, still looking mildly stunned by Roman's interrogation.

Sam led us into the living room, and I finally took in the space. Cream-colored walls, soft brown furniture, built-in wood shelves lined with hardcover books and random knickknacks. A flat-screen TV was mounted above a minimalistic fireplace, and two cozy couches framed a glass coffee table.

"Wow," I breathed. "Your living room is... perfect."

Sam chuckled. "Thanks, I guess."

Roman flopped into a corner of the couch while I sat beside Lola.

"So," Lola started-way too casually-"did you two have anything to do with the picture on Eva's locker today?"

Roman blinked. "What picture?"

He looked at Sam, who sat upright at the mention of it. His expression shifted instantly.

"Max... That bastard!" Sam ran a hand through his hair. "I told him to delete it. I swear I didn't post anything. I'm so sorry, Eva."

His eyes were sincere. I could feel my anger fizzling under his gaze.

"It's okay," I said, relaxing into the couch. Sam's energy-chaotic as it was-had this weird effect. Calming. Disarming.

"Let's get him back," Lola said suddenly, grinning with mischief.

Just like that, the mood flipped.

"I'm in," Roman said without hesitation, his smirk sharpening.

I turned to Sam. "What about you?"

He smiled wide, brown hair falling into his eyes. "Definitely."

"Then count me in," I replied.

And just like that, we had a new mission.

Max Stewart wouldn't know what hit him.