The idea that Blake stole my book haunts me for the rest of the evening. Deep down, I know it can't be true. It's Blake I'm talking about, the boy who couldn't care less about my campaign, let alone care enough to make copies of my notes and pass them to Chase, but that's what happens when the people you care about shatter your trust. You can't trust anyone.

The worst part about this – maybe not the worst part, but it's up there – is that I have no one to talk to about it. It kills me even to think it, but Blake O'Hare is my only friend.

When did that happen?

To calm down, I spend the next hour designing to-do list templates on my Ipad. It's an easy distraction, and I don't have to think about what Chase and Libby did. I don't drive myself crazy wondering whether Blake had anything to do with it. I don't think, period.

By the time I finish, I've made three templates I'll likely never use and color-coded my calendar. The clock hits seven. It's usually around this time I'd set off to Blake's, not that he's asked me over, but his friends did. I'm supposed to be celebrating my speech playing Beat Saber right now, not sitting in my room making templates. And even though I haven't decided if I trust Blake or not, I can't bring myself to stay away from him.

I peel myself off my bedroom floor and change into something more comfortable. When I'm ready, I lie and tell my parents I'm going to Angela's to celebrate my speech. The second Mom takes to lower her book is torture. I half-expect her to have already heard Angela's running for president and catch me in a bare-faced lie.

Instead, she smiles. "Have fun, Rose."

"Love you, Rosebud," Dad adds.

"Thanks, love you guys," I say and dash through the rain to my car. The weather from this morning hasn't eased up, making driving precarious. I drive extra slowly as I navigate the winding roads leading to Blake's house, telling myself I'm not going for him but because Liv invited me. Not going to Beat Saber Wednesday would be rude.

My heart is pounding as I pull up to his drive. Today's events have made me a wreck, but something about seeing his house calms me, as though I know once inside, I'll be safe. I don't have to worry about Chase or Libby or keep up the smile around my parents; I can breathe.

I kill the engine and flick up my hood before dashing to the basement. Blake is on the sofa alone when I open the door, watching tv. With it already nearing eight, I'd expected the others to be ready for Beat Saber. I close the door, which makes Blake look over. He doesn't say anything, doesn't bring up my breakdown, or ask me why I'm here; I'm grateful. I drop my bag and sink into the space beside him. My body relaxes, and even though the air is smoky, I was right: I can breathe.

After a moment, I glance at his profile, trying to find something in his expression that tells me whether I can trust him. Whether or not he's capable of stealing my campaign book. Everything I've learned about him so far tells me he isn't, but didn't I think the same about Chase?

He half-turns and catches me looking. Embarrassed, I blurt out, "Liv invited me to Beat Saber Wednesday." It's my excuse, and I'll cling to it.

"What," he wants to know, sounding amused, "is Beat Saber Wednesday?"

"Beat Saber Wednesday," I repeat, but he's looking at me like I'm a martian. "The game you guys play on VR. You have to drink when you lose."

Blake puts his beer down and turns to me. "That's not a thing."

"What do you mean that's not a thing?"

"I mean we played it once in the summer because Kenny wouldn't shut up about it. He got so dizzy that we had to hose him down with the water pipe to stop him from puking."

I'm about to ask why his friends would invite me to a made-up game, but as Blake shifts his arm, I catch a glimpse of his bloodied knuckles. "What happened to your hand?"

He looks down. "Oh. Ah, nothing."

Clearly, lying is not his strong suit. I grab his arm and bring it to my lap, surprised when he lets me. Brushing my thumb across his knuckle, I say, "This isn't nothing. How did you do it?" I'm certain I'd have noticed the bruises if they had been there this morning.

He stares at me for what feels like forever. "You're not going to drop it, are you?"

"No."

"That's what I figured." He doesn't say it like it's a good thing, either. After pulling back his hand, he chugs his beer, puts the empty can on the table, and pulls out his vape. "I had a run-in with Chase's face."

My mouth falls open. Why would Blake, the most unbothered person I know, punch Chase? What is going on today? "Why?"

He doesn't answer right away. He's watching some body odor ad like it's the most fascinating thing in the world. "I saw him across the street and figured I'd try reasoning with him." He smokes his vape like the rest isn't important.

"What led to the punching part?"

His jaw twitches. He blows the smoke out the side of his mouth, working hard to avoid my gaze. "He called you a name, and I hit him. It's not that interesting of a story, Matthews."

"You did it for me?"

"I did it for society. The guy's an asshole."

For the next few seconds, I can only hear the sound of the tv and rain lashing the windows. Blake gets up and closes the window before sitting again. I'm still trying to process how and why he punched Chase. "Did anybody see you hit him?"

"Probably."

"Blake, I'm serious." I scoot closer until our knees are touching. If Blake punched Chase, does that mean he couldn't have been the one who gave Chase my campaign book? Does it mean he doesn't hate me? One way or another, I'm determined to get the truth out of him.

"Rose," he says, "just drop it."

But I can't just drop it. The stakes are too high – for both of us. "What if he reports you?" I ask. "You won't be allowed to be my campaign captain anymore. You'd get suspended." It's not even my campaign I care about right now. It's what Blake said about Mr. Mackley being on his case. If he's already on their radar, a suspension isn't going to look good. Doesn't he care about his future?

He leans forward a little, surrounded by smoke, and examines his knuckle. "He won't report me. He's a lot of things, but he's not a snitch–" he flexes his knuckle and winces, "–got one hell of a jaw, though."

I gnaw on the side of my nail. What exactly did Chase say about me that drove Blake to punch him? And does that mean, despite the odds, he cares about me? I want answers, answers I'll only get if I'm prepared to be brave, but I'm not sure I am.

"You shouldn't have hit him," I say instead. "What about Principal Mackley? A suspension doesn't look good on your record, Blake. What about your future?"

His eyes harden. "Look, I don't need you worrying about my future."

"Well, I don't need you defending me," I snap.

"Fine."

"Fine." Stone-cold silence stretches between us as I stare at the tv, but I don't even know what I'm watching. I'm so frustrated that I can only see a blur of flashing lights. I glance at the door, watching the way rain pelts at the window. If I make my escape now, I can beat the worst of the storm, but my feet, once again, betray me. When I can't take the silence anymore, I say, "Why did your friends trick me into coming over for Beat Saber Wednesday if it doesn't exist?"

He looks ready to ignore me, but something changes his mind last second. "Probably because they think I like you."

I open my mouth and close it again. I could ask so many questions at this moment, but only one of them really matters. "Do you?"

He doesn't look at me. "You watch Real Housewives and have stuffed animals in your room. What do you think?"

My heart flatlines. I get to my feet. "I think you're the last guy on this planet I'd ever be interested in, so you should tell them not to waste their time." I barely reach the door when he gets up and stops me.

"You're not driving in this, Matthews."

"I'd rather get wet than stay here." I open the door, about to step into the thundering rain, but he slams it shut. Slowly, I turn. He steps closer, the flashing light from the tv screen casting shadows across his cheekbones, turning his eyes cedar-brown.

"You're frustrating," he says. "You know that?"

My throat burns with heat. He's always so close, yet somehow, forever out of reach. "You're a jerk."

He leans even closer, his nose brushing mine, but our lips don't touch. Won't. His voice comes hard and low against my ear. "You're a princess."

I shiver at the sound of his voice. It's what makes this so wrong: I'm the princess in his eyes. He's the burnout in mine. Under no circumstances should the two of us have ended up here, but we did.

"You're standing awfully close to this princess," I manage.

"I don't see you moving, Matthews."

He's got me, and he knows it. I back up a little and somehow end up trapped between him and the door. My breath catches. His eyes drop lower and land on my lips; I think I might run out of air. The second his head lowers, my hands dart out and press on his chest, keeping him from moving any closer. He'd expected as much from his smirk: Rose Matthews chickens out.

My head moves a little to the left. The door is right there. A step to the side, and I'll be back in my car as if none of this happened. I won't have to worry about Blake quitting as my campaign captain or someone starting rumors; I can focus. But even as my brain screams do it, I can't convince myself to leave; I don't want to.

I raise my gaze until it's firmly on his. His eyes grow black, his breathing unsteady as he waits to see just how far I'll take this. The old Rose would know this is a terrible idea, but I don't care about the consequences. All I want in this moment is to do something shocking, something that perfect Rose would never dream of.

A moment later, I do.

❤️

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