My thoughts don't stop spinning for the rest of the night. The more I think about it, the more I realize it's not the debate I'm upset about or even the fact that I've probably lost the campaign: it's that after Chase's confession, I've lost a little faith in humanity.

It's my fault, really. I always figured it was the really bad people you had to watch out for, murderers and criminals, and people who otherwise made it obvious they'd use you as target practice, not people like Chase. And that's what hurts: the realization that bad guys aren't monsters – they are ordinary people.

My parents quiz me about the debate over dinner. I don't much feel like talking, but I spin more lies about how great it all went and how I think I've got a chance. Afterward, I head to my room and sit on the bed, staring at the pictures of Chase and Libby that take up half of my room. When I can't stand to look at them any longer, I jump to my feet, tearing them down and throwing them in the trash.

By the time I sit back down, I'm breathing hard. I can't be in this perfect pink room anymore. Can't keep faking a smile; I need to get out of here. After changing out of my debate outfit and into something more comfortable, I grab my keys, tell my parents I'm heading to Angela's, and drive to Blake's. We haven't exactly made plans to see each other, and given that I ignored him after the debate, he'd be well within his right to tell me to get lost. I'm hoping, though, that he'll take pity on me.

It's not long before I pull into his driveway. As I kill the engine, I have this moment of panic where I question what I'm doing – since when did Blake become the person I want to be around after a bad day – but I ignore it and walk to the basement.

After a few deep breaths, I knock on the door and wait. Blake opens it a moment later, his hair slightly damp like he just got out of the shower, and he's wearing a Rolling Stones tee. He stares at me, eyes dark in a way that unnerves me, but reluctantly steps aside. I walk past him, ignoring the heat that floods my cheeks, and sit on the sofa.

He sits beside me, legs outstretched. I can feel him watching me, but I pretend to be invested in whatever is playing on the tv, praying he won't ask me questions. Right now, the only thing I want is to sit in his basement and not have to pretend.

"I've never seen anyone so fascinated by a tooth plaque ad," he says.

I don't say anything, but I'm acutely aware of his gaze on my profile. If I had any sense, I'd have stayed home and wallowed in my misery alone, but I guess what they say is true: misery loves company.

"Votes are in a week, right?" he says. "There's still time to retcon."

I let a few moments pass before facing him. "I don't want to talk about the campaign anymore. I just want to sit in the dark in my misery."

His mouth lifts. He picks up his vape and flips it in his hands. "All right."

I sit back, shoulders sinking as the tv flashes before me. When some paranormal show comes on, I break my vow of silence to say, "Can we watch Ginny and Georgia?"

He stops flipping his vape to look over. "I'd rather gouge my eyes out." My shoulders slump lower. He must think I'm on the verge of a breakdown because he sighs and hands me the remote. "One episode."

Giddy, I take the remote and turn on Netflix while he continues to play with his vape. He wants to smoke, I can tell, so I half-turn to face him while scrolling through the channels and say, "You never smoke around me anymore."

His eyebrows furrow like he hadn't noticed. "You don't like it."

It's my turn to furrow my eyebrows. Since when does Blake make decisions based on what I do or don't like? And more importantly, why does this sliver of information excite me? "I don't mind," I say, clicking on my program. "It's your basement."

He stares at me for a long time before raising his vape to his lips. I watch for a moment, entranced as he blows out the smoke in his mouth and fills the basement in a haze. "Watch your show, Matthews."

Embarrassed, I turn to the screen. We fall silent for the next few minutes while Ginny and Georgia plays. I've only made it halfway through half an episode, so really, I should concentrate, but all I can focus on is how every so often, Blake's arm brushes mine.

"I can't believe you watch this crap," he says after a while.

"It's not crap."

"They've known each other two seconds, and he's climbing through her window."

"It's romantic."

"Matthews," he says. "That's not romantic."

I ignore him and rub my shoulders because it's freezing tonight. "Is the heating on?"

"I haven't paid the bill." He reaches behind me, grabs the blanket, and covers me in it.

Surprised, I pull it up to my neck, knowing that the goosebumps that follow are not down to the cold. Blake turns his head a little, his gaze on my mouth and that look in his eye like he's thinking things bad things. I want to kiss him – god, how I want to kiss him – but after what happened with Chase, it's high time I started being more careful. He leans closer, eyes dark like he's about to kiss me, but I turn my head last second.

"I'm too sad to kiss you," I say.

He grins through the smoke. "I never thought I'd see the day I wished for preppy Rose back."

"She's gone," I say. "She died in that debate."

"It wasn't that bad, Matthews."

"It was."

He blows out the rest of the smoke in his mouth and gets to his feet. "All right, that's it. You're coming with me." He grabs my hand before I can protest and leads me into the yard.

"Your yard," I say as I take in the wilting flowers, "nice."

"I'm not showing you my yard, Matthews."

"Then why are we out here?"

He ignores me and leads me further down the path. At the far end is a large pile of broken tree logs and a sledgehammer. Blake picks it up, and I think he's going to kill me for real, but he flips it around so that the handle faces me.

"My dad would come out here whenever he'd get angry," he says. "I used to think it was stupid, but it works."

I glance at his arms. Out of all his tattoos, there doesn't seem to be one I can quite correlate to his dad. "You've never mentioned him before," I say carefully. "What happened to him?"

He shrugs and looks away. "He split when my mom got sick." As though he knows what I was thinking, he looks back and adds, "Not exactly a time I want to remember." He steps back, folding his arms as he leans against the shed. "You're not a quitter, princess, so get whatever it is out of your system."

I turn to the wood pile, sledgehammer in hand like a serial killer, and chop. Nothing seems to happen at first, other than my wrist starting to ache, but Blake moves behind me, chest pressed to my back as he shows me how to swing, and it feels like I'm seconds from running out of air.

He lets go – much to my annoyance – and I swing the hammer as hard as I can. A rush of adrenaline charges through me, so I swing again, over and over. As stupid as I'd thought this would be, I can't ignore the rush of freedom.

I'm really going for it, half-screaming as I imagine Chase's face. When I finish, I'm breathing heavily, but god, do I feel better. Blake's right: I've never quit a thing, which means I'm not about to start now. The debate might be over, but I still have a week to pull out all the stops before the final vote is cast.

"What am I watching right now?"

We both jump back at the sound of Liv's voice. I lower the hammer, turning to the house, where Liv, Freddie, and Kenny watch us with various levels of confusion.

"We heard screaming," Kenny says when nobody speaks. "We thought Rose was being murdered."

Freddie steps forward, tilting his head. "Is this some kind of weird fetish you've got going on?"

Blake takes the hammer and tosses it aside. "Rose was sad."

"Oh," Freddie says, turning to me. "You want to jump off the bridge?"

I frown and say, "Not that sad."

"No, I mean recreationally."

"I don't know–" but he's already pulling me back through the gate.

Without much choice, we walk a few blocks to the bridge. I stay mostly quiet, listening to Liv, Freddie and Kenny talk about the concert on Saturday, which Liv tells me she bought me a ticket for. I don't exactly feel like going, given the circumstances, but I also know that distraction is the only way I'll make it to voting day.

It's dark by the time we get there, but there's a warm breeze in the air that reminds me of summer. I follow the others across the bridge, where we sit and dangle our legs over the edge. I'm sandwiched between Freddie and Blake, unable to focus on anything but the feel of Blake's knee as it knocks against mine. After a moment or two, Kenny pulls some beers from his bag and passes them down the line.

With Liv and Blake busy talking about music, I turn to Freddie, watching as he flicks the lid of his beer can. Suddenly, quietly, he leans in my ear and whispers, "He'll never make the first move, you know. He's so damn stubborn that he'd take his feelings to his grave before he ever admitted to them first."

"What are you even saying?" I whisper back.

"If you like him, you should tell him."

I ignore him and stare at the ink-black water below. It's quiet in this part of town, no sounds of cars or the hustle of small-town life, just silence, which means despite my agreement with Blake, I start to overthink. Until now, I've told myself I'm too busy with the campaign to focus on Blake, but the truth is, I'm scared. What if once the campaign is over, so is what we have?

"All right," Freddie says, getting to his feet, "it's time."

"No way am I jumping," Kenny says, chugging his beer.

"Me neither," Liv says.

I hesitate, which Blake catches.

"You don't have to jump, Matthews," he says.

"She does," Freddie says, turning to face me. "You do. You wanna know why I love jumping? It frees you. For those moments you're in the air, you forget the bullshit, Rose. You're so scared in the moment that it's like your brain shuts off."

He says it in a way that makes me want to. Even though I'm determined to fight 'till the end of this campaign, I can't deny that for tonight, I want to forget. "I'm jumping," I say and get to my feet.

Blake's eyes don't leave mine as I peel off my jeans. The old me would never have done such a thing, and even the new me is apprehensive, but at least my t-shirt is long enough to cover my underwear.

Blake's gaze grows hooded as it drops to my thighs. I turn away, about to climb up the bridge railing, when he grabs my hand, forcing me to look back. "Don't make me have to come in after you," he warns.

I smile and turn to Freddie again, who climbs up the railing and holds onto the metal pole as he stares into the abyss. We're not exactly that high off the ground, and the water this time of year is bearable, but the idea of jumping thrills me anyway. I follow him up, my legs like jello as I peer into the water.

"Close your eyes," Freddie says. "We'll go on the count of three."

"Okay." Breathless, I close my eyes as Freddie starts the countdown.

"One," he says. "Two. Three–"

My lungs rush with air as I soar off the ledge, but Freddie was right. For the second or two that I'm airborne, I'm weightless, lost in the thrill of the leap.

Free.

❤️