"Hi, Mom," Tate said as she stepped onto the porch, water dripping from her sleeves.
Her mom didn't look impressed. She folded her arms and moved aside silently, letting Tate enter the house.
Tate slipped off her soaked shoes with a squish and tried not to shiver too obviously.
"Whose car was that?" her mom asked again.
Tate froze for a moment, unsure how to answer without triggering a full lecture. She turned slightly and mumbled, "My classmate's."
She began to walk toward the stairs, hoping to escape to the warmth of her room.
"Young lady," her mom called sharply, "you don't walk away when I'm talking to you."
Tate stopped in her tracks and turned back, heart sinking. Her mom's brows were knit together in a way Tate knew too well—annoyance mixed with concern.
"I'm sorry, Mom," Tate said quickly. "The car belongs to my classmate. His driver was taking him home, and he saw me standing in the rain and offered to give me a ride."
Her mom sighed, her arms still folded. "Okay. But be careful. Don't get into any random cars. I was scared when I saw you coming out of a black car I didn't recognize."
"Yes, ma," Tate replied quietly.
Her mom's face softened a little. "Go and change out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold."
"Okay."
Tate headed upstairs, peeled off the damp clothes, took a warm shower, and changed into dry pajamas. By the time she came back down for dinner, the warmth of the house had finally settled into her bones.
They ate together at the dining table, the clinking of cutlery and the occasional patter of rain filling the silence between them. Her mom eventually said, with a small smile, "Since your dad is coming home soon. I want to make something special. Maybe jollof rice "
Tate smiled faintly. "He'll love that."
After dinner, she returned to her room, sank into her bed, and picked up her phone. A notification waited for her.
Damien:"Are you okay? Hope you're not feeling sick or anything because of the rain."
Tate stared at the message. Her first instinct was to ignore it—but then again, he had gone out of his way to give her a ride. Ignoring him felt… rude.
She sighed, then typed back:
Tate: "I'm fine. Thanks
She placed the phone beside her and lay back against the pillows, unsure if she felt grateful or uneasy.
The next few weeks passed in a blur. Tate barely had time to breathe between attending classes, preparing for exams, and organizing meetings for their school project. Everyone was taking the project seriously, which only added to the pressure.
She was exhausted—and it didn't help that Damien was always around.
He had a habit of showing up wherever she was. Sometimes he just watched even during their project meetings,he stared at her . Other times, he made quiet comments or threw small compliments her way. People were beginning to notice. Landon had teased her about it earlier in the week, and she'd just laughed it off. Martha hadn't said anything, which surprised Tate. She wondered if she even noticed.
Meanwhile, she and Allen had grown closer. It was easy to be around him—calm, safe. Which only made Damien worse.
Any time Damien saw them together, he'd make some sarcastic remark. Tate would get irritated, and Damien would apologize. Again. And again.
It was becoming a cycle—one she was getting tired of.
The posters were up across the school, and the hotline for their project was officially live. Everything was set. Tomorrow was the presentation. Even though she wasn't the one presenting, Tate couldn't shake the nerves coiling in her stomach.
She needed a break.
During free period, she wandered out to the football field. It was mostly empty. Just the way she wanted it.
She found a quiet spot on the bleachers, slipped in her earpieces, and sat down on it. Closing her eyes, she let the music fill her head and tried—just for a few minutes—to forget everything else.
She didn't know how long she had been sitting there.
A shadow fell across her face, and she opened her eyes, squinting up.
Damien.
Of course.
"Are you good?" he asked.
Tate pulled out one earpiece and gave him a look. "Should I report you for stalking? How come you're always where I am?"
Damien laughed and sat down beside her. He handed her a sandwich and a chocolate drink. "I noticed you didn't eat much during lunch."
"Thanks," she said, surprised, and took the sandwich. She started eating, her stomach reminding her just how hungry she actually was.
"You're different nowadays," he said after a moment.
She paused mid-bite, then glanced at him. "How am I different?"
"You just seem… different from last year."
Tate blinked. "I still don't get you."
"I don't know how to explain it," Damien said, his voice softer now. "But you seem a bit different from the Tate I met when I first came to Salvador High."
Tate fell quiet, his words settling in her chest. Maybe he was right. She did feel different lately—more in control of her emotions, a bit more at ease in her own skin.
Wanting to change the topic, she asked, "Are you nervous about the presentation tomorrow?"
"Why would I be nervous?" he replied in that annoyingly smug tone.
She rolled her eyes. "Right. I forgot who I was talking to."
He grinned. "I'm kidding. I'm a bit nervous, yeah. But I won't let you guys down. You already did a great job with the posters and the hotline."
"Okay," she murmured.
Then she realized how close they were sitting—how long they'd been talking. She was supposed to be trying to forget about Damien and move on ,not… this.
Quietly, she shifted to scoot away, hoping he wouldn't notice.
But he did.
He gently tugged her back beside him and said, "Where do you think you're going?"—his voice low sending a shiver down her spine reminding her of how she felt when they kissed
She quickly looked around, checking to make sure no one was watching them.
Then the school bell rang.
Saved.
She jumped to her feet. "Let's go," she said quickly, not meeting his eyes.
After they were done with classes for the day, Tate said goodbye to Martha and left the classroom. As she walked through the hallway, she spotted Allen heading in the same direction.
"Hey," she called.
He looked up and smiled. "Hey."
They naturally fell into step beside each other and decided to walk home together. Their conversation was light—random topics, small laughs—but after a while, Allen's face grew serious.
"I want to ask you something," he said. "Promise to be honest?"
Tate glanced at him, puzzled by his sudden shift in tone. "Okay," she said slowly, curiosity bubbling up. "What is it?"
"Is there something going on between you and Damien?"
The question caught her off guard. She blinked, unsure how to respond.
"Why do you ask?" she finally said.
Allen shrugged, but his voice was quiet. "He's always around. Following you, talking to you. You two just… seem to always be together lately."
Tate looked away. "You misunderstood. We're just friends. We've been working closely because of the project. Remember—we're in the same group."
"Yeah," Allen said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. "I remember."
"There's nothing going on between us," Tate added. "We're just friends."
Allen nodded, but Tate couldn't shake the feeling in her chest. Guilt. She wasn't lying exactly—but she wasn't telling the full truth either. Damien wasn't always around because of the project. And she knew it.
When they reached her house, they exchanged a casual goodbye, and she stepped inside.