The day of the bonfire finally came, and Tate was nervous. This was her first time going to anything like it, and she didn't know what to expect.
She decided to wear a short skirt and a long-sleeve top—something she'd never worn before. In fact, she hadn't even known she owned it until she started rummaging through her closet. It wasn't her usual style, but tonight, she wanted to step out of her comfort zone and feel confident.
Her mom had agreed to drop her off, which still surprised Tate. She'd expected her mom to say no instantly, but it had been the opposite.
As the car pulled up to the venue, her mom said softly, "Please be careful, Tate. I want you to enjoy your teenage years, and I don't want to be the overbearing mom—but don't do what you're not supposed to do."
Tate smiled. "I know, Mom. Thank you for letting me come. I really appreciate it."
She kissed her mom goodbye and stepped out of the car, watching her drive away. Martha's mom would be the one taking them home the next morning, so Tate felt a bit more relaxed.
A message popped up on her phone.
Martha:I'm already here. Near the beer keg.Tate:Okay, I'll find you.
She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. Tonight, she'd see Damien again. They'd barely spoken during the exam period, and now they were about to be in the same space—with no distractions, no excuses.
She told herself she'd just avoid him, but she knew that wasn't possible. Damien would find her. He always did.
As she walked in, someone called her name.
"Tate!"
She turned. It was Allen. He was holding a bottle of beer, and the way his eyes trailed over her made Tate feel instantly uncomfortable.
"Hi, Allen," she said quietly.
He pulled her into a hug—unexpected and a little too tight.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"Martha invited me. I'm looking for her. Have you seen her?"
"I don't know," he said dismissively, taking another sip.
Tate frowned. Something felt off. This wasn't the Allen she knew. Maybe he was drunk.
"Have you been drinking?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No."
It was an obvious lie.
Then he said, "I want to talk to you. Can we go somewhere quieter?"
Tate hesitated. She didn't feel comfortable, but Martha was nowhere in sight. It was Allen—her friend. He'd never hurt her, right?
"Okay," she said finally.
As they walked, the music faded and the lights grew dimmer. Tate glanced back toward the crowd and froze for a second—Damien's eyes met hers across the fire. Her heart skipped. Did he get more handsome? she thought, and quickly looked away.
"Don't you think we're a little far from the party?" she asked.
Allen replied, "I just want to talk without distractions."
Something in his tone made Tate stop. What am I doing following a drunk guy into the woods? she thought.
"Allen," she said firmly, "what do you want to tell me?"
He sighed and looked at her. "I'm in love with you, Tate. I've always loved you. I just never had the courage to say it. I thought maybe you felt the same way. But ever since you became friends with Martha—and started hanging around Damien—you've changed. You're not the person I knew."
Tate stared at him, stunned.
"I don't think I've changed," she said slowly. "I just got more confident. I think the person you fell in love with was the old me—and she's not coming back. I wasn't happy, Allen. I felt small and miserable, and I don't want to be that person again."
She swallowed hard. "You're a good person, and a great friend. But I don't feel that way about you. I like someone else. I'm sorry."
Allen's face fell. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead, he turned and stormed off into the dark.
Tate stood frozen for a moment, heart pounding. Then she slowly made her way back to the party, trying to process what had just happened.
She spotted Martha rushing toward her.
"Where have you been?!" Martha asked, panic in her voice. "We've been looking everywhere! Damien said he saw you heading into the woods with Allen, and before he could catch up, you both disappeared!"
Tate looked down at her phone and saw forty missed calls—half from Martha, half from Damien.
"Shit," she muttered. "I must've put my phone on silent. I'm sorry."
Martha exhaled and pulled her into a hug. "I'm just glad you're okay. I should call Damien—he's freaking out and looks ready to kill someone. And by someone, I mean Allen."
Tate winced. "Great."
Martha called him. "He's on his way here," she said, then turned back to Tate. "You're awfully quiet. Do I need to beat Allen up?"
Tate laughed weakly. "No. He just... confessed. And I turned him down. I think I lost my friend tonight."
Martha squeezed her hand. "No matter what happens, I'm always here for you, okay? I love you. And guess what? I even interacted with Mr. Douchebag tonight."
Tate grinned. "You did?"
"Yeah. We're not friends, but I can tolerate him."
They both laughed, and Martha tugged her toward the crowd. "Come on, let's dance. And by the way, you look hot."
Tate rolled her eyes but smiled. "Thanks."
They danced, laughed, and for a while, Tate felt free. She even tried beer for the first time—it wasn't bad.
Two hours passed, and she still hadn't seen Damien.
"Where is he?" she asked Martha as they roasted marshmallows.
Martha shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe it's a good thing. You should meet other people."
Tate raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said you tolerated him."
"I do," Martha said with a smirk. "But that doesn't mean you can't have options."
Tate laughed. She noticed a guy staring at them—mostly at Martha—and nudged her. "I think someone's waiting to talk to you."
Martha blushed.
"I'll leave you to it," Tate said. "I need water. My face feels hot."
"You'll find some in the fridge inside," Martha said.
Tate nodded and went into the house.
It was crowded with people, most of them drunk. She checked the fridge—empty. She sighed and decided to check upstairs. The first room she opened had two people making out, and she quickly shut the door, her face burning.
She went to the last room on the floor and stepped inside. A familiar scent hit her immediately—a mix of fruit and wood.
Damien.
The room was different from his usual one at home, but it was definitely his. She spotted a mini fridge, opened it, and smiled when she found bottled water. After taking a long drink, she turned to leave—only to bump into someone.
Damien.
He looked down at her with a faint smirk. "We've honestly got to stop meeting like this—especially in my room."