The rain came out of nowhere.
One second, the afternoon sun glimmered through the clouds. The next, it was like the sky gave up holding back. Penelope didn't mind the rain. In fact, she liked it—liked how it blurred the edges of the world, how it drowned out the noise in her head.
She stayed on the art room's balcony, letting the drizzle soak through her uniform as she leaned against the railing. She hadn't planned to be here. But then, she never planned much anymore. Not since everything started feeling different.
Marc found her there.
She didn't hear him come in, but she felt him—like thunder building behind her. She turned, startled. His hair was wet, drops of rain caught on his lashes, shirt clinging to his frame like he'd walked straight through the storm to find her.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
He didn't answer. Not immediately.
Instead, he stepped forward until they were only inches apart. "No," he said, voice low and rough. "I'm not."
Penelope blinked. "Did something happen?"
He looked away, jaw flexing. "Julian. He told me to back off. That you're 'confused.' That I'm just some distraction to you."
She swallowed hard. "Marc…"
But he wasn't finished.
"I didn't come back to this town for closure," he said. "I came back because of you. Because something about you never let go of me. Even when I was a thousand miles away, even when I tried to forget."
Penelope's breath caught.
Marc stepped closer still. "So if I'm just a distraction, tell me. Right now. And I'll disappear."
She stared up at him, heart thudding.
But she didn't say anything.
Instead, a door creaked open behind them. Veronica. Soaked, annoyed, and holding two sketchpads in a tote.
"Ohhh, am I interrupting a YA novel moment?" she teased, dripping water onto the tiled floor.
Marc didn't move.
Veronica raised a brow. "Okay then. I'll just... vibe with the ghosts in the hallway."
She backed away with the grace of a cat burglar, shutting the door dramatically behind her.
Penelope exhaled a laugh. Tension snapped like a wire between them—but only for a second.
"Do you want me to say it?" she asked, softer now.
"Say what?"
"That you're not a distraction."
He didn't answer.
Because instead—he kissed her.
Not softly. Not like a tentative question. But like something he'd been holding back for years. Like he knew the rain was falling, the moment was fleeting, and nothing was guaranteed.
Penelope froze for half a second. Then kissed him back.
It didn't fix everything. It didn't erase Julian's presence or the ache she still couldn't name. But in that kiss, something unlocked. Something unspoken that had been building between them since the first "hello."
They broke apart breathless.
"Okay," she whispered. "You're not a distraction."
Marc leaned his forehead against hers. "Good."
Then—of course—someone banged on the door. "FIRE ALARM AGAIN!" someone yelled.
"Are you kidding me?" Penelope muttered.
Marc grinned. "Come on. We'll blame Scott."
They ran through the hall, hand in hand, hearts louder than sirens.