Chapter One: Suwanee in Control (Mostly)
Suwanee Jameson was a whole personality. Loud, smart, funny without trying, and allergic to being ignored, she had no interest in being "quiet and well-behaved." She wasn't that kind of girl. She was the kind who snapped selfies before homeroom, started dance battles in the school hallway, and responded to heartbreak with "He was mid anyway."
At sixteen, Suwanee had a fully booked life—high school chaos, FaceTime rants with her three best friends, and a phone that rarely left her hand. Her group chat was her second home, her girls her ride-or-die crew: Jada, the savage brainiac who could roast a man and get an A in physics at the same time. Melanie, the emotional softie who fell in love every two weeks. And Tasha, chill, sarcastic, and a walking playlist of vibes.
Together, they were a force. Loud in public, loyal in private, and always ready to drag each other with love. And when it came to Suwanee's longtime, borderline embarrassing, fully committed crush on Michael Delaine, they were heavily invested.
"Girl, you've been obsessed with him since you were, like, nine," Jada reminded her at least once a week.
"I imprinted on him," Suwanee would say, dramatically clutching her chest. "Like a duck."
Michael wasn't just any guy. He was church guy. A whole different category. Drummer in the youth choir, clean-cut, respectful, the type of boy mothers prayed for and girls swooned over during praise and worship. He went to a different school, but Suwanee had seen him every Sunday since forever—behind the drum kit, head nodding to the beat, looking like the cover of a Christian R&B album.
Suwanee had been in love with him since she was a kid. She'd sit next to her mom during service, pretending to follow along with the scripture while sneaking glances at him on stage. Over the years, the crush didn't fade. It deepened. Matured. Became something that lived quietly in her chest, but still made her stomach flip every time he spoke to her.
And she'd told her friends everything.
The first time he liked her selfie on Instagram? Screenshot. The first time he asked if she was coming to youth group? Whole voice note breakdown. The first time he complimented her sneakers and she blacked out for three seconds? Immediately told the group chat, caps lock on.
Tasha was the chillest about it. "He's cute, I guess. But are you sure he's not, like, too nice for you?"
"Excuse me," Suwanee had replied, "I am NICELY CHAOTIC. Thank you."
Her friends knew she could handle anything—school drama, parental pressure, even her dad's strict no-nonsense rules. Mr. Jameson ran their household like a private school—lights out by ten, chores on schedule, and absolutely no boys calling his daughter. But Suwanee had always found ways to live out loud within the lines—or at least color just outside of them.
Still, Michael was different.
He wasn't a school crush she could laugh off in a week. He was history. Heartbeat. Her one soft spot in a world where she usually kept everything under control.
And somewhere between Sunday service glances, low-key DMs, and prayers that sounded more like "God, just give me a sign," Suwanee knew:
This wasn't just a crush.
This was the beginning of something real.
And she was so not ready to handle it.