My phone buzzed at 7:16 a.m.
I hadn't even opened my eyes yet. I was still halfway between sleep and a coma. The only thing I managed to do was slap at the nightstand until I grabbed my phone and peeked at the notification.
Celestia: Does your boner feel better now? 😘
Attached: a photo.
I blinked.
Then blinked again.
Then sat up so fast I almost gave myself a concussion.
It was her. Celestia. Half-covered, back arched, bare shoulders and definitely no shirt, but arms crossed just enough to block the full view — barely.
She used one hand to cover her tits — just one — which was impressive, considering those things were far from small and damn near impossible to ignore.
It was just enough to make my brain melt and my body betray me all over again.
She looked insanely good. Like magazine cover, forbidden goddess, this-should-be-illegal good.
And those—
No.
I shut the thought down mid-sentence.
My thumbs hovered over the screen like they were afraid of offending the image. Then, dumbly, I typed:
Me: What is wrong with you.
She replied instantly.
Celestia: A lot.
Celestia: But you like it.
Celestia: 😘😘😘
I dropped the phone on my bed and groaned.
This girl is actually going to kill me. Not metaphorically. Not dramatically.
I'm talking a real, tragic obituary: Local nerd dies from too much sexy crazy.
---
School didn't make anything better.
She was already waiting by my locker. Like a predator. Except hotter and more smug.
Her lips were glossed, hair tied back in that lazy-rich-girl ponytail, and she was wearing my hoodie.
My. Hoodie.
How she got it? Don't ask. I don't even remember giving it to her — she probably just took it while I was blacked out from sexual confusion.
"Morning, boyfriend," she purred.
"People are watching."
> "Let them."
Then she kissed me, again.
In the hallway. In public. Right in front of the jocks and pre-law kids and rich snobs and whatever the hell kind of ecosystem this school breeds.
And then I heard a voice behind me:
"KAI?!"
I turned and blinked.
"…Marina?"
There she was. Marina Godfrey. My actual friend. My only friend.
Jet-black bob. Gold-rimmed glasses. The kind of rich girl that didn't dress rich — always in oversized sweaters and ripped jeans, carried a $5 tote bag that said "Capitalism Sucks," but her dad owned oil or something.
She'd been gone for two months — academic leave or study abroad or something that involved books and zero texting. Last time we spoke, we were arguing about whether Studio Ghibli films count as comfort food.
And now here she was, standing in the hallway, mouth hanging open, eyebrows trying to climb off her face.
"You…" She pointed at me. "Have a girlfriend?"
"I—uh—yes?"
She actually laughed. Out loud. Like laughed.
> "Oh my God. You?"
I didn't blame her. Even I barely believed it.
Celestia, meanwhile, didn't laugh.
She looked at Marina like she was analyzing her DNA strand then she smiled.
Not a nice smile.
The kind of smile a wolf gives a rabbit before biting its throat.
"Oh," she said sweetly. "You didn't tell me you had friends, Kai."
"She's my friend. Only friend."
> "How long have you two known each other?" Celestia asked, still smiling.
"Since we were like eleven," Marina answered, way too casually. "Why?"
> "No reason."
Celestia took my arm then gripped it possessively.
"I'm Celestia," she said. "Kai's girlfriend. Only girlfriend."
Marina blinked. "…Cool?"
> "You should sit with us at lunch."
Marina: "I—"
"Please," Celestia added, eyes still smiling, but her voice dripping with do-it-or-die energy.
Marina looked at me like what the hell is going on, and I gave her a helpless shrug.
She was already in the blast radius now. There's no getting out.
---
Celestia didn't let go of me the entire morning. She walked me to class. Sat beside me even when it wasn't her class. Held my hand during announcements like we were starring in a high school drama adaptation of You.
Every single guy in the room looked at me like I'd unlocked a cheat code.
Every girl?
Either death glares or visible concern.
Marina?
Shell-shocked. Texted me from three feet away:
Marina: Bro. Wtf is going on.
Marina: Blink twice if you're being held hostage.
I didn't blink.
I couldn't.
Celestia was stroking the back of my neck with her nails while listening to the lecture and moaning quietly when she stretched.
This wasn't a hostage situation.
This was psychological warfare. With hormones.
---
To be continued...