I spot Shelby bursting through the front doors of the main building, practically glowing. She's latched onto Evan's arm like a designer handbag, and the second she sees me, she lets out a high-pitched squeal that could shatter glass.
"ANGELA!"
Heads turn. Conversations pause. I became the unwilling centerpiece of the quad.
Shelby jogs over, her curls bouncing, her smile wide enough to split the sky. "Evan asked me to the ball! Isn't it so adorable? We're going to look amazing together. This is our first official school event as a couple! I'm so excited I could scream!"
"You already did," I mutter, but she's too busy vibrating with joy to hear me.
She grabs my hands and jumps up and down, shaking me like a soda bottle. I can't help but smile. Her happiness is infectious, and honestly, I'm relieved. I didn't want to play twenty questions with Evan. He's allergic to direct answers, and I'm allergic to his smugness. They're a strange match—her sunshine to his storm cloud—but somehow, it works.
Best friend logic, I guess.
Before I can say a word, Shelby pulls me into a hug so tight I can't breathe. I pat her back, laughing softly. She deserves this. After the string of heartbreaks she's endured, it's nice to see her win one.
Still, I make a mental note to have a little chat with Evan. Just in case. Best friend code of honor.
Evan's smirk says it all, like he's the only one who got the punchline. "So, Ang," he drawls, stretching my name until it's practically a yawn, "still living under your mom's legendary 'no dating till college is over' rule? Books first, boys never, yadda yadda." He leans back on his heels like he's just tossed a grenade into the crowd, waiting for the fallout.
His eyes sparkle with that mix of mischief and mock-seriousness, like he's both teasing me and daring me to prove him wrong.
He spins a finger by his temple, eyes crossed like a cartoon. "Totally nuts, right?"
My jaw drops. "I'm sorry, what? Did you just audition for middle school improv, or was that supposed to be funny?"
"And then there was James…" He tosses the name out so casually, like he's ordering fries.
I fold my arms, leveling him with a look. "Wow. Bold move, Evan. Bringing up exes you never even met. What's next, wanna psychoanalyze my kindergarten crush while you're at it?"
"He was a total douche," Evan goes on, completely unfazed. "Honestly, Ang, what did you ever see in him? He treated you like scraps. You deserve someone who'd worship the ground you walk on. Just had to say it."
He pats my shoulder as if he's doing me some great service. Shelby pulls me into another hug, cradling me as though I've just limped away from a battlefield.
"Anyway, I've got this cousin," Evan says, voice dropping as if he's letting me in on a secret. "Transferred here from Santorini. Two years older. Left all that island nightlife behind or ran from it, depending on who you ask. My parents claim he's looking for something steadier, something that feels real."
"No one talks about why he really left Santorini. Some of the family say he got caught up with the wrong crowd. Other family members whisper about how his family wanted him far from the island's shadows, and there might have been a girl."
"I figured maybe you two could hang out. Or go to the ball. Or at least talk. You've got this... normal thing going for you." He motions between himself and Shelby, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. "Trust me, that's not exactly our brand."
I blink. "I think I'm all set, Evan. I—"
"Angela Meyler."
Shelby's voice slices through mine like a blade. She plants her hands on her hips, giving me that mom look. I raise an eyebrow, amused.
"Just meet him," she says. "You don't have to fall in love. Just talk. As your best friend, it's my duty to get you back in the game. Evan's amazing on most days, and they're cousins. It's fate."
I sigh. Shelby means well, but after James, I've been a fortress. That relationship left scars I don't show. I thought he was the one. We had plans—an apartment in the city, art shows, a future. But he was distant, always busy, always somewhere else.
Until I saw him after a game, arm around a cheerleader, nibbling her ear like I didn't exist. He didn't even see me standing there. My heart didn't just break—it disintegrated.
He gave me a promise ring on my eighteenth birthday. Said I was his soulmate. His everything.
What a joke.
The next day, he broke up with me in his basement. Told me I deserved better. Never admitted to anything. I threw the ring at his face and walked out, saying goodbye to the woman I'd called a second mother.
That was a little over a year ago.
I've rebuilt since then. Stronger. Smarter. Sharper.
"Shel. Evan," I say, smiling softly, "I'm in a good place. I'll go to the Masquerade Ball alone. I'd rather keep my options open."
Shelby pouts dramatically, rolling off Evan's arm like she's been mortally wounded.
"Oh, Ang. Sweetie. My luv," she says, dragging out the word like it's a spell. "I already invited Evan and his cousin to meet us at IceHouse tomorrow night. After shopping. Just pizza and drinks. No pressure. We'll eat, we'll dance, and we'll burn off the carbs."
I purse my lips. "Shelby…"
"Please, Angela. Just a meet and greet. I won't embarrass you. I won't tell any ridiculous stories. I'll be on my best behavior. I'll be… almost quiet."
She smiles at me. The one that melts resolve and bends steel.
I groan. "Fine. But if he so much as breathes suggestively, I can't promise he'll leave IceHouse with all his limbs intact."
Shelby squeals and claps. Evan laughs.
The IceHouse used to be a fish factory before some guy from New York turned it into a restaurant-bar-dance-club hybrid. Now it's the hottest spot in our sleepy town. Neon lights, pulsing music, and the scent of fried food and spilled beer. It's where people go to forget who they are or remember who they want to be.
As we walk through the parking lot, I glance up at the sky. The clouds are low and heavy, like they're holding something back. The air feels charged, like the world is waiting for something to happen.
Shelby's still talking about dresses, shoes, and how she's going to curl her hair for the ball, but her voice fades into the background. My thoughts drift to the note. The car. The message.
You checked the wrong box.
It wasn't just a prank. It felt… intentional. Like someone knew me. Like someone was watching.
And now Evan's cousin is suddenly in town. From Santorini. A place steeped in myth and legend. A place where gods were once worshipped, and fate was carved into marble.
And then there's the ball itself.
This year's Masquerade isn't just a party. Rumors have been swirling—quiet ones, whispered in corners and behind closed doors. The invitations were unique. Some students were chosen instead of being invited. The committee did not send all the invitations.
Someone else did it.
I glance at Evan, who's laughing at something Shelby said. He seems normal. Harmless. But something about this whole setup feels off.
Too perfect.
Too timed.
I don't believe in coincidences. Not anymore.