Friday morning started with a surprise. I headed straight to my locker to swap my heavy textbooks for my morning binders.
"Good morning, Maggie," I said to the girl whose locker was right next to mine.
"Hi, Andy," she chirped back.
I swung my locker door open and stopped. Sitting right on top of my gym bag was a large, elegant box of chocolates. Tucked into the ribbon was a small vellum note. I opened it to find just three words in messy, bold handwriting: I'm sorry. H.
I looked down the hallway, and there he was. Harry was leaning against a trophy case at the far end of the hall. When he saw me look, he didn't smile—he just gave me a slow, deliberate wink before disappearing around the corner.
"Hey, Andrea."
I turned to see Marcus walking toward me. Marcus was the star of the basketball team—tall, athletic, and possessed the kind of easy, golden-boy charm that made half the girls in school swoon.
"Hey, Marcus," I said, tucking the chocolate box into my locker.
"Are you free Saturday night?" he asked, leaning one hand against the lockers. "We're hosting a massive party after the game. I'd really like for you to be there. As my guest."
I'd heard Brianna mentioning the big rivalry game all week.
"I'm not sure if I can make it yet, but I'll let you know," I told him, trying to keep my voice casual.
"Fair enough," he grinned, flashing a row of perfect white teeth. "I'll be waiting for that text."
At lunch, the cafeteria was buzzing with school spirit. Arianna was practically glowing, strutting around in her cheerleader uniform. I had to admit, she was stunning—lithe and toned, with the kind of confidence that demanded attention.
I couldn't help but wonder again what had really happened between her and Harry.
Harry sat down in the empty space next to me, his presence immediately making the air feel heavy.
"What were you and that guy chatting about?" he asked, his voice low and sharp.
I turned to him, feeling a spark of irritation. "Excuse me? How is that any of your business?"
"You're my business," he snapped, his grey eyes narrowing. "So anything you discuss with another guy is my business."
I actually laughed. It was so absurd I thought I was dreaming.
"Did I say something funny?" he asked, his jaw tightening.
"He asked me to go to the after-party with him," I said, taking a defiant bite of my sandwich to show I was done talking.
"I hope you told him no."
"Harry," I said, standing up and slinging my bag over my shoulder. "I'm going to the party with Marcus. Your opinion is none of my concern. And just so we're clear—I'm still not going anywhere with you tonight."
I walked away from the table, feeling the weight of the guys' stares on my back. I felt a pang of sadness; I wanted to be close to him, but I wasn't going to put up with his possessive "bullshit" before we were even a thing.
I spent Friday night at the house with Layla. We did Pilates in the home gym and then talked for hours. She gave me the kind of big-sister advice I'd been craving, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was finding my footing in New York.
Saturday night, the auditorium was electric. The smell of popcorn and floor wax filled the air, and the roar of the crowd was deafening. Hailey, Brianna, and I cheered until our throats were sore. Harry sat three seats away, and I could feel his gaze burning into the side of my face the entire time, but I refused to look back.
Marcus was incredible on the court. After scoring a difficult three-pointer, he actually blew me a kiss from the floor. It was cute, I had to admit.
When the game ended in a victory, we headed to Logan's house for the after-party. Marcus was a perfect date—he stayed by my side, introduced me to the whole team, and made sure I always had a drink. It was fun and light, but as we danced, I realized something: I liked Marcus, but I didn't feel that spark. Not the way I did with the moody boy in the garden.
By ten o'clock, the music was getting louder and the house was getting more crowded.
"It's getting late, Marcus. I think I need to head home," I said.
"I'll drive you," he offered immediately, catching my hand as we walked outside into the cool night air.
"It's fine, I'll book a ride."
"Nah, it's too late for that. I insist."
"Don't worry. I'll take her."
The voice came from the shadows. Harry stepped forward, crushing a cigarette under the heel of his boot.
"Nah, it's fine, man. I've got it," Marcus said, stepping instinctively in front of me.
"I said," Harry stepped closer, his voice dropping into a dangerous, stern growl, "I will take her home."
The air between them was thick with tension. They were staring each other down, and I knew this could turn into a fight in a heartbeat. I had to intervene.
"Marcus, it's okay," I said softly, touching his arm. "Hailey actually texted me to go with Harry since she's staying late. Enjoy your victory. I'll chat with you tomorrow."
I followed Harry to his car in silence. As soon as I buckled my seatbelt, he tore out of the driveway, the engine roaring. He was driving fast—too fast.
"So you and him, huh? You're a thing now?" he barked.
"Please drive carefully, Harry," I said, clutching the door handle.
"I asked a fucking question!" he yelled, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. I jerked back, startled by the sudden outburst.
He saw my reaction and immediately deflated. The silence that followed was heavy.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I just... I like you, Andrea. But I don't want us to rush. I want us to be certain of what this is."
I nodded slowly, my heart still racing. We drove the rest of the way in silence. When we pulled into the Lombardi estate, he cut the engine. We sat in the dark for a long time.
"I like you too," I finally said, turning to look at him. "But you're difficult, Harry. Really difficult."
"I'm working on it," he whispered. He paused, his blue-grey eyes searching mine. "Can I kiss you?"
I didn't say anything; I just nodded.
He leaned in, his hand cupping my cheek. The kiss was slow, soft, and tasted like the chocolate he'd left in my locker. It lasted forever, and when we finally broke apart, I felt dizzy. I climbed out of the car and floated into the house.
Layla was sitting in the living room, a knowing smirk on her face.
"Give me every single detail," she demanded.
I looked around for my dad, and she laughed. "He's not here, Andy. Spill."
My face was burning hot, but for the first time since leaving London, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.