Marcus chuckles and stares at me. "What? Do I have something on my face?" I ask, raising a brow. "No, nothing… I just realized how pretty you are," Marcus says with that stupid soft voice. GUYS — whenever a guy says this? Just END the convo IMMEDIATELY. Get out. Escape. Pull the fire alarm. "Um, I think you need to SYBAU, okay?" I reply, crossing my arms. Marcus dramatically holds his chest like I just stabbed him with Cupid's broken arrow. Then we hear his parents rustling in the hallway, getting ready to leave. Finally. I mouth to Marcus, Time to go, you troglodyte. He shouts to his parents. because of course he does. "Can Aurora come over to our house this weekend to help me study?"
I glare at him so hard my eyes nearly burn a hole through his smug little soul.His parents unfortunately agree. ,I really want to end this idiot. Marcus smiles like he just won the lottery and leans in to whisper in my ear, "No te preocupes, nuestra sesión de estudio será una que nunca olvidarás." I look at him in pure disgust."Ew. Just ew," I mutter under my breath as I head to the front door to escort his family out. I give them a perfect daughter smile and say, "Goodnight!"Marcus winks at me. I gladly shut the door in his face. I stomp upstairs and throw myself onto my beautiful, fine, heavenly, Beyoncé-level bed until I hear a growling noise from my phone.
Guess who it was. Mr. Shut-Down-My-Feelings himself is sending me apology GIFs. Snoopy crying. SpongeBob begging. Even a baby seal with teary eyes. Quite funny, actually. I hit video call and Emma's face pops up on my screen. "Emma. You won't believe the crap that happened today," I begin. I go off. I tell her everything. The door slamming. The whispering. The wink. THE STUDY DATE. Emma blinks at me like she's trying to process it all. "Aurora... if Marcus was flirting with me, I'd think he wants to date me," she says.
"EW. Do NOT say that. Don't poison my ears," I groan, rolling to the edge of my bed like the world is ending. I stand up, peek out of my window...And there he is. Marcus. Sitting on his porch. Playing his guitar like he's the main character in a Netflix drama. "Do not miss the opportunity, girl," Emma says, suddenly very serious. "Like seriously. You have to go to his house."
"Well, I have no choice. He already told his parents. It would be rude of me not to go," I sigh. Emma's eyes light up like she just got invited to the Met Gala. "Okay. OPEN your ugly wardrobe. Let's pick an outfit." I sigh and fling open my ugly little wardrobe like I'm about to fight a dragon. Emma stares through the screen, her hands on her cheeks, as if this is a literal fashion emergency.
"Okay, okay," she says. "Let's assess the damage." I hold up a cropped hoodie. "Too chill?" "Too homeless," she replies. "Next." I toss it onto the bed and grab a black tank top with lace trim. "Cute," Emma says. "But it screams 'I'm here to seduce you,' and we are not giving him that power." "Ugh, fine." I hold up a sunflower-print dress. "Too friendly?" I ask. "Too I bake cupcakes and forgive easily.' Absolutely not."
I snort and fall back on my bed dramatically. "I have nothing to wear! My closet is an emotional graveyard!" Emma leans into her camera. "Okay, listen to me. You need something that says: 'I look effortlessly amazing, but I do not care about you.'" I blink. "So... toxic Pinterest board energy?" "Exactly." I scramble up and yank out my dark green knit top, the one that hugs in the right places without trying too hard, and pair it with high-waisted jeans and silver hoops. Emma gasps. "Yes. YES. That's it. That's the 'I could ruin you if I wanted to' look." I do a little spin in the mirror, and honestly? I look like a chill baddie. Not too dressy, not too casual. The perfect balance between "study buddy" and "dream crusher."
I slip on white sneakers and spritz on my vanilla body mist because I'm not heartless — just emotionally unavailable. "Okay," I say, turning back to Emma. "Now I need a plan. A strategy. I can't go there and let him win." Emma grins like an evil genius. "*You're going to study. You're going to act like you're completely unbothered. And if he flirts? You flirt back once, then leave him on seen for eternity." "Cold-hearted queen behavior. Got it." Just as I'm about to end the call, Emma leans in dramatically. "*And Aurora? If he tries anything, throw a book at him. Preferably Maths Further Pure 3." I laugh, hang up, and give myself one last look in the mirror. Let the games begin.
The next day comes faster than I emotionally prepared for. I wake up, spend ten minutes staring at my ceiling, contemplating life choices, and then spend another thirty minutes trying to decide whether to wear lip gloss or leave my lips dry, like I do with my trust issues. I choose gloss barely. Just a little shimmer and use my lip liner. Just enough to say, "I'm hydrated but distant." After breakfast and the usual "Where are you going looking like that?" from my mom, I tell her, "Studying."She gives me a suspicious side-eye, but I throw in a fake smile and skip out the door like I'm on a Disney Channel sitcom.
I walk the dreaded 2-minute walk to Marcus' house not because it's far, but because every step feels like a countdown to emotional violence. As I approach, I see him sitting outside on the porch again. Of course. Guitar in hand. Shirt is slightly too fitted. Acting like he's the misunderstood lead in a YN romance novel no one asked for. YUCKY! He looks up and sees me. "Wow," he says, standing up. "You actually came." I roll my eyes. "Unfortunately, yes. I'm a woman of my word. Shocking, I know." He laughs and opens the door for me like he's a gentleman or something. Fake playboy behavior.
I step into the house and immediately take off my shoes because manners — even when you're walking into the lair of chaos. His house smells like lemon-scented furniture polish and regret. I spot his little brother playing video games in the living room, pausing only to say, "Hi Aurora!" before going back to murdering zombies or something. "We're upstairs," Marcus says, gesturing for me to follow him. I hesitate for exactly 2.5 seconds before going up because this is a mission. Not a flirt session. We walk into his room, and I am both shocked and not shocked at the same time. It's clean. Like… suspiciously clean. "You cleaned for me?" I say, smirking. He shrugs. "Didn't want you judging me too hard. Plus, you terrify me a little." "As I should," I reply, dropping my bag onto his desk chair and sitting cross-legged on his bed like I own the place. He pulls out his notes and laptop, and for a second, it looks like we're about to be productive.