Exam week finally arrived, and it was a hectic one for Tate. She and Martha had been focused on studying and everything else had taken a backseat. No distractions, no unnecessary conversations, just textbooks, practice questions, and late-night calls to quiz each other.
This was the most effort Tate had ever put into her academics, and she meant it. She wanted her results to reflect all her hard work. She wanted her parents to be proud of her. She wanted to be proud of herself—for once.
The exams were tough, but she did her best. That was all she could hope for now.
During the exam period, she and Damien barely talked, and honestly, she was glad for the space. They both needed to focus. She didn't see much of Allen either. A part of her wanted to ask Landon about it, but she decided not to—not until she could clear her head. Still, Allen was her friend, and she couldn't help but worry.
After handing in her final paper, Tate leaned back in her chair and stretched, a sigh escaping her lips. It was finally over.
She walked out of class, dazed with relief, when Martha's excited voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
"We're finally done!" Martha squealed. "Summer, here I come!"
Tate laughed at her enthusiasm. She'd never really done anything memorable during summer breaks in the past, but this year, she wanted that to change.
"What are you doing this summer?" she asked.
"Partying," Martha replied instantly. "We always throw a party after exams. Last year's was lame, though. But I've been planning this year's with Damien… when we were still friends."
Tate hesitated. "Are you really going to unfriend him because of me?"
Martha rolled her eyes. "Yes. He's an asshole."
Tate frowned. "Martha…"
"Don't call my name like that," she cut in dramatically, though there was a glint of amusement in her eye. "Let's just go get ice cream. We deserve it."
Tate smiled. "Okay."
Since they were done with exams, students were allowed to leave early. The two girls walked out of school together, the sun on their faces, laughter trailing behind them.
While they licked their ice cream and soaked in the warm afternoon sun, Martha suddenly turned to Tate. "Are you going to the bonfire tomorrow night?"
Tate blinked. "What bonfire?"
Martha raised an eyebrow. "Didn't Damien tell you?"
"No, he didn't. We haven't really been talking," Tate replied
Martha gave a satisfied nod. "Good for you. But you're going, right?"
Tate hesitated. "I don't really know... I've never been to one before."
"Trust me, they're fun," Martha said, eyes lighting up. "Damien's hosting it at one of his dad's houses near the woods, so it's safe. We actually planned all the parties together when we were still close."
That explained why they were always together back then, Tate thought to herself.
"Oh," she said out loud.
"What do you know about Damien's family?" Tate asked.
Tate shook her head. "Not much. Do you?"
"Not really. Just that they're stinking rich. But Damien doesn't like people knowing that. I remember the first day we took the bus together—when he got off, I was shocked at how huge his house was
"Oh," Tate repeated, quieter this time. She realized she didn't really know Damien at all, not beyond school and the confusing way he made her feel sometimes.
Martha leaned in with a pleading expression. "Please tell me you're coming to the bonfire. Everyone's going to be there, and I really don't want to spend the whole night interacting with Mr. Douchebag."
Tate burst into laughter. Martha always came up with new nicknames for Damien, and they never failed to make her laugh.
"All our classmates are going," Martha continued. "Who knows? You might meet someone new. Get that idiot out of your system."
Tate shook her head, amused. "Trust me, I've tried."
"Then we're just going to have to try harder," Martha said, bumping her shoulder playfully.
When Tate got home, she collapsed onto her bed, too tired to even change out of her clothes. The stress of exams had finally caught up to her, and before she knew it, her eyes drifted shut.
The soft buzz of her phone stirred her awake.
Groggy, she reached for it and squinted at the screen. A new message.
"See you at the bonfire."
It was from Damien.
Tate stared at it for a moment, blinking. How does he know I'm going? she wondered. She hadn't told anyone—only Martha knew.
She considered replying. Then sighed, tossed the phone aside, and curled deeper into her blanket.