Tom's POV
The second the bell rang, I was already halfway out the door in my head. Thank fuck I didn't have another class with Imogen. One period was enough to fuck with my brain for the rest of the day. I hated myself for it—for letting her have that kind of effect on me. I didn't want it. I didn't want my chest to stutter every time she looked at me, or for my mouth to run on autopilot when she spoke. I wanted my walls back. My control. The armor I'd spent years building so people like her—people like Tyler—couldn't get in.
But the damage was already done. After school, I shoved my books into my bag and bolted for the exit, ready to disappear into the noise of the street. Just as I hit the main doors, though, I froze. There she was. Imogen.
Standing right at the entrance, her bag slung over her shoulder, head turning left then right, scanning the crowd like she was waiting for someone. My stomach dropped. Don't be fucking stupid, I told myself. She's probably looking for Tyler, or one of her perfect little popular friends. Not me. Definitely not me.
But then a darker thought pushed in—what if she was? My chest tightened, a mix of panic and something I didn't want to name. I lingered for a beat too long, watching her. The way she shifted on her feet, the little crease in her brow as her eyes darted across the hallway. Was she… waiting for me? No. No fucking way.
I kept my eyes forward, jaw tight, and walked right past her like she was just another kid waiting for a ride. Pretend she's invisible. Pretend none of this is happening. That was the plan. But before I could make it through the doors, her fingers wrapped gently around my wrist. Not yanking, not demanding—just enough pressure to stop me.
"Hey," she said softly, almost uncertain, "are you really gonna walk past me like you don't know me?"
I froze. My body did that thing where it listened to her before my brain could tell it not to. Slowly, I turned my head, staring at her over my shoulder. She was smiling, but it wasn't that smug, playful grin she usually wore—it was nervous, like she wasn't sure she had the right to be talking to me at all. "I wasn't aware you were waiting for me," I muttered, my voice low and clipped, "so…" I trailed off, tugging my wrist slightly, trying to get some space back.
Her smile faltered. For a second, I thought she'd drop it, let me go, and I could finally escape this whole fucked-up afternoon. But she just… stood there, chewing at her lip, eyes flicking down then back up at me like she was fighting herself.
She opened her mouth. Closed it again. Like she had the words but they kept dying on her tongue. Then she inhaled—a sharp, shaky breath, like she was pulling courage straight into her lungs—and finally let it out in a rush "Would you maybe… like to hang out this weekend?"
The question hit me like a punch to the chest. My brain went blank for a second. I looked down at her, really looked, and saw the faintest blush coloring her cheeks. Her hand was still around my wrist, but looser now, like she'd let go if I gave her the slightest excuse. And fuck me, I hated how that tiny bit of color in her face made something flutter in my chest all over again. I opened my mouth, ready to answer, when movement caught the corner of my eye. And just like that, my whole chest dropped.
Fucking Tyler.
He was leaning against the gate, casual as hell, but his eyes—his eyes were locked on me. On us. His glare was so sharp it could've cut through steel, like he was already picturing the hundred ways he'd tear me apart.
And fuck me, for one split second, I'd forgotten he even existed. I'd almost convinced myself Imogen was here because she wanted to be. Because maybe she actually gave a damn about me.
What a fucking idiot. This was all part of his game. His twisted plan to mess with my head. And I'd almost said yes. "I can't," I said finally, dragging my eyes away from Tyler and back to her. My voice came out rougher than I meant, like the words were scraping my throat on their way out.