The rain came down in silver sheets, soaking the quiet street in a haze of moonlit drizzle. Harper and Leah stood facing each other on the front porch, the tension between them almost louder than the storm overhead. Harper cleared her throat, attempting to mask the awkwardness crackling in the air like distant thunder. Leah had walked in on her and Josie kissing—and now here she was, standing in the rain, acting like it hadn't happened.
Harper arched a brow, the movement subtle but deliberate. Leah, ever the athlete with that insufferable confidence, chuckled under her breath and mirrored Harper's raised eyebrow with a teasing smirk.
"Well, like I said... I came by earlier after school to check on Aura." Leah said, brushing a strand of wet hair behind her ear. "Your brother answered the door. Told me you were at the hospital."
Harper blinked, trying to shift gears. "Oh... she's doing better. Thanks for asking."
Leah nodded, her gaze dropping to the ground. She slipped her hand into the pocket of her grey sweatpants and pulled out a small, slightly damp envelope. Holding it out, she gave Harper a short nod.
"This is for her. Nothing huge—just a card from the team, wishing her well. Coach wanted to make sure she knows we're thinking about her... and that her locker's gathering dust. So she needs to get better fast."
A soft laugh escaped Harper's lips as she took the card, her fingers brushing lightly against Leah's. The warmth of the moment confused her more than she'd admit.
"Thanks." Harper murmured. "It's late. And raining. You should probably head home. Wouldn't want star player Leah Picketts catching a cold and missing a game. God forbid—I'd never hear the end of it."
Leah snorted, tilting her head as she squinted up at the sky, raindrops streaming down her cheeks like tears she'd never let anyone see.
"Eh, a little rain never hurt anyone. I've played in worse. I'll see you at school tomorrow?"
Harper nodded once. "Yeah."
"Cool."
For a moment, they just stood there, eyes locked. Harper felt that flutter again. The same twisting, unsettling wave of butterflies that had taken over her just minutes before with Josie. But now it was Leah. Leah, with her cocky smirk and eyes full of untold stories. It frustrated her—how easily Leah seemed to own every space she walked into. How she wore confidence like armor. The soccer field was her kingdom, and she made sure everyone at Glenwood knew it.
Was that what drew Harper in? Was it admiration? Or envy? Or something more dangerous?
Suddenly, the front door creaked open behind her. Harper flinched slightly, turning just in time to see Sophie and Millie stepping out into the downpour. Sophie's eyes caught on Leah, and she immediately burst out laughing.
"Leah? What are you doing here?"
Leah shrugged coolly. "Just talking to Harper."
"I didn't know you two were friends!"
"We aren't." both girls said in unison.
Their eyes snapped toward each other in surprise, then shared a raised-eyebrow exchange that felt oddly intimate.
Sophie stepped down the porch steps, grinning as she flicked Leah's nose. "You're so annoying, man. Wait until I tell Mom and Dad."
Harper blinked. Mom and Dad?
Siblings?
As if reading her mind, Sophie looped an arm around Leah's neck and pulled her into a playful headlock, dragging her across the street toward the house opposite.
Harper stood in silence, the envelope clutched in her hand, the card within suddenly heavy with meaning. She watched them disappear into the night, their laughter echoing down the wet street.
"Hey, how are you?"
Harper turned to find Millie standing beside her, eyes soft with concern. She smiled faintly, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Eh... I'm alright. You?"
"I'm good. You look tired."
"I am."
"Then get some sleep, Harp. But before you go in—didn't know you were friends with Leah?"
Harper's brow furrowed, her tone defensive. "We're not. I barely know her."
Millie lifted an eyebrow, skeptical. "What's that she gave you?"
"It's just a card. For Aura. From the soccer team."
Millie smirked. "Ah, for a second I thought she pulled a Josie and was sending you secret love notes. Heard Leah's dating a cheerleader from Westerleigh Prep anyway, so... might want to keep your distance. Goodnight. Love you."
She wrapped Harper in a hug before disappearing into the storm.
Harper stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind her as warmth enveloped her like a blanket. The scent of lavender and rain hung in the air. She barely had time to exhale before Mariah, the family au pair, hurried over.
"Miss Harper!" she cried in her thick French accent, eyes wide with disapproval. "Your parents will have a fit if they see you like this! You must shower immediately!"
Harper offered no resistance as she was ushered upstairs.
After a long, steaming shower, Harper sat cross-legged on her bed, hair damp, dressed in flannel pajamas. Her gaze drifted to Aura's empty bed across the room. Then to Jackson, curled up under his blanket, the glow of his phone casting shadows on his face.
A buzz.
Her phone lit up on the nightstand.
A follow request.
From Leah.
Harper hesitated. She picked up her phone, heart beating faster than she liked. Her thumb hovered as she tapped onto Leah's profile. Photos scrolled by—Leah beaming with a gold trophy in hand. Leah and Sophie grinning in their jerseys.
Leah with her girlfriend.
Dinner dates. Holding hands. Kissing. Laughing.
Harper stared at the images, each one hitting her like a slap. Not out of anger—but jealousy. A sharp, bitter kind.
Why couldn't she have that?
Why did her life come with rules? Restrictions? Why did love—real, open, unapologetic love—feel like a distant fantasy instead of a right?
She swallowed hard.
She wasn't mad at Leah.
She was mad at the world. At her parents. At herself.
With a flick of her thumb, the request vanished.
Follow request declined.
Why did she have to hide? Why did her queerness feel like a loaded weapon instead of a truth? Why did love come with rules for her and freedom for others?
She imagined what it would feel like to hold someone's hand in public without flinching. To kiss without checking over her shoulder. To be seen. Really seen. And not just accepted—but loved out loud.
But she couldn't.
Not with her mother's expectations. Not with the Baldwin name tied around her neck like a leash. Everything about her life had been scripted from the beginning—cheerleader, perfect daughter, always smiling, always controlled. There was no space carved out for a girl like her to choose who she loved.
The envy twisted into rage. Not at Leah. Never at Leah.
At the ugly cage she lived in.