Nena and I walked home side by side, the streetlights flickering like they were struggling to keep up with us.
I tugged my cardigan tighter around myself, my backpack bouncing slightly against my back.
My blonde hair was split into my usual two ponytails—because yes, I only wear it like that—and my glasses kept sliding down my nose no matter how many times I pushed them back up.
I had on a loose graphic tee, a pleated skirt, knee-high socks, and sneakers that screamed I read too much and run too little.
Basically: nerd. Certified.
Next to me, Nena looked like she'd just stepped out of a different genre entirely.
Black hair. Sharp eyes. Clean outfit—not fully black, but dark enough to look expensive and mildly threatening. She walked like the street belonged to her and everyone else was just borrowing it.
And in her hand?
The lipstick pack.
The criminal evidence.
I glanced at it. "So," I said, "are you going to explain why you embarrassed me in public?"
She didn't even slow down. "I didn't embarrass you."
"You argued with my mother's secretary."
"For your honor."
I stopped walking.
"…For my what?"
She stopped too. Turned to me. Held up the lipstick like it was a sacred object.
"You were being scammed emotionally," she said, dead serious. "I fixed it."
I stared at her.
Then I hit her arm.
She barely reacted. Just looked at me calmly. "Wow. Physical assault. Over makeup."
"You made a scene!"
"You needed one."
We stood there for a second, staring at each other like we were both deciding who was more annoying.
Then Nena tilted her head, her expression suddenly switching.
"Oh," she said casually, "are you coming to the movies?"
I blinked. "…What movies?"
"The one Mark invited you to," she said, smirking. "He smiled when he asked. Soft smile. Glasses perfectly straight. Very boyfriend-coded."
My brain betrayed me instantly.
Mark. Smiling. That gentle look. The way his glasses sat just right on his nose.
I felt my lips curve before I could stop it.
"Yes," I said. Then hesitated. "…But."
Nena's eyes narrowed. "You're mad."
I shook my head quickly. "I'm not mad at Ethan."
She waited.
"I'm just mad that she is coming."
Nena nodded like she'd already known. Like this was obvious information.
She stepped closer, tapped my shoulder once, then shoved the lipstick pack into my hands.
"Keep it," she said. "I bought it for you."
I stared at it. "You didn't have to do that."
"I did," she replied. "Because you're annoying and I care."
Then she waved. "Bye."
And walked off.
Just like that.
I stood there for a moment, staring after her, then sighed and turned to head home too.
That's when I felt it.
That weird feeling.
Like someone was watching me.
I stopped.
Turned around.
Nothing.
No footsteps. No shadow. No Ethan. No mystery stalker.
Just an empty street and my own reflection in a dark window.
"…Yeah," I muttered, adjusting my glasses. "Wrong crowd."
And I walked home, heart still loud, thoughts even louder, clutching a pack of lipstick I never asked for—but somehow needed.
I opened the door and immediately got hit by the smell of betrayal. Potato-chip betrayal.
Jake—my brother, short brown hair sticking up like he'd just wrestled a tornado—was sprawled on the couch, one leg tucked under him, the other dangling off the armrest. He had a massive bowl of chips in his lap and was staring at the TV like it owed him his undivided attention.
I crouched, hand reaching for the bowl.
"Hey," I said sweetly, code for prepare to lose, idiot.
Jake's head snapped toward me. "Hands off!"
I lunged anyway.
He blocked me with one arm, grabbed my wrist with the other. We ended up in a ridiculous tangle, rolling slightly on the carpet like two very uncoordinated wrestlers.
"Give me a chip!" I demanded.
"You can dream about a chip!" he shouted, flinging a handful away from me.
We were now locked in what could only be called The Epic Potato Showdown. Arms tangled, faces grimacing, hair sticking out in bad angles, and dignity long gone.
At that exact moment, Mom appeared in the doorway.
"You two sound like rabid raccoons!" she said sharply.
We froze. I was still clinging to Jake's arm. He was holding my wrist like a tenacious crab. We glared at each other like the world had just betrayed us both.
Mom stepped closer. "Sit. Down. Both of you. Now."
Reluctantly, we untangled and plopped onto the couch, sighing dramatically like defeated heroes of a snack-related battle. I leaned back and sighed.
Jake nudged me with his elbow, smirking. "So… movies?"
I blinked at him. "Movies?"
"The one Mark invited you to," he said, leaning back, looking way too smug for a guy who literally just tried to hoard chips. "Honestly? That guy is way too soft for you. Like… whipped cream. Melted. Totally soft. I mean, you could flick him in the forehead and he'd apologize."
I snorted. "Soft? You know me, right? Soft is subjective."
Jake snorted. "Subjective? Pfft. Soft. I, as your protective brother, officially declare him soft. And maybe slightly dangerous if he gets hurt emotionally. But mostly soft."
I rolled my eyes and quietly grabbed another chip—my only victory.
Jake leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, "Honestly, you're gonna eat him alive. Mark doesn't even stand a chance. That guy? Soft. Like, pillow-soft."
I snorted again and shoved a chip in my mouth, muttering, "Thanks for the report, General Jake."
Then, without warning, I got mad—not at Jake, not at the chips—but at the world in general. I threw the rest of the chips I'd been holding straight at him. They hit him like tiny, salty missiles.
Jake yelled. "AGH! Betrayal!"
I didn't say another word. I stood, adjusted my crooked glasses, ponytails bouncing, and marched to my room. Slammed the door behind me.
Somewhere behind it, Jake was probably still flailing around in his chip-covered defeat.
I flopped on my bed, dramatically sighed, and stared at the ceiling like the world was officially ridiculous.