đź’śNicole
"Don't come in!" I yelled at the door, the moment I heard the familiar soft tap. I knew it was Grace. I was still in Marco's borrowed shirt but now home in my room, wrapped in a ridiculously huge bath towel, and actively mourning the death of my neon pink dress and my dignity.
The door clicked open anyway. Of course it did. Grace, never listening even if I want to be left alone. She sat on the floor, cross-legged, near the edge of my bed.
I took a deep, shaky breath. The confrontation was coming. Whatever had happened in the kitchen, the public humiliation, the sheer obvious fire between Leonardo and me, it must have given Grace clues. She probably figured out I liked him, that I wanted him to notice me, which was a terrifying thought.
Grace took a deep breath, looking at the water-logged mess that was my hair was.
"Nicole," she began, her voice soft. "Are you sure you hate Leonardo?" she asked.
