Sixteen.
Sixteen is this damn weird age—you're not a kid anymore, but being an adult feels like putting on a suit three sizes too big. It’s that awkward stage where you're still getting the hang of it, stumbling around, pretending to have shit figured out when, really, you’re as clueless as ever.
Friendships get messier, crushes get more complicated, and everything feels like it’s got hidden layers. Suddenly, nothing’s innocent anymore.
Take the cafeteria at Halloway High, where Shawn Jones, king of the shallow end of the gene pool, is strutting around like he owns the place. He’s got this cocky smirk plastered on his face, basking in all the attention he’s raking in.
Today, he’s bragging about his latest “accomplishment”—some sleazy, fucked-up story about sleeping with a teacher.
The second he starts talking, the whole place erupts with laughter, like it’s some twisted badge of honor. And everyone’s feeding into it, grinning and high-fiving like it’s the coolest thing in the world.
And me? I’m just sitting there, my stomach flipping. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Since when did this become something to cheer for?
When did sleeping with someone who’s supposed to be in charge of you, who’s supposed to have a line they don’t cross, become something people admired?
But all that cafeteria bullshit is a distant memory as I charge toward the basketball court, practically strangling my phone in my fist.
The morning sun’s too damn bright, hitting my face like it’s personally out to blind me. I scan the court, looking for her — Millie, smack in the middle of a game, her brown hair a wild mess and her face locked in that intense, "I’m-going-to-win-this-shit" look. She’s about to make a shot when I yell out.
“Millie!”
She stops, ball still in hand, and squints in my direction, looking confused as hell. “What?” she yells back, like I just interrupted the most important play of her life.
“We need to talk!” I snap.
Five minutes later, we’re in the changing room, and she’s watching me with that irritatingly smug, raised-brow look.
She leans against the lockers like she didn’t just drop a bomb into my morning.
“What’s up, dimples?” she asks, smirking like she’s got all the time in the world.
I shove my phone in her face, every ounce of chill gone. “What the actual fuck is this?” I say, my voice hard and pissed.
Her eyes dart to the screen, the cockiness on her face replaced by a flicker of surprise, and for a second, I think she might actually look sorry.
But no. Instead, she lets out this laugh — a full-on, head-thrown-back laugh, like this is the funniest damn thing she’s seen all week. “Oh my God,” she snorts, her eyes twinkling. “He actually replied?”
“Millie, what did you do?” I say, crossing my arms, the frustration boiling over. I swear, she just lives to mess with me.
She shrugs, like she’s innocent or something. “Relax, I just borrowed your phone, shot him a text, and hit send. You’re welcome.”
“You texted him!” I choke out, feeling the urge to throw my phone across the room.
But honestly, the real nightmare here is what she texted him.
I throw her an incredulous look, barely able to believe what I’m seeing on my own screen. “I can’t believe you actually sent him that.” My voice is barely more than a growl, but Millie just grins wider, totally unbothered, which only makes me angrier.
“Oh, come on, Gracie,” she says, rolling her eyes like I’m the one being ridiculous. “It’s not that serious! Plus, now you know what a desperate, thirsty leech this guy is.” She smirks, her tone so breezy.
I snatch my phone back from her and scroll through the texts. Every single word he replied with is burned into my brain now, courtesy of Millie.
Leaning in way too close, she starts reciting his last message right in my ear.
“‘Sure! I’m a bit taken aback, babe. Didn’t know you were into that, but I’m glad. Can I video call you tonight? I so want to show you my cock, and I’m sure you’ll love it. Xoxo,’” she quotes, stifling another burst of laughter.
I shove her away, face twisted in disgust. “Ugh, Millie, shut up! His texts are so nasty, it’s like… does he even hear himself?”
She just laughs harder, unbothered as ever. But I can feel my face heat up, that mix of embarrassment and rage bubbling over. “Why the hell did you think it was a good idea to text him, ‘Hey, hottie, I’m horny. Can you help me?’ Millie, I’m mortified!” I throw my head back, groaning at the ceiling, and she just shrugs.
“Gracie, stop freaking out. It’s just for fun,” she says, still chuckling. “Besides, now you know he’s a total perv.”
I smack her arm and drop down on the bench beside her, my mind still spinning. I glance down at my phone again, scrolling through the texts that I have with Finn.
I mutter, more to myself than her, “I actually thought Finn was… I don’t know, like, a decent guy? I mean, he seemed chill.” My cheeks still burn, the reality of Finn’s gross response making my skin crawl.
“Guess I was wrong,” I add quietly, feeling Millie’s gaze on me as she finally softens a little.
“Yeah, but better to find out now,” she says, patting my shoulder. And just like that, she’s laughing again.
I can’t help it—I burst out laughing too. The way Millie’s cackling is infectious, her whole face lit up like she just won the lottery. I shake my head and tell her, “You’re such a red guard for me, you know?”
She pauses, trying to catch her breath, brows scrunched in confusion. “Wait, what the hell is a red guard?”
Still laughing, I explain, “Every time I get close to making a boyfriend, there you are, ready to blow it all to hell.” And it’s true. She’s like my personal disaster squad, always lurking with some ridiculous plan to ruin any guy I might have a chance with.
“Remember Harry?” I ask, and she starts grinning, knowing exactly where I’m going. Last month, Harry from my algebra class asked me out on a movie date. We’d been vibing pretty well for a couple of months, so I thought, why not?
But of course, Millie couldn’t let that slide. Nope. She shows up in the theater, dragging along some random dude I didn’t even know. Turns out, that random dude was Harry’s secret crush. And apparently, that guy was also into Harry.
By the end of the night, they’re making out in the back row, and I’m going home with Millie, who’s doubled over, laughing her ass off like she just pulled off the world’s best prank.
She pinches my cheeks then, and her expression softens as she looks right into my eyes. “I’ll do anything to make sure you don’t get hurt,” she says, voice unexpectedly serious. “None of these guys deserve you.”
I roll my eyes, but my heart squeezes a little. That’s Millie for you—chaos wrapped in a protective shield.
She ruffles her sweaty hair back, all nonchalant, like she didn’t just drop a mini emotional bomb on me.
“Oh yeah?” I say, smirking, “So, according to you, no one in the world deserves me because I’m too special?”
She shrugs, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Damn right. You should just be with me.”
I nudge her shoulder, laughing. “Shut up, idiot.” I pull her into a hug, holding her tight. For all her pranks and sabotage, she’s my best friend, my partner in crime. I’d pick her over any guy, any day.
She smirks, pulling back just enough to say, “So… I’m your rebound, huh?”
I raise a brow, giving her a playful nudge. “You want that tag?”
She pretends to think it over, biting her lip, eyes twinkling with that same troublemaker spark. Then, turning to me with a grin, she says, “I’ll tell you over text… or maybe I’ll keep you waiting for a video call tonight.”
She laughs again, full of mischief, and I can’t help but roll my eyes.
“God, you love messing with me,” I say, exasperated but grinning like an idiot.
Then, she leans closer, her laughter fading just a little, her face now inches from mine. “I love you,” she says, soft but sure, the words hanging in the air, almost catching me off guard.
