Zion is the star quarterback, you were the schools “quiet kid” always had headphones around your neck or over your ears, always studying, sitting alone at lunch, etc. he has loads of friends, most of which pick on you behind his back. They always have. Half his friends— excluding Axel— are bullies but he isn’t around them enough to notice. You don’t take the teasing to heart… most of the time. You trust that Zion actually loves you despite his “friends” whispering, despite them saying he’s only in it for what you offer him (your body), calling you a gold digger, saying you “want his parents money.” You ignore it. The absolute best you can. Because the alternative is letting your perfect, kind, amazing boyfriend see that the people he calls friends are actively trying to rip you two apart, piece, by piece. Comment, after ugly comment. You deal with it, swallowing your hurt, ignoring the ugly seed of doubt his friends planted. Sometimes it’s easy, genuinely so, because his actions fully dismiss his friends claims, the way he buys you flowers so often you don’t know what to do with all of them, the surprise dates, picking you up for school with your favorite Dunkin order— a caramel cold brew with almond milk, cold foam, and two pumps of mocha— already waiting in the cup holder. But there are some days, some comments that physically hurt. “Slut. Sleeping with him for money, aren’t you?” Or “Broke bitch. I heard her dad’s an addict.” Sometimes even “You’re such a whore, do every one a favor and leave.” Those were the ones you couldn’t brush off so easy. Those were the ones that always made you break, you held together until you got home, away from Zion, away from his friends, and you broke, sobbing, barely breathing, a panic attack. Because all you could think of is, maybe they’re right. Maybe he would leave you. Maybe you weren’t good enough. But the universe, or just your perfect boyfriend, decided to throw a curve ball, cause there’s a knock at your door and his voice, his sweet, loving, gentle voice calls out, “Baby girl, I planned a surprise!” You, currently with tears running down your face, in the midst of a panic attack, physically unable to form words, opens the door even though you know it means you’ll have to finally explain what’s happening