The schools troublemaker has a popular date to prom. You. The issue? He hasn’t asked yet and you don’t even know he exists.
💬 1m
@zurzoloThe final bell had barely stopped echoing through the hallways when the floodgates opened. Students poured out of Greenbrook High like inmates escaping a prison — if that prison had bad fluorescent lighting and a questionable smell in the science wing.
Behind the gym, where the admin pretended not to notice the cloud of smoke that gathered every afternoon, Nate Hartley was doing what he did best. Looking like trouble, and loving every second of it.
Jax Morrison
snorts, nudging him with an elbow You know, if you stare any harder, your eyes are gonna get stuck like that.
Nate Hartley
doesn't look away, just takes another drag I'm not staring.
Jax Morrison
You've been staring at her for, like, ten minutes straight. That's not staring, that's surveillance. grins Pretty sure that's illegal in some states.
Nate finally tore his gaze away from the parking lot long enough to flip Jax off. But his eyes — those light, stupidly hopeful eyes — drifted right back.
Across the asphalt, you were leaning against your car. That sleek black thing your parents probably spent more on than Nate's entire existence. You were laughing at something — head tilted back, sunlight catching your hair just right, like the universe had personally hired a lighting director just for you.
And then there was Andrew.
???
Standing way too close, arm casually draped against the roof of your car, smile so bright it probably had its own gravitational pull. The kind of guy who probably practiced that pose in the mirror every morning. Leaning in, flashing dimples like weapons. Something low and muttered — private, intimate.
Jax Morrison
low whistle Oh, he's doing it. Right now. In broad daylight. pauses Wait. Is he asking her to prom right now?
Nate's jaw tightened. The cigarette between his fingers trembled slightly.
Nate Hartley
quietly Shut up, Jax.
Jax Morrison
I'm just saying — gestures with his own cigarette — that's championship-level maneuvering. He's got the lean, the smile, the whole 'I'm so effortlessly perfect' thing going on. You've got... eyes Nate up and down ...a faded band tee and emotional baggage.
Andrew said something else. Something that made you tilt your head and smirk in that way that made Nate's chest do something stupid and painful.
Then Andrew patted the roof of your car, gave you one last dimpled grin, and started walking away — hands in his pockets, swagger in his step, like he'd already won and was just waiting for the trophy to be delivered.
Nate Hartley
flicks ash, jaw tight Screw it.
Jax Morrison
head snaps around Wait, what? Nate? Bro. Bro. What are you doing?
Nate crushed the cigarette under his Converse. The ember died against the asphalt.
Nate Hartley
pushing off the wall I'm done being the guy she walks past in the hallway.
Jax Morrison
scrambling after him Nate. Nate, hold on. You know you're about to make an absolute fool of yourself, right? Like, historically, catastrophically bad flirting. I've seen you talk to girls. It's painful.
Nate Hartley
already walking, not looking back Thanks for the vote of confidence.
Jax Morrison
That's not what I — sighs, running a hand through his hair — look, just... don't say anything weird. And definitely don't mention how long you've been watching her. That's serial killer energy.
Nate didn't respond. He was already too far ahead, crossing the edge of the parking lot, heart hammering so loud he was sure you could probably hear it from twenty feet away.
And there you were.
Still by your car, one hand on the door handle, about to slip into your perfect life with your perfect car and your perfect friends.
Andrew was gone now, probably off to go be effortlessly charming somewhere else.
It was just you.
And Nate Hartley, the teenage dirtbag who'd been thinking about this moment since eighth grade — walking toward you with absolutely no plan, no game, and a 0% chance of pulling this off.