I silently thanked past me for slipping a blunt in the inside pocket of my sport coat as my father droned on about how important it was to make nice with the Cornell alumni for "important lifelong connections" as we whizzed through midtown Manhattan. I was already plotting my exit for "fresh air" so I could smoke it.

Still under the impression that I'd be attending Cornell, my father found it appropriate to drag me to this sordid alumni schmooze fest at the predictably titled Cornell Club cigar lounge. He'd mentioned it a few times in passing over the last few weeks, but I thought by now I would have mustered up enough nerve to tell him the truth. The only thing I'd managed to muster up since second term in school had started was dread. Pure dread.

The end of February meant I had a lull between the end of football and the start of baseball, and therefore no legitimate excuses to get out of this. Any opportunity these guys took to humble-brag about their children, they took with outstretched hands.

Dr. John Lancelot England was far more subtle about that than my father was, given that his daughter Chandler wasn't forced to commit to the England family's Ivy League legacy the way that I was. That girl could get away with murder, I was sure of it.

The last time I was alone with Chandler England, I had my hand up her sweatshirt. I was 14, and we both popped a bottle of champagne for the first time in the basement of her parent's old money Beacon Hill townhouse. Back then, she was lanky and timid even though she acted tough, but she was my first almost everything, and I was her's. First girl whose tongue was down my throat, first girl who showed me her bra, first girl who smiled at me like maybe I was something.

Since then, Chandler made random appearances at casual social functions, including the disaster that was my birthday over the summer, where she liked to remind me that she and her friend Macallan had evaded arrest, unlike the rest of us. She'd also evaded our usual holiday party two months ago thanks to Macallan too. 

We hadn't actually spoken since I called her out for blabbing about my birthday party fiasco to Tony D'Marco, who allegedly ran in her same elite Boston social circle. She was hot shit now, some kind of lacrosse star at their posh boarding school out there, and damn did she look the part.

When my father and I walked into the inner sanctum of the Cornell Club, he put a hand down on my shoulder. "Your mother was right. We really should have scheduled you a haircut before we left."

I absentmindedly reached up and ran a hand through my hair, which only prompted another subtle frown from him. Thankfully, Dr. England materialized beside us, stealing my father's attention away from me.

"Take it easy on Dal, your hair looked just like that in college. There's photographic evidence somewhere." He chuckled, sending an endearing look my way.

I pinned my dad with an amused glance. "Why do I feel like I know exactly what picture you're talking about? Is this the one from the Belmont Stakes with that salmon colored polo? Popped collar and all."

Dr. England barked out a laugh. "Our first and last horse race."

That got my dad to laugh too, and I took that as my cue to slip away.

"Dallas, your buddy is brooding in the lounge if you're so inclined," Dr. England called after me.

I forced a smile and a nod before turning away, leaving them to their whiskey and bullshit. Just because Chandler and I had been forced into family social events together since we were kids didn't mean she had to be my buddy. I doubt she wanted to be, either.

When the cigar smoke cleared, I found my way back to the pool room of the lounge, dodging every level of small talk I could manage so I didn't have to lie to too many future Cornell alumni tonight. Even at a place like this, the kids ran in packs, and Chandler had strategically separated herself. She was leaning over the crisp emerald of the pool table furthest to the back of the room, her long, mini-dress clad legs still tan despite the biting cold winter air. She glanced up at me, the icy steel of her eyes hard and cold under long, dark lashes. She flicked a lock of brown hair over her shoulder, exposing the sharp angles of her collarbone, and smirked at me.

"Well, I guess I could have worse company," she gave me an impassive shrug.

"Nice to see you too, Chan." I raked a chunk of hair out of my face, now only slightly self-aware of my supposed level of dishevelment as she looked me up and down like she wanted to devour me whole. Timid little girl no more - she'd carved all that out, so that the only thing that remained was cold stone. Part of it was a little intimidating, but in that same breath it held a unique level of attractiveness. She walked like Kaia walked - head up, shoulders back, dagger eyes.

Chandler grabbed a pool cue leaning against the table and gently poked me in the chest with it. "Are you game?"

Everything was intentional with Chandler, and if her words seemed to go deeper than surface level, they probably did. I smirked at her. "Always."

If my dad could whiskey and bullshit, so could I, and I knew it. I grabbed the attention of a waiter in a starchy pressed white shirt. "Whiskey, neat."

The decorum, and maybe the sideways glance I got from Chandler, were the only things stopping me from just having him drop the bottle at the table while I set up the game.

She kept that sideways glance pinned on me as I set up my first shot. "What's keeping you up at night, Dallas?"

I huffed out a breath, sending the first ball clattering to the edge of the table. Pool was never my strong suit, but I could probably still beat her without trying. "Don't you mean who?"

I stepped aside to let her go, taking in the way every motion of hers was perfectly calculated but casual. "Since when did you play defense? I thought you were the quarterback."

I laughed as she missed her shot entirely, gently nudging her hip with the tip of my pool cue. "You really haven't improved."

She whipped around and leaned back against the table, arching her eyebrow at me. "Put me out of my misery then."

"In what way?" I asked, letting a coy smirk grace my lips.

"Are you flirting or do you actually want to start a fight?"

Chandler and I walked that thin line without even trying. Sometimes my twelve-year-old self wanted to kiss her, and sometimes I kicked sand in her face during our summers at Madaket beach out in Nantucket. My mother always used to joke that she'd chase me around because she had a crush on me, but that was all back then. Now, neither of us chased. We were only pursued.

I scoffed. "You wouldn't actually fight me."

She paused and gave me a casual flick of her wrist, the gold of her bracelets twinkling in the dim lighting of the lounge. "You wouldn't let it get that far, anyway."

"Keep telling yourself that," I shrugged. I leaned over the table to take another shot, and I felt her fingers gently dance across my back as she moved to the other side of me. It was a simple game of cat and mouse, but with two cats and no mouse.

Competitiveness took over as I sank another ball and stood upright, raking my hair away from my face again. When I looked over at her, it seemed she'd already been studying my movements, and our eyes met.

"What?" I grinned at her.

There was a methodical grace to her movements as she slowly tapped each of my shoulders with her pool cue, almost as if she was a queen knighting her war hero. "I must have a thing for guys with ridiculous hair."

If only my father had been within earshot.

"Are you saying I'm still your type?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Apparently."

There was far too much nonchalance to her response, almost as if she couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but there was no harm in playing along. 

"But you're telling me there's another guy with ridiculous hair?" I brought my hands to my chest dramatically. "Chan, I'm wounded."

Competitiveness thrived in Chandler too, and a faint smile graced her lips as she finally made a shot. "Should I deliver a coup de grâce?"

I managed a scoff and rolled my eyes. "I'll live."

If she was playing along, I couldn't be sure. I sunk another shot for good measure before turning around to face her, tapping the old family signet ring my dad forced me to wear against the edge of the pool table. A quietness stilled the air, and it made me antsy. She noticed.

"Are you sure about that?" she asked with a slight tilt of her head.

I turned away for a moment to mask whatever hesitation was brewing in me, but I swallowed it down. I was far enough away from Fairfield county, Connecticut in a room full of people I'd never see again. Whatever I could say about anyone in my life was inconsequential to Chandler, and maybe that's what made it so easy to just blurt things out to her, despite the fact that she wasn't exactly the warm and cuddly type. 

"I'm juggling a lot right now, and I'm not exactly a circus performer."

She gave me a slow nod of acknowledgement. "Well, it sounds like you have your hands full. I'd hate to see you dropping your balls."

Without looking down, she picked up a random pool ball out of the closest corner pocket and methodically dropped it into my hand. Nothing short of dramatic for Chandler England.

I let my fingertips gently graze the back of her hand as she pulled hers away, and she almost flinched under my touch. It seemed as though the air around us crackled with sparks that even the slightest physical interaction between us caused.

"The man, the myth, the legend."

I cringed as a voice I wished I wasn't familiar with called out to me, and it seemed Chandler had too as she sent a scowl over my shoulder towards the impending interruption. I put on my best fabricated smile before turning on my heel to come face to face with Tristan Welch, future Cornell basketball forward and the most stereotypical FLID I'd ever met. (Standard code for Fucking Long Island Douchbag)

"You're a long way from the Hamptons, Tristan," I kept my tone casual.

"It's a solid launching point to Ithaca." Arrogance was a fixture in the heavy FLID accent. "Am I gonna see you at accepted students day tomorrow?"

I silently hoped Chandler's despondency for crappy small talk would finesse us a swift exit. I tipped my near-empty glass of whiskey to Tristan and gave him the most vague response I could think of. "If you're lucky."

If I was lucky, a natural disaster would sweep through the tri-state area and wipe Cornell off the map.

"Rumor has it, the basketball team room is bigger than football." A subtle edge crept in Tristan's voice as he gave me a not-so-friendly nudge. An audible reaction came from Chandler, and I could only hope a sassy retort would follow and shoo Tristan away. She didn't need to stand on ceremony with the Cornell creatures - not in the way I did.

"Really?" I leaned back against the pool table and tapped my ring against the mahogany wooden edges of it again. "That's so interesting. Football brought the school at least $50 million in revenue last season. Remind me what basketball makes?"

Tristan's face twisted up into a scowl, and I knew he had no idea but was still ready and willing to try and muster up a response when Chandler finally intervened. She let out a sigh and snaked her arm through mine.

"Are you ready to get out of here?"

Without hesitation I nodded towards the open door at the back of the room beside us. We'd used that empty hallway as an escape route before, as it only went back to a consistently unoccupied annex of the library, where they stashed unimpressive volumes of encyclopedias.

Before I could pull Chandler away, Tristan seemed to finally acknowledge her presence, and narrowed his eyes on her. "You've never liked me. Why don't you like me?"

I looked down at his empty glass and rolled my eyes, shooting him a wicked grin. "Chandler doesn't like anyone. Except me."

I felt her tug on my arm. "And we're leaving now."

I pinned one more glare to Tristan before being whisked out into the hallway. The first frosted glass window by the door led to a fire escape, and I glanced around to make sure there weren't any more devious prying eyes before forcing the window open. The smoggy New York City air filled the space almost instantly, along with the subtle tune of honking horns and raised voices. I stepped aside and swept my hand out to Chandler.

"Ladies first."

Chandler sighed dramatically before stepping through the window, tugging down on the hem of her dress. I sat down on the steps while she cast a long glance over the edge of the wrought iron railing, the wind whipping her dark brown hair in every direction. When she turned back around to face me, she looked me up and down, her eyes holding a mischievous glint.

"It's freezing out here." Despite her casual tone, she kept her gaze trained on me when she spoke.

I let out a sigh as she sat beside me, her slender athletic body shivering in the February chill. "You're so high maintenance."

Despite the fact that it was undoubtedly methodical, calculated shivering, I did what any guy would do for a pretty girl and slipped off my sport coat, gently draping it over her shoulders.

"And yet I'm still wearing your jacket," she chided with a grin.

Another cold gust of wind snaked itself between us, but I realized this was my only possible opportunity to smoke that blunt, and Chandler's potential judgment would just have to be taken in stride.

I nudged her with my elbow. "Actually, can you pass me what's in the inside pocket?"

Her amusement quickly twisted up into a scowl, and as she tried to process what was in her hands, she nearly dropped it between the gaps in the stairs.

"Seriously?" she groaned, almost as if to say you're better than this, but no matter how well she thought she knew me, she didn't.

"I need the lighter too." I outstretched my hand to her, ignoring her scowl.

"Now who's being high maintenance?"

"I'm not high maintenance. I'm stressed," I replied casually as I tried to light the blunt quickly before the wind rendered my lighter useless, then took a long inhale. Chandler's scowl remained, and I tasted the lie at the tip of my tongue as I blew a stream of smoke out.

"Don't worry Chan, it's just CBD. I'm alright."

She shrugged. "If you say so."

"I do say so."

Despite my manufactured assurance, her scowl morphed into something suspicious. "We know each other pretty well, right?"

I rolled my eyes, but she continued without even considering giving me a chance to respond.

"I've seen you lie through your teeth enough times to your parents to know when you're lying to me."

By enough times, I was sure she was referring to one of our final vacations in Nantucket, when I was 16 and came back to her beach house belligerently drunk but managed to pass it off as food poisoning.

I gave her a dismissive chuckle and took another hit. "You just don't get it."

She knew that, but that didn't stop her from pressing that button. "Try me."

I could press that button too. "You still have mommy issues, don't you?"

She masked her physical reaction to my words well, but I still felt her just slightly tense up beside me. For a moment my thoughts wandered back to my parents' holiday party, where my mother and father were so eager to meet Dr. England's new girlfriend, another esteemed professor at Boston College. She seemed nice enough, and I almost wondered if my button pushing was unwarranted.

"That's a story I know you've heard already." Chandler kept her head forward, speaking her words out to the thriving nightlife of the city so she didn't have to say them directly to me.

"I'll be honest, I don't pay attention to that stuff. If it's not conducive to football or my education, I'm not really interested." I glanced over at her, daring her to look at me. "I mean, you can still tell me if you want."

"I try not to talk to her anymore because it never ends well for me. That's just the way it is these days."

Her meaning Chandler's mother Gretchen, a hot shot Hollywood producer who'd become tabloid fodder after she'd been caught having an affair with some tv show director. When she didn't offer any more commentary, I could only assume she didn't know about Dr. England's girlfriend, especially since Chandler would never pass up an open opportunity to be petty. I almost felt bad, and I decided to keep my mouth shut.

"Lacrosse is still the plan for college, then?" I deflected, and she immediately perked up. Chandler also wouldn't pass up an open opportunity to flex her lacrosse superstar status.

"If you must know, the plan is to commit to a NESCAC in July."

I thought about the packet from Middlebury College that I'd been so quick to throw in the trash. NESCAC schools were dubbed the little Ivys, which meant just another New England elitist trap I didn't want to be caught in. "I actually got a whole packet from Middlebury during football season. They're nice, just a little too...lowkey for me. Good for you though," I tried to be as genuine as possible. "Gotta have the grades for those schools too."

Chandler tensed up again. "Let's just hope I nail my April ACT."

She wasn't totally immune to Dr. England's humble-bragging, so I knew she was smart - smart enough to make random yet wildly specific history references that I'd witnessed myself - but history and math were two opposite sides of the brain.

"You know it's just us here, right?" I gave her a snide grin. "Big brother isn't watching."

She hyper focused on the little gold rings on her index finger, giving them an absent-minded twirl. "I can't break 30 on the math section. My overall score would be 33 if I could."

Smoke clouded my eyes as I took another hit of the blunt. "I could help. I got 35 on my first go, and I'm a highly requested math tutor at New Livingston."

I didn't know what possessed me to offer, since I was barely handling the minimal tutoring I was already boxed into, but maybe it was just because it was Chandler.

"I'm in AP Calculus as a junior," she retorted, and I knew I'd hit a nerve from the way her eyes kept darting to her white combat boots. "I can do math, but just not that fast." 

Something about her frazzled combativeness amused me, and now that the nerve was exposed, I kept poking. "Last time I checked, you don't play defense either."

She scoffed. "I'm a midfielder, so technically I do play defense, but whatever. You've made your point."

"So, do you want my help or not?"

"I'll get back to you after my next practice test."

"Well, I'm confident you'll pull it off either way."

Intrigue flashed across her features in the flickering lights of the city. "Is that the mentality that's shipping your ass off to Cornell?"

I hated the way the very mention of attending Cornell threatened to send me into cardiac arrest, reminding me that I couldn't stand to keep up the charade much longer. My body wouldn't let me.

Maybe it was just the haze clouding my head, and maybe it was just the way Chandler looked at me - with a hint of admiration, like she always did - but it just came out.

"Uh...well, I'm not going to Cornell."

"But you're going to accepted students day tomorrow, aren't you?" she asked.

Chandler claimed she knew when I was lying, but I'd gotten so good at it, sometimes I'd convinced even myself.

I gave her a half shrug. "Well, I am an accepted student. Just not a student that will be attending in the fall."

I exhaled the tension right out of my shoulders, as if the act of just saying it had expelled some demon eating away at my heart. Out here, anything I said was nothing more than one bad note, swallowed up by the ever-evolving soundtrack of the city.

"And your dad?"

"Doesn't know."

Chandler paused for a moment to process my supposed rebellion, and eventually the tiniest smirk curled up her lips. "And so you're going to let the Cornell legacy die? The horror."

I mirrored her smirk. "I mean the offer from Cornell will stand until I do in fact drop dead, but I just have better offers. Ones that include getting the fuck out of New England and playing football at a school that actually cares about football."

"Well if I'm to believe everything I've heard about your football prowess, then you deserve it."

She sounded like she meant it, and I didn't have it in me to be an ass about it.

"To be determined, I guess."

Chandler leaned forward, catching my eye. "You know, if I was about to commit to a school for lacrosse, I'd tell you. I think I'm deserving of your secrets."

Amusement threaded her words, but it was hard to miss the flash of concern when she was sitting this close to me. Close enough for me to catch a whiff of the flowery perfume on her neck.

"Oh would you now? Since when am I deserving of yours?"

"Come on, Dallas. Big brother still isn't watching."

I sighed at the way she'd thrown my words back at me. "I've given a verbal commitment to Clemson."

She fixed me with another amused glance. "So you're the one that kicked Tony D out of that spot. He spent all of fall term bragging about going to Clemson, but then mysteriously changed his mind and committed to BC."

I chuckled. "I'm not saying I had a hand in that...but you're actually the only person I've told any of this to."

I didn't know why it was Chandler who I'd inadvertently gifted this information to. It's not like she expected a bow on top of it. Maybe part of it was trust. Part of it was convenience. Part of it was something else not as tangible.

Despite all that, she still frowned. "I really shouldn't be."

"Come on, Chan. You know how it is."

She leaned in closer, gently placing her hand on my knee, and I reacted almost imperceptibly.

"I do," she said softly. "And that's why I can say that."

"Well thanks." I smirked and bumped her knee with mine.

Lights from the city below twinkled in her eyes as we fell into an unsettled silence. There was no denying Chandler and I had a long-standing, albeit unspoken attraction to one another, but it wasn't until I was reaching up to gently caress her cheek that I realized I had no business acting on it. All the pent up angst with Kaia scratched and clawed at my insides, but I couldn't do that to Chandler...or Kaia. I finally pulled away with a sigh, and I swore I saw the tiniest bit of despair break through her tough exterior.

"Nah, we shouldn't. I...I won't do that to you."

"Well, aren't you seeing someone, too?" Her tone skirted the line of accusation, and I knew why. She wouldn't let me believe that I was only backing off for her sake. We constantly revisited the edge of something, but one of us always pulled back. This time, it was me and my inexplicable attachment to someone who didn't want to be attached to me.

"It's complicated," was all I could muster out as I twirled the remainder of the joint between my fingers, watching the little light at the end of it die in the wind.

As Chandler stood up, so did those walls of hers, and she was back to that icy cold gaze. "Well, good luck with complicated. I hope she's worth it."

✗✗✗

By the time Chandler and I had made it back inside, I was emotionally checked out of the night. She peeled off to do some performative socializing with Dr. England, but not before draping my jacket back over my shoulders in the same way I'd done to her, letting her touch linger just like mine had. I felt like I owed her an apology - for what, I wasn't sure - but she'd dissolved into the casual conversations of the lounge before I could muster anything up. I secluded myself to a cushy, red leather chair in the corner and told that same waiter to keep my glass full. I pulled out my phone and let my inebriation take the wheel.

DALLAS GUNTHER: Can we talk?

Her reply came almost instantly.

KAIA GREENE: About what?

DALLAS GUNTHER: about whatever is still going on with us.

DALLAS GUNTHER: don't deny it.

KAIA GREENE: ...are you drunk?

DALLAS GUNTHER: drunken words are sober thoughts

She left me on read after that, and I crawled into the bottle of whiskey for the rest of the night. My father noticed my absence, but only waited to say something to me until we were outside at the curb waiting for an Uber, the last of winter's chill biting at my cheeks. 

He said goodbye to Dr. England first, with Chandler materializing beside me again, her arms crossed over her chest and her lips pursed in discontent.

I looked up into the towering jungle of skyscrapers and immediately felt dizzy. "New York City is fucking evil."

I didn't want a life here. I didn't want winter's cold and heavy, smoggy air. I wanted warmth and space and maybe some god damn quiet.

"The surface isn't everything, Dal," Chandler quipped as she gazed out into the street.

Chandler and I had our own awkward goodbye as I drunkenly made an attempt to hug her, like it could have been in place of an apology. She shooed me away and gave me one last fleeting smirk before Dr. England whisked her away in a cab.

As I watched the cab dissolve into the sea of late night traffic, my father brought a hand to my shoulder. At first I thought it was to assert his parental dominance, until all the lights started blurring and I realized I'd been wobbling. He was only trying to subtly steady me.

"I need you to get it together, Dallas."

Calm but authoritative, like he always was. It made it hard to get angry with him, especially when I knew he was right and the only person I could be angry with was myself.

"I have it together," I grumbled.

"Then I need you to act like it when we get to Ithaca tomorrow," he continued. "Tonight was just a casual formality. Tomorrow you're going to meet people that could determine the course of your entire future. Making connections is imperative, and I know you'll be focused on football, but football isn't going to get you a job on Wall Street when you're 25..."

The more he went on about my inevitable, seemingly predetermined future, the more something nauseating stirred inside me. At first I was sure I was going to puke, but instead, all the pent up words I'd been trying to find a way to say just came spilling out of me, except not in the way I wanted to say them.

"I don't want to go to fucking Cornell, Dad!"

✗✗✗

think we should stop before it gets deep
don't wanna make promises that i know i can't keep
i'm no good for you
baby, i'm bad news

bad news / lany

END PART III

✗✗✗

if you've been following along with my best m8 w1ldflow3r and her teen fiction story THE HALO EFFECT, you'll know this scene has already happened in Chandler's story from her perspective (see chapter 15, appropriately titled 'dallas'), but for those who are just meeting Chandler for the first time, be nice to my goddaughter. this is not the last time you'll see her.

Sar and I first had an (admittedly drunken) idea while facetiming one night for the Cornell Club chapter back in October of 2020 (yes, a YEAR ago), and originally it was just supposed to be a dumb little scene for shits and giggles that didn't really have great significance to either of our stories. But eventually turned into us actually sharing a universe for our beloved (and temperamental) teenagers that now spans over 150 pages of shared google docs. are we taking this too seriously? who's to say.

...now who wants a dallas/chandler centric sequel?