Admitting that I had feelings for Trip McKenna would solve nothing other than maybe offer an explanation for why my heart skipped a beat when I saw him standing at the end of the hallway. Trip was messing with my head without even breaking a sweat. All it took was one smile, and I might as well drop dead.

"I'll be wearing a tie at formal, you know," Trip said, holding the door open for me as we exited the humanities building. He had AP Lit the same time that I had AP Lang, and we'd fallen into an unspoken habit of waiting for each other after the end of the fourth period for the lunch break.

"What color?" I asked, stealing a glance back at him as we marched down the front stairs. A few rogue curls flopped over his forehead, and his features were soft even in the harsh winter sunlight. "Matching your date's dress is always a classy move."

"Then I should probably figure out what color my date's dress is."

I forced an impassive expression, stopping to lean against the pillar beside the base of the steps. "You'd have to ask her."

"Good call," Trip nodded, retrieving his phone from the front pocket of his dark-wash Levi's. When his thumbs started tapping against the screen, my breath caught in my throat. Just as my thoughts began to reel, my phone vibrated in my parka's pocket.

I held Trip's gaze for a prolonged moment before retrieving my phone. The notification at the top caught me off guard in the best way. 

TRIP MCKENNA, 11:22 AM: what color is your dress?

I glanced back up at Trip, and he quirked a brilliant, self-satisfied smile. Again, I might as well drop dead.

All juniors and seniors at Cannondale could attend the school's dances, with sophomores needing to receive an invitation. Last year, I went to both Winter Formal and Prom with Henry. We were dating, so there was absolutely no question that I would be his date. The same couldn't be said for Trip and I.

Given that gossip traveled at the speed of light at Cannondale, it wasn't at all shocking that everyone kept tabs on who was going with who to Winter Formal. Trip and I were seen as giant question marks at the moment, though everyone just assumed that we both were keeping our cards close to our vests. The only question mark I cared about was what dress I'd be wearing. It wasn't like I could wear the same one as last year.

"I'm still making up my mind." I secured a lock of hair behind my left ear, careful not to let it catch in my gold cartilage hoop. "I'll know by Sunday, though."

"For our brunch rendezvous."

"Or we can just stay at the dining hall." The words were out of my mouth before I could draw up any contingency plans. Chance wasn't a game I liked to play, but Trip had become an exception to the rule. A part of me almost wished he hadn't.

It was pure bad luck that, immediately after I suggested we essentially broadcast our relationship to the Cannondale student body, someone interrupted us.

"McKenna!"

Trip's last name roared from behind us like some archaic Viking war cry, and I didn't need to turn around to figure out whose voice it was. I folded my arms over my chest and clenched my jaw, fed up with the fact that I really couldn't escape Grayson Kirby.

"That reading quiz fucking sucked," Grayson declared, arriving beside Trip at the bottom of the front steps. He acknowledged my presence by flashing me a smirk. "King Lear is overrated."

Trip cleared his throat, brown eyes sharpening as he shifted his weight beside me. "Did you do the reading?"

"Skimmed and hit up CliffsNotes," Grayson shrugged as though this was his standard approach to homework. It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest if it was.

"Then that's why it fucking sucked," Trip said, exhaling wearily and glancing sideways at me with resigned frustration in his eyes. There was something immensely satisfying in knowing that Trip was also annoyed by Grayson. 

"Whatever." Grayson shrugged again. "Princeton won't give a shit about one mediocre reading quiz."

As I went to roll my eyes, I caught sight of Gianna cutting across the quad towards the dining hall. If she was going to be my teammate, she might as well be my friend.

"Gianna!" I called out, impressively enthusiastic for my bitter mood.

Gianna glanced over her shoulder, and surprise momentarily occupied her features when I waved her over. She didn't hesitate longer than a second before walking our way. Beneath her black leather jacket, she wore a cropped v-neck cardigan with three large buttons, and the dark sand-brown color complimented her ashy blonde hair.

"Hey," Gianna greeted me with an earnest smile. When her gaze shifted to the two lacrosse captains, she lifted her chin almost imperceptibly. Despite being in the same AP Gov class as them, I assumed she hadn't had the honor of being properly introduced.

"This is Gianna," I said, forcing some pep into my voice. My shoulder brushed Trip's bicep as I turned back towards him. "She transferred in this term, and will definitely be on varsity this spring."

"You're surrounding yourself with the right people, then," Trip said to Gianna with his signature half-smile and extended a hand. "I'm Trip. Welcome to Cannondale."

Gianna gave him a courteous grin as she shook his hand. "Thank you. I'm hoping to play midfield."            

Grayson barked out a laugh, his eyes two blue animus flames. "Then you better prepare yourself for a catfight if you want to start on the circle. England has claws in case you haven't noticed."

I shot daggers at Grayson but refrained from verbally acknowledging his comment. He was perpetually looking to stir up drama. When I glanced back at Gianna, my lips curved up in approval as I noted that her expression was one of cold indifference. Grayson's attempt to intimidate her had failed.

Seeming to sense the sudden tension, Trip cleared his throat and clapped Grayson on the shoulder. "Cool. I'm also a midfielder, and Grayson is an attacker."

"We're also both All-Americans," Grayson boasted, and I smothered what felt like my hundredth irritated sigh. "I bet you were wondering."

"I wasn't, but so is Chandler," Gianna replied smoothly, though her dark eyes contained a sharpness that not even Grayson could miss. The best warnings often went unspoken.

"We have our first WAC meeting of the term today," I drawled, ready to leave this conversation behind. Trip and I would talk later. "You're both welcome to tag along if you're interested in becoming more forward-thinking members of society."

Grayson opened his mouth to respond, but Trip shut him up with an uncharacteristically sharp look. "Maybe another time. We're leading a captains' practice up at the stadium right after eighth period." 

"In that case, I'll see you AP Gov," I replied, directing my words at Trip. As I stepped away from him, my hand slowly grazed his knuckles. The silver of the two rings he always wore on his right hand was cold.

"Yeah." Trip nodded, and as though he couldn't help it, the corners of his eyes crinkled. "Great meeting you, Gianna."

After responding with a tight-lipped smile, Gianna turned away from the two captains and fell in line with me.

"Enjoy WAC!" Grayson hollered out after us, his head clearly too far up his ass to have noticed our collective disdain for his presence.

Once we were out of earshot, Gianna huffed. "Either Grayson's bad at first impressions, or he's a total ass."

"It's both," I answered, confident in my assessment after spending too much time with Grayson in various classes. The frustration I'd directed at him earlier cut through me once more, and I exhaled a hard breath. "About what Grayson said...he likes messing with peoples' heads. It doesn't seem like he will have much luck with you, though."

"There are boys like him everywhere. Pretty face, but that's about it," Gianna sighed out, shrugging her shoulders.

I rolled my eyes and let out a little laugh. "But people love to make exceptions for them."

✘ ✘ ✘

Before the lacrosse season started in early March, the Women's Activist Club met every other Wednesday at 3:00 PM. Mrs. Aspen was the club's advisor, meaning that the meetings were held in her classroom. Today's meeting was the first of the term and WAC had a strong turnout of approximately fifty students. At present, they were all listening intently to the brief presentation Kelsey and I created.

"The United States is the only country to have signed but not ratified the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women," Kelsey said, her dark gaze skating around the classroom. She exuded the approachable yet confident energy of someone giving a TED Talk. "Ask yourself why that's the case." 

I allowed a moment for Kelsey's words to sink in before clicking the remote to change to the final slide and continuing the presentation. "One of CEDAW's articles that we want to elaborate on is Article 12. It discusses women and their right to health. When states fail to provide health services that only women need, that's discrimination against women."

"This includes access to reproductive and sexual health," Kelsey chimed in, and rolled back her shoulders as she inhaled a breath. "All over the world, women are denied access to basic healthcare, and the right to health is a human right. It's important to look beyond the performative activism that we often see on social media and familiarize ourselves with the legal framework that's essentially described as an international bill of rights for women."

After taking a few questions and debriefing the presentation in small groups, Kelsey concluded the meeting. Jameson and two of his friends on the baseball team were the first to bolt, needing to book it to the weight-room. Their departure brought the grand total of boys in the room down to ten.

Despite Massachusetts being a blue state, characterized as progressive and liberal, most teenage boys didn't outwardly identify as feminists. That resulted in a relatively low male turnout for WAC, something we were aiming to change.

While Kelsey attended to some of her administrative responsibilities as WAC's president, I threw on my backpack to join Macallan and Gianna in the hallway.

"Who's the guy Kelsey's talking to?" Gianna questioned, her eyes shifting back through the open doorway of the classroom. "His cheekbones could seriously injure someone."

Glancing over my shoulder, I scrunched up my nose at the sight of said guy's sharp features and midnight hair.

"Win Petrov," I answered. Win radiated that cool, intellectual vibe that I imagined all of the self-proclaimed hipsters worshiped. It probably had something to do with the ratty peacoat and sweater with his shirt's collar folded over the hem. "He's the editor-and-chief of the Cannondale Weekly and offered to do a feature article on WAC next month."

Win also happened to be my assigned lab partner in Honors Physics last term, but our dynamic wasn't reminiscent of a cliché teen romance where we bonded over Newton's Third Law and spent late nights together in the library studying for exams. We simply exerted equal and opposite forces of annoyance onto each other at all times.

"That's cool of him," Gianna said, her gaze lingering on where Kelsey and Win stood for a moment longer before snapping away.

"Win's artsy with a literary brain," Macallan elaborated without looking up from her phone. "He's also Kelsey's date to Winter Formal. They're not, like, together, though."

Gianna opened her mouth to respond, but Macallan finally looked up from her phone and elected to change the subject.

"Oh, and by the way," Macallan continued, handing her phone over to me. "I just uploaded the link to my dress to the message board. It's your turn now, Chan."

I grimaced. Over the last few weeks, links to formal dresses had flooded Cannondale's message board on BostonSpilledTea.com. It was the notorious website that private schools in Boston used for its anonymous message board feature. The name was, of course, inspired by the Boston tea party.

The text following the link to Macallan's dusty rose dress was her initials 'MB' to indicate her identity even though the post was anonymous. After seeing the post, no one in their right mind would order the same dress as Macallan Blake.

"I'll upload two just to cover my bases," I stated and noted Gianna's furrowed brow. "Girls at Cannondale wouldn't be caught dead wearing the same dress as someone else."

Humming in agreement, Macallan focused on Gianna. "So, have you ordered a dress yet?"

Gianna shook her head. "I've been at Cannondale for less than two weeks. I doubt I'll find a decent date in time, and I don't want to go solo."

"Nope. No way, Gianna," Macallan protested with a dismissive flick of her wrist, silver bracelets clattering against each other. "You will 100% have a beyond decent date to Winter Formal."

Gianna expelled a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Macallan-"

"I know for a fact that there are three cute juniors on the baseball team who don't have dates yet," Macallan interrupted. "And if anyone can find you a date, it's me."

Doubt seemed to linger in Gianna's eyes, so I gently elbowed her in the arm and shot her a mock pointed look. "You've got Macallan Blake on your team," I reminded her. "She's a Glinda the Good Witch adjacent, and she'll work her magic."

"And haven't you heard?" Kelsey appeared between the two of us, draping her arms over our shoulders as she grinned. "Women transform the world."

an aesthetic for The Girls that was definitely necessary.

would love to get your thoughts on the story so far or just vote i could benefit from a boost in serotonin.