There would be no change of heart.

No part of me was allowed to regret accepting Grayson's invitation to be his date to Winter Formal. Wallowing in self-pity wouldn't reverse my decision, and it definitely wouldn't spare me from the attention that I was already receiving.

I'd entered the dining hall with my head held high and shoulders rolled back, ignoring the intrigued glances flicking in my direction. Only two hours had passed since I'd left the turf, but that was more than enough time for the news to spread at Cannondale. The spotlight that had found me on the turf wouldn't vanish anytime soon. Even at a table with two devout band kids, a self-proclaimed mathlete, and an uppity blonde from the Cannondale Weekly, I still felt it shining down on me.

Our table maintained a steady stream of chatter throughout dinner, mostly about standardized tests. All juniors at Cannondale were required to attend either the school's ACT or SAT prep sessions on Saturday mornings until their guidance counselor and parental guardians signed off on their score.

I was sitting for my third ACT in April, aiming to crack a 30 on the Math test so that my overall score would at least be a 31. I'd discovered early on that math on standardized tests wasn't my strong suit. It didn't matter that I was a stellar student in AP Calculus because when it came to completing 60 questions in an hour, my advanced mathematical skills weren't enough to earn me my desired score. As much as it pained me to admit it, I simply couldn't solve the problems that fast.

I mindlessly twirled spaghetti around my fork, my appetite nonexistent as my thoughts drowned out the conversation. I could almost hear Mom chastising me for playing with my food, reminding me that it wasn't at all ladylike. The thought prompted an eye roll.

"That picture on Instagram of you and Grayson is super cute."

Caroline Drake's voice extracted me out of my thoughts, and I glanced up. She sat directly across from me, winding a curl of honey blonde hair around one finger. She'd failed to properly blend out her bronzer, making her neck distinctly lighter than her face.

The band kids - Caleb and Fiona - ceased their discussion on why the Ivy League shouldn't require standardized tests, and turned my way. Matteo the mathlete stopped sawing the disturbingly large meatballs on his plate.

I engineered a smile. "Aw, thank you."

I hadn't actually seen the photo that Grayson posted on his Instagram story, deliberately avoiding my account. Seeing a thread of comments fawning over how objectively good we looked together would only serve to echo what I didn't want to hear. Gianna had assured me that my wavy ponytail looked amazing, so at least I had that going for me.

"It must've been nice to have options," Caroline said, voicing what everyone could only assume. Her voice was light, but it had a funny yet familiar edge to it. I'd learned what envy sounded like a long time ago. She wasn't the first girl to smile to my face while manifesting my downfall, and she wouldn't be the last.

I offered her an impassive shrug. "Didn't make a difference in the end. I can only have one date."

While Fiona giggled, finding my remark a little too entertaining, Caroline's cheeks flushed pink. I felt my lips twitch with satisfaction, knowing I'd subtly put her in her place. I wasn't vain enough to believe that she wanted to be me. Here was my theory: there was a part of Caroline - and too many other girls at Cannondale - that desperately wanted to be my friend, and she hated that.

At the table adjacent to mine, Macallan caught my eye and sent a sympathetic smile my way. As she'd predicted, her chicken Caesar wrap was a massacre on her plate. When we'd returned to our dorm room after the captain's practice, she'd hugged me and called Grayson a crafty asshole. I'd cracked a smile because she wasn't wrong. My friends understood the social implications I could've faced by turning down Grayson and why I did what I felt like I had to do.

Of course, in a perfect world, I would've said no. I wanted to say no. Except I couldn't.

What did that say about me?

When dinner finally ended, Headmistress Harvey dismissed tables in waves to prevent a stampede towards the exit, and I caught sight of Kelsey leaving with Gianna. After a few grueling minutes, my table was dismissed alongside Macallan's. I didn't bother saying goodbye to anyone.

As Macallan and I entered the lobby, my attention snapped over to a group of senior boys when I heard a familiar laugh that ignited its usual flame of warmth inside my chest.

Trip McKenna looked devastatingly handsome in blue.

I gritted my teeth, wishing that the first thought that entered my mind when I saw him wasn't so cliché and having to do with his damn button-down shirt. I'd refrained from texting him after practice, admittedly at a loss for what to say. He wasn't a knight in shining armor who would show up on his white horse to rescue me from this situation. I also didn't need to be rescued. I could handle it.

"What do you mean you don't know how to tie your own damn tie, Jay?" Tony D asked, barking out a laugh. "If you fuck it up tomorrow, you're exiled from Guys With Ties."

"Teenage boys are so inept," Macallan grumbled, pulling on her lavender beanie. "Even the ones who can tie a tie."

I scoffed. "Don't let Jameson hear you say that."

"Jameson is different."

I raised an eyebrow at the nonchalant certainty in Macallan's voice. She could've been commenting on something as obvious as the color of the sky on a sunny day. Macallan had told me over the summer that she was in love with Jameson Hill. She'd blurted it out in the checkout line at Sephora, holding a bottle of tanning mousse. From the moment she'd said those words, she'd never looked back. She was in love, and wholeheartedly believed she would stay in love.

The notion that perhaps I had a shot at something like that was what ultimately altered my charted course.

I turned to Macallan. "I'll meet you back at Roosevelt."

Macallan glanced over her shoulder to where Trip and the rest of the boys stood. She caught my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You got this."

"I know."

"There's the Chandler I know and love."

The moment Macallan left my side, she was intercepted by Delaney and some of our other teammates. Exhaling a breath, I summoned some bravado and honed in on Trip. Me and my pride needed an immediate redemption arch.

"Trip," I called out, striding over to him. Maybe I imagined it, but his friends seemed to take a collective step back.

"Hey," Trip greeted with a half-smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes.

"We should talk." I placed a hand on Trip's forearm and his muscles tensed, but he didn't pull away.

"Okay," he agreed, loud enough for the others to hear.

I led us out of the dining hall and off to the right of the entryway, where students were still filing out. Minuscule snowflakes drifted down from the inky dark sky as our breath pooled in the cold air. I released my delicate hold on Trip's arm as he shrugged on his jacket.

Trip cleared his throat. "Everything okay?"

No. Everything was not okay, and his casual tone caught me off guard more than I would ever admit.

"How didn't you know?" I asked, my heart already starting to race inside my chest. "Grayson's your friend and your co-captain. Am I really supposed to believe that he orchestrated this whole ambush without saying a single word to you?"

Trip dragged a hand through his hair and sighed. "Tell me what you want me to say here, Chandler. I was in the dark on this one."

I felt a surge of frustration. "Well maybe you should've asked me sooner."

"Seriously?" In the glow of the lamp posts, Trip's expression hardened. The cold had already put a touch of color in his cheeks, but now emotion rushed in. "It's not like you've sent clear signals."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I didn't know you even wanted to go with me until a week ago. You're too-"

"Too what, Trip? It almost sounds like you're blaming me," I accused, not caring that I cut him off. There was a part of me that dreaded hearing the remainder of his sentence.

"Hard to read," Trip finished. "And no, I'm not blaming you, Chandler."

My heart twisted, not entirely believing him. I gave what I hoped was an impassive shrug. "Great because I'm not blaming me either."

But then my heart twisted again, not entirely believing myself.

If someone had told me yesterday that I would have agreed to go to Winter Formal with Grayson Kirby, I would've rolled my eyes. But instead, I'd let myself down. I'd let the girl who I thought I was down.

"It's one dance," Trip said with a level of sincerity that I couldn't bring myself to fully acknowledge. He put his hand on my arm. I didn't have time to decide whether I wanted to swat it away or take it in mine before he dropped it. "It doesn't need to mean anything."

Maybe if I wasn't so entrenched in my own thoughts, I would've attempted to decipher what went unspoken, but that didn't change the fact that his actual words hurt.

The dance was supposed to mean something to us. It'd already meant something to me.

The doors beside us swung open, and Trip's friends stepped out into the night. When he shifted to acknowledge them, I kept my gaze fixed on the little pulsing in his jaw. Tony D sent Trip a bemused look, but then saluted him and led the other two boys away. He was close with Grayson, but he wasn't on the turf earlier. Had Grayson kept him in the dark too?

When Trip turned back, we held each other's gazes for a handful of moments, the silence stretching out between us. My stubbornness overruled my initial impulse to take a verbal sledgehammer to it.

Trip finally opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted when the doors burst open again, and a bunch of loud freshmen girls scampered out. Their eyes cut in our direction as though we were high-profile reality stars dodging paparazzi, and their chatter dissolved into hushed whispers. It was so horribly predictable.

"Can we do this somewhere else?" Trip asked, tugging at the collar of his shirt. The movement drew my attention back to the fabric's blue color, but I wouldn't let it mock me and my affection.

I cut my losses. "We don't have to do this at all."

I turned sharply and stormed away from him.

I'd made it all the way back to the third floor of Roosevelt Hall when my emotions finally caught up to me, and I stopped right outside the door to my dorm room. The hurt I'd pushed down all evening welled up inside my chest and a mangled sob escaped me.

"It's one dance," I breathed out, repeating Trip's words. "It's just one dance, and he's just one boy."

And with that, I banished all thoughts of Trip and unlocked the door.

✘ ✘ ✘

*worried laughter*