The Chanel box arrived one day before Winter Formal.

Its contents embodied my fashion dreams. I'd styled the slim-cut, black tailored suit with an ivory button-down and a loose black tie. My satin fuchsia heels added a pop of color to the monochrome outfit.

Women in menswear shouldn't seem radical or transgressive, but there was no point denying that I was straying from what the Cannondale student body expected of me. And that wasn't a bad thing. I didn't crave approval, and neither did my friends. We maintained our prestige just fine without going out of our way to remind people why we deserved our revered standing in the school's social hierarchy.

Our high heels clicked on the cobblestone walkway leading to an impressive old colonial manor that once served as the first headmaster's house. Its purpose these days was hosting events like school dances and stuffy donor banquets. Tonight it was the former.

We'd take pictures with our dates in the manor and then board a coach bus that would whisk us off to the venue on the Boston harbor. It was another classic Cannondale tradition.

Gianna and Kelsey marched in front of Macallan and me, scrolling through the photos we'd taken on Macallan's digital camera back at Roosevelt Hall. My favorite part of school dances was getting ready for them. Hair, makeup, jewelry, posing in front of the mirror hanging on our door - it was fun and easy. And there were no boys involved. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for the remainder of the night. I exhaled a weary sigh despite myself.

"Put on your party face and you'll skate through the night unscathed," Macallan said, flashing me an encouraging smile. Her intricate blonde updo resembled a golden tiara.

I threw her a mock scowl. "I don't have a party face."

"Improvise. I have faith in you."

"What more could I possibly ask for?"

Just as we reached the front doors, Kelsey glanced back at us from over her shoulder. "If anyone sees my nipples through my dress, they better know that I'm aware and that I know what concepts I'm about."

"Bras are a social construct," I said, content to not be wearing one beneath my white shirt. No one should ever feel like they had to wear a bra, but then again, men still thought they had a say in what women did with their bodies. Patriarchal societal norms perpetually threatened female autonomy in the United States.

I pretended not to notice the attention our arrival received, looping my arm through Gianna's as we zipped over to the check-in table. 

Both the junior and senior class at Cannondale were in attendance, ensuring that cliques and social alliances were clear as day for anyone with an ounce of self-awareness. This was why I adhered to three principles at school dances. First, never go out of your way to compliment someone. Fishing for compliments wasn't cute, and validation wasn't a two-way street. Being nice to someone did not grant you or your actions clemency for the night. Second, never go to the bathroom alone. Everyone will assume you were crying, and there was strength in numbers - especially when it came to fending off catty girls. And last but not least, never instigate a fight. Everyone was watching everyone else, and there was nothing classy about taking advantage of a built-in audience.

Our quartette became a trio when Kelsey spotted Win Petrov in the grand entryway alongside his straight-out-of-dark academia associates. While Macallan was quick to locate Jameson and the junior baseball player who she'd arranged to be Gianna's date, I took my time looking for Grayson. He'd sent me a few texts about his arrival time, but I was perfectly fine with minimizing the amount of time I had to spend in his presence.

The three of us were chatting with a handful of teammates about our eventual rematch against Silvermine Academy when my phone buzzed in my hand.

MOM, 6:33 PM: I know you'll look beautiful in the suit. Enjoy your night, I love you.

I scowled.

Staying mad at Mom would be so much simpler if she wasn't attempting to repair our relationship. Or better yet, if she didn't send me gorgeous designer clothes in an attempt to repair our relationship.

I wouldn't fall for some angel act. Not a chance.

After all, being kind in one area didn't mean Mom was kind in all areas. This just meant she was strategic. She knew all about the Winter Formal, having helped me select a dress last year for when I dated Henry. She also still split my tuition with Dad and received the school's many scheduling emails. I assumed she sent the tux because she knew it was exactly something I'd love to wear and because she could send it.

I showed the message to Gianna and Macallan. "Emotional manipulation looks great on her."

Macallan sighed, shaking her head. "Oh, Gretchen."

"She's looking for the upper hand," Gianna mused, having heard enough about Mom by now to have an opinion on the matter. "Responding might deter her from playing the she-keeps-putting-up-walls card."

I smoothed out invisible wrinkles on my silk tie. "I don't think anything I do will deter her from doing that, but fair point."

After promising Macallan that I'd endure more photos once Grayson arrived, I excused myself from the group. I exchanged a few smiles and waves as I traveled throughout the first floor of the manor.

I hadn't planned on stopping to chat with anyone, but it seemed like there were some conversations I just couldn't dodge. 

Win Petrov's green eyes swept over me. "Are you attending Paris Fashion Week?"

A traitorous blush invaded my face. "Are you planning on auditioning for an off-broadway production of Dead Poets Society?"

"Flattered that you think I could land a role."

"I said auditioned, Win."

Win stared at me, looking simultaneously amused and annoyed. He picked at one of his silver cufflinks. "What if I decided not to write that feature piece on WAC?"

I scoffed. "You wouldn't sabotage Kelsey."

"I might just want to sabotage you more."

"Whatever you two are bickering about, I don't want to hear it," Kelsey announced as she appeared next to Win, and sent an amused grin my way. "This does not look like you are putting on your party face.

I pointed in her date's direction. "Win was just making some cute empty threats."

He offered me a bitter laugh. "Cute, huh?"

I glared, disinterested in continuing our spat. Kelsey shouldn't have to put up with it. The weight of my phone in my hand reminded me that I'd yet to respond to my mother's text. I didn't want to - at least I thought I didn't - but I was wearing the outfit she'd sent me. I couldn't risk surrendering the moral high ground by acting ungrateful.

I focused on Kelsey and held up my phone a little. "I need to deal with someone before she tries to deal with me."

She nodded, understanding who I was referring to. "Way to be proactive."

I speared Win with one last glare before making my way over to the arched doorway of the great room. If anyone looked in my direction, they'd probably assume I was simply waiting for someone - someone being Grayson Kirby.

Leaning back against the wooden frame of the doorway, I typed out the most straightforward response and hit send.

CHANDLER ENGLAND, 6:40 PM: thank you

There. That was simple. Easy and done. I was fine.

I recentered myself and focused on my next priority; I needed to locate Grayson to maintain the illusion that I was happy to be here with him as my date. During the last two weeks, people had started treating Grayson and me as though we were together. I knew it had to do with our social standing. The girls who usually cozied up to Grayson and batted their eyelashes kept their distance. None of them wanted to risk being on my bad side.

As I went to step away from the doorway, a group of rowdy football boys barreling into the room diverted my attention. They were all New England prep and unearned swagger.

Tony D's Boston accent boomed the loudest.

"I got scouted by other ACC schools like Clemson, Georgia Tech, and Syracuse," he informed his small yet attentive audience. "Clemson still hasn't recruited a quarterback, but I don't give a fuck since it won't be that overachieving Adderall junkie Dallas Gunther. He sold his soul to Cornell."

Dallas Gunther.

Dallas was no stranger to me. He was the only son of Dad's closest friend from Cornell, which forced us to run in the same elite New England circles when we were kids. We still phased in and out of each other's lives so smoothly that I always half-expected him to come up in conversation. He almost went to Cannondale, but his parents yanked his enrollment last minute. I didn't know why, and I wished I didn't care.

"I'd sell my soul for Cornell," Jay grumbled, adjusting his tie. It seemed he'd managed to get it right and dodged exile from GWT.

"You wouldn't if you thought you were some kind of football god-like Gunther," Tony D sneered. "He can kiss his NFL dreams goodbye. Scouts don't go to Ivys."

I knew all about athletic rivalries, but the animosity dripping from Tony D's words crossed a line I hadn't realized existed until now. It was bright and unmistakable like the restraining line on the turf.

Dallas would never hear what Tony D said about him, and it wasn't like I'd tell him, but I wasn't about to let the meathead get off that easily. Besides, loyalty wasn't defined by how you acted when you were in the spotlight.

I intercepted Tony D the moment he stepped away from his football-worshiping cronies.

"Wow, it must really bother you that Dallas Gunther is a better quarterback."

Tony D scoffed, but his cheeks flared red as he fiddled with his tie. "And how do you know that, England? Did Gunther write you a love letter from lockup before his daddy bailed him out?"

My first instinct was to correct him because Dallas was never actually in lockup, but I wasn't here to play defense. A lakeside country club in Connecticut wasn't the ideal destination to evade underage drinking, though that didn't stop Dallas from tearing it up at his eighteenth birthday party last July. There wasn't much that stopped him in general. But after one of his idiot friends who flirted with me a little too much puked in the pool, someone somewhere called the police. Macallan and I had left unscathed because we hadn't been drinking, but Dallas's whole crew got their assess hauled down to the tiny station downtown. We didn't take bone-headed risks the way privileged teenage boys did.   

"I know because I just do," I said, my gold bracelets clattering against each other as I flicked my wrist to dismiss his comment. "Also, being a snitch isn't a good look for you. A true competitor doesn't take the cheap shot."

"Jesus Christ, how are you still not over that?" Tony D asked and dared to laugh. "You're the one who yapped a little too loudly about Gunther's birthday party debacle last summer."

It wasn't intentional. I would never willingly give Tony D ammunition to use against Dallas. Not that he understood that, of course. I'd received an Instagram DM from him back in August, in which he called me Gossip Girl and wanted to know how Tony D found out about his brief run-in with the law. Apparently, the inner circle of the high school football elites was just as unkind as fifteen-year-old girls body-shaming each other in a Lululemon dressing room.

Before I could unleash another thinly veiled insult, I felt a hand on the small of my back.

"You don't want to start a fight with Chandler," Grayson Kirby said, sporting a devilish smirk as he stood beside me. I quirked a faint smile at his unexpected use of my full name. "She's got serious claws."

Tony D frowned. "You're acting like a real puppy dog, Kirby."

"Everyone loves puppies," Grayson answered, still smirking. He seemed to be one of the only seniors wearing a white tuxedo, which I imagined he thought was very cool of him.

Tony D's gaze slid in my direction. The subtle glint in his eyes made me wonder if he harbored any suspicions after seeing Trip and me outside the dining hall.

"Bet," he said and departed without another word.

Grayson turned to face me, his lips forming a slight smile. It almost seemed genuine. "If you wanted to borrow a suit, you could've asked."

I scoffed. "I doubt you have Chanel in your closet."

"Touché." He made a point of surveying the room. "You're still putting everyone else to shame."

I tilted my head to one side, feigning amusement. "Are you trying to tell me that I'm pretty?"

"I don't need to try and tell you. You are pretty, Chandler."

Grayson was on the charm offensive. There was no smirk or undercurrent of sarcasm that tainted his words. I wished I was immune to the compliment, but I wasn't. It felt good, and that in itself ignited my immediate afterthought of believing myself to be pathetically arbitrary.

Macallan appeared in the archway with her disposable camera in hand, the tiny diamonds in her necklace twinkling in the firelight. "Ready for pictures?"

"Always." I took Grayson's hand in mine.

As we walked over to the stone fireplace, an unexpected thought tickled my mind. I'd never held Trip's hand. It should've been such silly and insignificant detail, but it stuck with me throughout the obligatory photo shoot. The corsage Grayson slipped onto my left wrist was too pretty to detest, with its white rose and pearly beads forming the band.

We were posing alongside Macallan and Jameson when I saw him. 

Trip McKenna stepped out into the room with his date on his arm. His form-fitting suit was the darkest shade of navy with a crisp white shirt underneath it. At the sight of his slightly scuffed white Vans, I cracked a smile. The shoes detracted from the formality of his outfit, but he was still alarmingly handsome. His date was also wearing navy. She was a senior on the field hockey team and a close friend of Delany. I paid her gown a silent compliment in my head.

The upperclassmen on the boys' varsity lacrosse team gravitated over to Trip immediately, as if they'd been expecting him. As if they'd been waiting for him. Trip smiled wide enough that I saw his dimples, and his eyes lit up like early evening stars. I looked away because I wasn't that self-destructive.

Grayson and I stood outside preparing to board the coach bus when it happened.

Trip and I locked eyes through the crowd, and, not to be melodramatic, there was a moment when I thought the sky might shatter into a million pieces. I didn't know who looked whose direction first, but I wished I could somehow rewind and point at the film to prove it wasn't me. I wasn't going out of my way to create this secret language composed of stolen glances and derailed smiles like trains running off tracks. We hadn't engaged in any conversations outside of those forced in AP Gov, and brunch rendezvous never happened, thanks to my little stunt outside of the dining hall. 

Trip's expression betrayed nothing. It wasn't that he was ignoring me; he was just entirely indifferent. Casually unbothered. And that was somehow so much worse.

He hardly missed a beat, saying something that made his teammates laugh. I wondered if he realized whether he was the sun of their god damn universe at Cannondale.

"He's here on an academic scholarship, you know."

Grayson's voice pulled me back into reality's orbit, and the seconds tripped over each other as I followed his gaze across the snowy front lawn.

My heart somersaulted. "Trip?"

"The McKennas don't have deep pockets," he said, lowering his voice. "Trip's perfect transcript and lacrosse skills are the only reason why he's at Cannondale."

Everything inside my body burned ice-cold as I stood perfectly still, turning Grayson's words over in my mind. Cannondale wasn't entirely elitist. Everyone knew the school handed out full-ride scholarships to a few students in each class, but nobody knew who received them. In theory.

"Why would you tell me this?" I asked, searching his eyes for an answer. The blue-grey color reminded me of summer storm clouds. "Why would you tell anyone at all?"

Grayson shrugged, so horribly nonchalant. "It's not a big deal."

"That's not for you to decide, Grayson," I seethed.

Because this was a big deal. He was Trip's co-captain. They were the boys' lacrosse program's pride and joy. He was supposed to be his friend.

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing," he claimed, letting out a low chuckle. "But honestly, it explains a lot. Trip's working-class integrity makes the rest of us look bad."

Oxygen escorted itself out of my lungs. I almost wanted to laugh because I'd never considered it before. I'd never once considered that Grayson might've been jealous of Trip. But I heard it in his voice and in the pause that followed. I saw the way Trip's teammates put him on a pedestal, and now there wasn't a shred of doubt in my mind that Grayson saw that too.

"You're an entitled ass," I stated.

"Don't act like you don't have a trust fund, England." The casual amusement in Grayson's voice had faded, only to be replaced with a sharp defensive edge. "Not just anyone can show up to a school dance in designer menswear."

The devil on my shoulder prepared to fire off a lethal retort, but I reined her back in with reason. Petty insults were a weapon of last resort. Besides, I could hold myself to a higher standard. I would hold myself to a higher standard for Trip's sake.

"This was a mistake."

"What?"

"You heard me."

Skating through the night unscathed was a pipe dream. I tore off my corsage.

✘ ✘ ✘

it feels like it's been a small eternity and I absolutely missed chandler's shenanigans. but cancer season is soon and I'm ready to be unstoppable.

also HEY this chapter featured my beloved godson dallas gunther from moonraess's BLIND AMBITION! chander x dallas content is elite and coming soon.