I definitely should've thought my plan through a little more.

I realized that the moment the door closed, and I dropped Trip's hand. It wasn't my place to interrogate him, so I blurted out the next best thing.

"I just wanted to talk."

He scoffed, but his lips twitched into a half-smile. "And so you dragged me into a coat closet?"

"I didn't drag you. As much as it pains me to admit it, you're stronger than I am. You could've just...let go."

Trip's smile faded, his brown eyes looking even darker under the dim lights. "I wanted to talk that night at the dining hall. I wanted to talk, and maybe if we had, we wouldn't have had to do whatever the hell we did for the last two weeks."

Technically, we did talk that night, but I knew what he was getting at. He wanted to talk more. He had more to say, and I'd just walked away. I'd left him hanging out in the cold, our feelings freezing over.

"I didn't mean to be hard to read," I said, my words coasting on adrenaline. "I'm not trying to play games or have you chase me."

"Then what?"

"What?" I asked in an attempt to buy some time. If I couldn't be articulate, then I might as well abandon words altogether.

One eyebrow arched as Trip regarded me for a long moment. "Something happened between you and Grayson."

It wasn't a question.

"He said some things he shouldn't have," I said, deciding that now wasn't the right time to dive into all the lovely details. "But that's not why we're here."

"In a coat closet." His gaze was soft but simultaneously intense that I could almost feel him on me.

Our proximity encouraged me to hush my voice as I continued to hold his gaze. "I am, in fact, aware that we are in a coat closet."

"Is that all, then? You're not trying to play games or have me chase you?" Trip's words held a silent and inviting challenge in them.

"Not even close."

Capitalizing on every ounce of confidence I had, I rolled up onto my tiptoes and kissed him.

Our first kiss had been a delicate secret we shared in the dark, soft like the snowfall of that night, but this time was different. It felt more purposeful and urgent. Like we couldn't afford to take our time.

I kissed Trip but he kissed me back, curling an arm around my waist and slipping it beneath my suit jacket, with nothing but the thin silk of my shirt separating the feeling of his fingertips on the small of my back. Something undeniable yet intangible pulled us closer and closer, and suddenly nothing from earlier in the night mattered anymore. I wanted to memorize the feeling of his lips against mine. I looped my arms around his shoulders, lifting a hand to undo the work of his hair gel. The tousled curls look was tough to beat.

I was still reeling Trip in when he broke away.

"Your tie is nicer than mine," he said, tugging lightly at the loose silk above the knot, his knuckles grazing the hollow of my throat. His fingertips on his other hand pressed against the ridges of my spine, traveling up and mapping my back. "If we weren't in a coat closet at our school dance, I'd hope you'd consider taking it off."

I touched my lips to the pulse-point on his neck, just barely. It was a ghost of a kiss. "Only the tie?"

"It's whatever you want, Chandler."

My heartbeat fluttered at the way Trip's voice curled around each syllable of my name. I wanted to hear him say it again.

The abrupt sound of the doorknob twisting split us apart. We became pieces of a broken magnet, two poles repelling each other.

A moment later, Gianna Lash was standing in front of us, holding the door only half-open to shield us from view. Her dark brown eyes swept from him to me as she evaluated the scene in front of her for approximately five seconds, before a bright smile lifted her lips.

"I can't believe I left my phone in the bathroom," she said, stepping aside and holding the door open for us to step through. "But thanks for checking my coat for me, Chan."

Surprise momentarily delayed my pageant smile. "Anytime."

Gianna had spoken loud enough for anyone standing nearby to hear, but not at a suspicious volume. This was her noble attempt at providing me with a reason to be inside the coat closet. Or at least a reason other than kissing Trip McKenna.

Trip leaned back against the door, closing it with a quiet click.

"Gianna," he acknowledged with a cordial nod. I couldn't take my eyes off of him as he smoothed out the rumpled fabric of his shirt.

"So I take it you're having a good night," Gianna said, entirely nonchalant.

His eyes flitted to me for a moment, before he looked at her with a tiny smirk. "It's been mildly eventful."

"Well, enjoy the rest of your mildly eventful night," I said pointedly.

"Will do."

Trip never once looked back.

I turned to Gianna, impressed to see that her nonchalant facade remained intact.

Once upon a time in early January, I'd opposed her presence. I assumed I hadn't made the best first impression after my petty attitude reigned supreme at breakfast on the first day of the new term, but she'd never outwardly held that against me. I wanted her to know that I trusted her now, and I could start by opening up about my romantic escapades.

"I manifested the wrong lacrosse captain."

"I know you've heard this a million times over the last two weeks, but you shouldn't blame yourself for not turning Grayson down," Gianna said. "He put you in an awkward position by asking you out in front of the team and with his shirtless cronies. I definitely would've done the same thing." 

"I still feel like I fell on my own sword," I admitted with a sigh. "Like fully impaled." 

"Ouch, but no, you really didn't. Also, I hope this could've gone without saying, but I'll keep this between us."

"Thank you."

Gianna sent me a coy grin as we started down a short hallway. "Can't blame you for not being right back."

"Believe me, that wasn't planned."

"So, are you two good?"

"I think so?" I stopped in front of the ornate oval mirror on the wall, running my fingers through the loose waves of my hair. "Kissing someone usually isn't a long-term solution to anything, but who knows."

When we returned to the dance floor, my gaze locked on a small crowd gathering like storm clouds on the opposite side. As if there was an invisible compass in my chest, I knew that was where I needed to be, and Gianna followed my lead. 

There were too many students in front of us, blocking our path, and I exchanged a sideways glance with Gianna. We started skirting along the back of the crowd, but Macallan's blonde hair and red dress made her easy to distinguish as we moved. She stood near the perimeter of the dance floor with Jameson and Kelsey positioned a few steps behind her.

"Chandler might be your date tonight, but that's it," she was saying to Grayson. As Gianna and I drew closer, I noticed that the crowd seemed to form a semi-circle around the two of them. Their conversation had clearly garnered an audience before our arrival. "She doesn't owe you anything. She can leave whenever she wants."

Macallan's words seemed to trigger something within Grayson, some kind of explosive arrogance that he was suddenly all too eager to unleash.

"I never expected Chandler to stick around. Like mother, like daughter."

It actually took me a few heartbeats to find my head. Those same thunderclouds of self-loathing had rolled back in, my thoughts electric.

"Take that back." Macallan's voice was like acid. "Take that back, or I'm going to make you regret your entire existence."

Grayson barked out a loud, full-bodied laugh punctuated with disbelief. Some of his teammates echoed him like a bad sitcom laugh track. Both Kelsey and Jameson stepped forward to come to Macallan's aid, moving into her peripheral, but she held up a hand. She was silently asking them to stand down.

This was a version of Macallan that I'd only caught glimpses of in all of the years that I'd known her. I'd sometimes call her a Glinda the Good Witch adjacent, the origin being her naming her two dogs Elphaba and Fiyero, but also because everyone at Cannondale adored her.

Macallan Blake walked on sunshine. She befriended the new girl. She was defending me with unwavering confidence that was so rare in sixteen-year-old girls.

But no one laughed in her face and walked away unscathed. Not even someone like Grayson Kirby who had students at Cannondale adoring him for different reasons - his Ivy League swagger, athleticism, and pretty facial features.

"What are you going to do, Macallan? Hit me?"

Grayson's challenge spread like a ripple across the dance floor, the students nearby ceasing their conversations, and I was a few strides short of stepping into Macallan's line of vision. My heart was already pounding so hard. Too hard.

But then I saw Trip, and I flat-lined.

With eyes glinting like daggers, his presence sliced an unbroken path through his teammates behind Grayson. While he didn't need to intervene at this point, the fact that he looked willing and able to do so reinforced what I probably should've seen coming from the start. It didn't matter that I was only sixteen; all at once, I knew he could be the one I'd stay up all night dreaming of with my eyes wide open. That didn't feel like sixteen.

We were simultaneously entering the eye of the hurricane, where Macallan's eerily calm expression contrasted the hostile tension swirling around her. That was how I knew with brilliant clarity what she was about to do.

"Yeah. Like a girl."

Macallan took three graceful steps forward and punched Grayson in the face.

✘ ✘ ✘

behold: the scandal advertised in the synopsis arrives after 11 chapters!

things to look forward to: lacrosse games, chandler & trip content (if you're on that wave), and dallas gunther. anyway, welcome to ☆ the plot ☆