My return to Cannondale on Monday evening coincided with the pending release of the results of the student government election. We'd all cast our votes last Friday through the online portal for Cannondale students. Prior to the election, the Cannondale administration sent out a school-wide email ensuring everyone that the portal was secure and trustworthy.

I assumed this was to ensure that there wouldn't be any allegations of election fraud following the release of the results. Because apparently, some people in this country think free and fair elections could be stolen.

"My hands are going to get stupidly sweaty," Macallan groaned as she tied back her blonde hair in a sleek ponytail. "I really shouldn't be allowed to shake anyone's hand."

Kelsey chucked as she slid on her UGG slippers in preparation for us to head downstairs to the Roosevelt Hall common room for the announcement. "You're going to be just fine, Mac. Just remember those breathing exercises we practiced."

Macallan whirled around, and threw her hands out in Kelsey's direction. "I can only do them when you're the one saying inhale and exhale!"

"Hey." I stood up from my desk chair to set my hands on Macallan's shoulders, forcing her to look at me. "There's nothing that can happen tonight that won't make me proud of you."

Macallan cracked a smile. "Well regardless of the outcome, I'm going to gorge myself on the snickerdoodle cookies that your mom made."

I mirrored her smile. "She remembered how much you liked having them at our club tournaments, so she couldn't help herself."

Once we were ready, the three of us left our room and started down the hallway rather than towards the staircase.

"This is exciting. I've never used the elevator before," Kelsey remarked as she poked the down button. It didn't immediately light up.

"That's because you can't unless you have a special fob." I smirked as I dangled said fob in front of her by its circular keychain before holding it up to the scanner beside the buttons.

Before I'd learned that I would receive access to the elevators, I feared I would be forced to move into one of the temporary single dorm rooms that were located in the other designated hall for junior girls. Those dorms had earned the nickname Singles of Shame, as they were usually reserved for when there were unresolvable feuds between roommates. Needless to say, my self-esteem would've taken a major blow if I had to stay there for the last two weeks of the school year.

The first floor of Roosevelt Hall was busier than usual for a Monday night, and it wasn't because of my return to campus— it was because of Macallan Blake.

Despite the drama induced by the surveys and Macallan's actions at the Winter Formal, she remained deeply popular at Cannondale. And her candidacy had only earned her more respect and admiration, especially from freshmen and sophomore girls.

I'd also learned that Win had somehow conducted an exit poll on Friday after the voting ended. The results indicated that the race was allegedly a deadlock between Macallan and Peter, who was always her biggest competitor.

This had summoned not only our entire lacrosse team into the common room, but also anyone who was close enough to Macallan to come support her. And so tonight had turned into an unofficial social event, complete with glittery Mac Has Your Back posters, baked goods, and the passing around of contraband. 

"Oh god, this is intense," Macallan said as we entered the crammed common room. "I really have to win now. I don't want to disappoint them."

Before Kelsey or myself could reply, Jameson materialized in front of us. The button pinned to his navy polo shirt read Blake for Blue Wave.

"There she is!" He grinned and pressed a quick cheek to Macallan's cheek. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm worried that my hands will get sweaty," Macallan said.

"If they do, just wipe them on my jeans."

"My hero." 

Kelsey saddled up to me as we followed them into the room, where our teammates rushed forward to greet Macallan. "I don't think they could be more perfect, do you?"

My throat unexpectedly tightened, so I simply nodded in response as we merged into a conversation with Delaney and Shay, who both pulled me into a hug.

I spent the next few minutes putting on a brave face as I told them about my plans for surgery. Shay recommended the physical therapist she used when she tore her ACL as a freshman, which I appreciated, but I knew my parents had tracked down another renowned practice in Boston and would die on that hill. However, I kept this fact to myself, not wanting to prolong a conversation about my injury.

Tonight was about Macallan.

Thankfully, Kelsey redirected the conversation to an article published by the Russell Report, and I turned out to check my phone.

My heart constricted at the sight of its screen.

I had one missed call and voicemail from Trip.

"I'll be back in a few," I told them, before navigating out of the increasingly crowded common room. I wouldn't be surprised if our persnickety hall monitor stuck her inside to berate us.

Even once I stepped into the hallway, I had to move further away from the common room to ensure I could hear the voicemail. I ended up standing near the foyer, and leaned my back against the wall before pressing play.

Judging from the background noise, Trip seemed slightly out of breath and enduring the rain.

Hey, Chan. Practice ran late, so I'm behind schedule. I'm going to try to be there before the results come out, but I...actually, never mind. Scratch that. I'll get there soon, and we can talk later, if you'd like. So, yeah. Alright, I'll see you then. I—yeah, see you soon.

I listened to the voicemail a few times.

I didn't expect to suddenly hear a magical I love you at the end of the voicemail, but I desperately wanted to decipher some hidden message beneath his words or threaded through his strained voice.

I knew Trip McKenna.

So I should've been able to figure out what was wrong. I should've been able to see what was coming.

But I couldn't.

Grinding my teeth, I texted Trip that I'd be in the common room. He would've been able to figure that out himself, but I took advantage of the easy response.

I needed to save my important words for later, and there was no need to make things complicated now when my priority needed to be Macallan. I needed to be there for her, just as she was there for me on Saturday.

I was about to return to the common room when I saw a flash of midnight hair in my periphery and stopped short.

Win Petrov had just scanned into Roosevelt Hall. The loud rush of rain flooded the hallway before the door shut behind him.

"Christ," he muttered as he shook out his umbrella, sending droplets of water flying in every direction. But then his eyes snapped up to meet mine before he could take even one step forward, and he straightened, seemingly startled. "Chandler. Hi. Welcome back."

"Thanks." I cleared my throat, annoyed that it'd dried up upon seeing him. I could've left it at that and escaped into the common room—and I probably should've—but instead I stayed put, shifting my weight onto my good knee, and said, "I didn't realize it was raining so hard."

I immediately inwardly cringed at the silliness of my remark. It was a stupid, painfully obvious observation that only served to make me look like I wanted a reason to keep talking to him.

Which was, regrettably, the truth.

But I didn't want or need Win to know that.

There was also a part of me that wished I could remain ignorant about why I'd started to act a certain way around Win, but I knew first-hand that ignorance had never spared me from eventually facing the music.

That was why I'd reluctantly forced myself to acknowledge my nuanced affection for him. But it wasn't a crush—it really wasn't. I was 16. I knew what a crush felt like—not to mention love—and this was more of a tedious whisper in my mind that had no intention of speaking up.

This acknowledgment occurred during one of the spells of solitude in my room at home when my most private thoughts decided to come out of the woodwork.

I'd received so many messages from my classmates that those who hadn't texted me stood out. Win was one of those classmates.

I hadn't realized that I'd wanted him to text me until I didn't receive a text. He'd even attended the game. He saw me tear my ACL.

So here I was with a torn ACL, a dry throat, and repressed affection.

"Uh...yeah. It just picked up." Win blew out a breath and absentmindedly tugged on the strap of his leather messenger bag as he approached me. "So, try not to resent me for asking, but how are you?"

"Full of self-pity and resenting myself a little bit for that," I replied and glanced down at the brace I wore over my black leggings. "Because I'm not the first lacrosse superstar to tear her ACL, and I won't be the last."

Win stopped to lean his back against the wall across from me and swiped away the wet hair that clung to his forehead. The gesture made the sympathy in his eyes all the more visible.

"I'm sorry."

"Me too." I paused and made the executive decision to set my pride aside. "So listen, I don't want you to think I dislike you because that's not true. I know I haven't ever been...particularly nice to you, especially after the debate, but I shouldn't have acted the way I did. Besides, it's not like I haven't kept my mouth shut about things I wish I spoke up about."

"I appreciate that, but I wouldn't do anything differently."

"You wouldn't?"

"I mean, I hoped that Gianna would tell you guys," Win replied with a haphazard shrug, "and sure, there were times when I came pretty close to doing it myself, but I couldn't do that to her. I wouldn't. I didn't think that her comment on the message board warranted jeopardizing her fresh start at Cannondale. It was a mistake, but she shouldn't become a pariah."

I studied Win for a long moment, wondering if what I felt for him had to do with how he was self-assured in ways I wasn't. He didn't seem to measure his convictions against the expectations of other people, or lash out when people like me questioned his intentions or integrity. He was value-driven and levelheaded.

"I forget that you're like this sometimes," I said, choosing my words carefully. He'd once said the same thing to me, and those words had stuck with me. They'd struck me in a way I didn't fully understand until this very moment.

"Like what?"

I hesitated for a moment before saying, "It's better if you don't know. Your ego would grow astronomically."

Win dipped his head as he gave a humorless chuckle. "No need to worry about that. Your opinion of me doesn't wield that much influence."

I frowned. "You ruined what I think could've been a nice moment."

He smiled one of those deceptive smiles that wasn't really a smile at all. "It's better that way."

I bit down on my bottom lip, unsure of what to make of his response. "Maybe."

We lingered there for a moment, unspoken words unraveling between us like a spool of yarn. But before it lingered for too long, Win eyed his watch and tilted his head towards the common room.

"The results will be out soon, and I want to speak to Macallan before then. To thank her for running."

"Win or lose, you did a good thing for Macallan," I said as we started walking.

Win, who was typically a speed walker, kept pace with me. "She's going to win," he said with the no-nonsense self-certainty that I'd come to expect from him. "So let's go find our President-Elect."

✘ ✘ ✘

so, i suppose this chapter is dedicated to everyone who's commented on chandler x win's dynamic throughout the book.

it hits different when you're 16, doesn't it?