I've been walking on a cloud nine since I woke up. Because last night, Caroline just agreed to watch my game on Saturday, and I swear, I've been grinning like a maniac ever since. I could probably power the entire Ridgewater campus with my good mood alone.
Well—almostgood. My body feels like it got run over by a Zamboni.
Guess that's what happens when you fall asleep sitting on the floor with your back against a bedframe. I should've gone home after she dried my shirt, or when she fell asleep. Could've driven back to my own bed, maybe gotten eight solid hours of actual rest. But I didn't.
I stayed.
Part of it was because Sam was sick and I didn't want to leave them alone.
But mostly... it's because last nightfeltfamiliar. Like slipping into an old hoodie you forgot you loved. It reminded me of the old days—before everything went to hell. Back when sleepovers were our thing. When we'd stay up too late bickering over movie picks or playing stupid dares, and she'd always end up falling asleep first.
And yeah... watching her sleep used to be my guilty pleasure.
She looked peaceful. Untouchable. Like the whole world could be falling apart, and she'd still be dreaming about sunshine and Taylor Swift's new songs.
Those moments were the only times I let myself reallylookat her. No jokes, no pretending, no acting like I didn't feel what I felt. Just... quietly memorizing her face, telling myself it was harmless.
So yeah, last night brought all that back. The ache, the nostalgia, the absolute chaos she stirs in me without even trying.
Now, here I am, walking across campus with a paper bag in hand—the jersey neatly folded inside.
Let's not kid ourselves, man. You're not going there just to "drop off a jersey." You're going there to check if Adam Klein still has both arms attached—so you can decide which one to break first.
And... yeah. That's right.
Because ever since breakfast, I haven't been able to get Sam's words out of my head—how Caroline and Adam lookgood togetherwhen they dance. Those two words—good together—have been replaying in my brain like a bad song on repeat.
So, yeah, my sister's words been driving me insane. I couldn't even focus in class earlier. My notes are garbage. I kept thinking about Caroline spending her afternoons and evenings with him, rehearsing lines, practicing choreography, probably laughing at his dumb jokes.
I keep picturing it: his hand on her waist, her laughing at something he said, that stupid level of closeness ballet requires. I hate it. Every bit of it.
And now that I think about it, the Drama Department seriously needs to diversify their damn pool of male leads.
Why is italwayshim? Like—do they just skip auditions and hand him the role?
Don't tell me he's the only guy on campus capable of acting opposite a talented actress like my girl. Yeah, right.
It's always him. Every damn time.
Not that it would be any easier if it were someone else. Doesn't matter who the guy is—I'd still hate it.
And sure, Iknowshe's just doing her job. It's acting.Acting.
There are gonna be scenes where she has to get close to her scene partner—sometimesreallyclose. Holding hands, hugging, maybe even... kissing.
The second that thought crosses my mind, I squeeze my eyes shut like I can physically erase it. Nope. Delete. Gone. Out of my head. Never happened.
She doesn't get to control that; it's literally part of her craft. I get it. I do.
But try explaining that to the caveman part of my brain that's currently pacing in circles and chanting,MINE, MINE, MINE.
Because logic doesn't stand a single damn chance against jealousy. Right now, I'm basically a walking radiation hazard. One wrong move and I'll start glowing green and flipping tables.
By the time I reach the Performing Arts building, my hand tightens around the paper bag, knuckles whitening.
Because there she is.
Center of the room. Hair pulled back, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. Laughing.
