Especially when he's looking at me like that—hopeful, like my answer actually matters.
I don't know what to say. Or how to say it. Or how topolitelysay no to him of all people.
This is literally the first time a guy has asked me out—ever—so forgive me for being clueless. My mind is running a thousand miles per hour:Do I say no right away? But that's mean. Do I stall? But then it's cruel. Do I fake a medical emergency?
Thankfully, I don't have to decide.
Because just then, Zach skates toward us, his drill-sergeant scowl swapped for his usual grin. I don't even notice until now that he's already dismissed the team. The rink is basically empty—except him, Jacob, and me.
"Hey, Sugarplum." His voice is warm, familiar. "Did you wait long? Sorry practice ran over."
I shake my head, trying to act normal when my heart is doing full Olympic gymnastics. "No, not long. Jacob kept me company, so it's fine."
Zach's smile twitches. Not the good kind. He looks straight at Jacob, still standing there. "What are you still doing here, Hewitt? Practice ended twenty minutes ago for you."
Jacob just shrugs, casual. "Was about to leave, but I saw Caroline. And, well... you were busy."
Zach scoffs, arms crossing over his chest. "Uh-huh." Then he turns to me. "Was he harassing you?"
My head shakes so fast I'm surprised it doesn't fall off.
Jacob laughs, holding up his stick like a peace flag. "I'd never harass Caroline, Z. Actually, I asked her to prom. I was waiting for her answer... until you showed up." His grin falters just a little on that last line, disappointment sneaking through.
Zach's face freezes, then hardens. His brows pull together, his eyes narrowing into a glare sharp enough to cut glass. "Youwhat?"
"I asked her to prom." Jacob's tone is still even, but his shoulders stiffen. "Is there a problem with that?"
"Oh, there's a problem," Zach fires back. He doesn't even blink. Arms crossed tighter, jaw clenched.
"Really?" Jacob challenges.
"Really," Zach says flatly. His voice leaves no room for argument, no cracks for air to slip through. "Because she and I are going to prom together."
My mouth drops. "We are?"
The words come out breathless, half-shocked, half-ecstatic, and 100% unhideable. Jacob definitely hears it, but I don't care. Becauseoh my GOD. Zach Westbrook just announced—in front of witnesses—that we are going to prom together.
Like it's settled. Like it's fact. Like over my dead body would I ever say no.
My heart ricochets against my ribs. My brain is fried eggs on a hot skillet. And every cell in my body is screaming the same thing:try not to faint, Caroline, try not to faint.
"We… are?" I ask him again.
Zach doesn't even hesitate. "Of course we are. Who else would I go with?" His eyes flick to me, like it should've been obvious. Like I'd just asked if water was wet. Then he cocks his head, voice dipping low. "Why? You planning on going with someone else?"
My entire body jolts. "No! No, no, nope." I spring up from the bleacher, waving both hands so fast I look like a malfunctioningwindmill. "I just... thought maybe you'd want to ask somebody else."
He throws me a look—pointed, sharp, almost offended. Like I'd just said something completely insane. The idea of him going with anyone else?
Totally unfathomable in Zach Westbrook's brain, apparently.
Then he repeats it, firmer this time, his gaze sliding back to Jacob like a challenge. "We're going together. End of story."
Jacob's brows lift. He raises both hands in surrender, his stick dangling loosely from his grip. "Got it. No argument here."
He glances back at me with a little smile before skating off. "See you in class, Caroline."
But I barely hear him.
