Seriously? That’s it? For a second there, I thought it was serious. My heart was practically in my throat. I glance at her painting. The canvas is splashed with bold streaks of teal and crimson, shapes caught between abstract and unfinished—like she was halfway to something brilliant before she slammed on the brakes. It’s not her best, sure, but calling it terrible is a stretch.
“Why?” I ask, staring at the canvas.
“I don’t know! I have two weeks to finish this for my art school scholarship, and look at this mess!” She gestures wildly.
I laugh. First, because it’s definitely not a mess; second, because she’s hilariously dramatic when frustrated.
“Don’t laugh!”
“Sorry,” I chuckle, stepping closer. “Maybe something's distracting you.”
She looks at me carefully, her eyes searching my face. “Maybe,” she admits quietly, biting her lower lip.
Why does she do that? Now it's all I can focus on. “So, what's distracting you?” I push.
“I met someone this week,” she blurts out. My stomach knots instantly. “Maybe he's distracting me.”
I step back, feeling like I got punched in the face. Why am I suddenly so furious? “Well, stop seeing him immediately,” I say firmly. The possessive side of me wants to demand exclusivity, but that’s stupid, so I shove the thought away.
“I can't.”
“Why not?”I need his name. Right now.
“Because he's a student here!”
“You could still avoid him.” I cross my arms.
“You've got an opinion about everything, don't you?” she snaps back.
Yeah, that's true. “Fine,” I say, harsher than intended. “Then kiss that scholarship goodbye.” Why am I attacking her? It's not her fault I'm feeling this way.
Emma rolls her eyes, clearly fed up, and storms out of the art room.
“Emma, wait!” I call after her, quickly following. “Need a ride home?” Every moment counts.
“No, Luca,” she tosses back over her shoulder. “I'm walking away from you, can't you see?”
“Why?”
“I’m taking your advice."
Oh shit.
As expected, my parents bailed out of town. They never really ban us from throwing parties—they just make it clear we are only in trouble if they find out. So far, they haven’t.
So, the house is packed with people: friends of my brothers, some of mine, and a few familiar faces from school. The one face missing? Emma’s. But that doesn’t surprise me. She never comes to these parties, and I didn’t invite her either. I refuse to be the guy chasing after her when there’s clearly someone else on her mind. Someone who’s not me.
Not happening.
I weave through the kitchen, dodging girls perched on the marble island my mom claims she cooks on. We all know she just orders takeout and reheats it in the oven.
“Hey, Luca!” a girl calls—Jennifer, I think. “Come hang with us!”
With a sharp tone, I reply, “Nah, I still value my brain cells, Jennifer.” And keep walking.
“Oh, come on! We can keep up with you!” She's sitting on the counter, her dress barely covering her ass and tits. She’s trying too hard.
“That’s not the issue. The issue is your Lois Griffin voice.”
