Behind me, Harper scoffs. “Didn’t you and Maddie used to be friends in middle school?”
“Everyonewas friends in middle school.”
She snorts. “Not me. Ihatedmiddle school. Worst years of my life.”
That catches my attention. “Why?”
She lets out a dry laugh. “Girls like Maddie Miller made me feel like a loser. My shoes weren’t cool enough. I didn’t have the right leggings or some giant tumbler. I was never invited to bonfires or any of that ‘cool kid’ stuff.”
A knot forms in my chest. Hearing Maddie’s name tied to that kind of crap doesn’t sit right with me. My grip tightens around the cardboard shield in my hand, flecks of dried silver paint clinging to my fingers.
Harper leans against the workbench, her tone shifting, more reflective now. “Middle school’s brutal for girls. Not that guys have it easy, but girls? We tear each other down for no reason.”
I glance at her. “Really?”
She nods. “It’s this weird social shift. You hit middle school, and suddenly, there’s pressure to fit in—but the harder you try, the worse it gets. Everything feels like a test, like where you sit at lunch somehowdefinesyou.”
I watch her for a beat, realizing she’s not just talking in generalterms.
“Now I’m glad I never cared about anything but hockey,” I joke, but I’m mostly serious.
“Sorry to trauma dump on you.” Harper nods. “But…yeah. So, is she the reason you want advice?”
God, why did I make up that stupid rule? She will never let this go. Might as well have her give me advice, though; clearly I fucking need it.
“I guess.”
“What specifically do you want to know? How to flirt? Because as you may have noticed, I’m not great at it myself.” Harper laughs.
I noticed.
The truth is, she’s way worse than I am.
“If by flirting you mean scowling and roasting people, I would say you’re actually pretty decent.”
“Ha ha—very funny.” My partner pauses, looking at me thoughtfully. “My only advice would be to…be yourself. And don’t be so shy.”
Me? Shy? “Am I shy?”
She shrugs. “Maybe not around me, but I’ve seen how you are with other people.”
“Are you saying you watch me?” I ask, smirking.
Her eyes widen. “No, of course I don’t watch you—but I notice things.” She throws her hands up in mock frustration, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips.
“What kinds of things? You can’t say you notice things about me and then not tell me what they are. So what kinds of things are we talking about?”
Harper rolls her eyes. “Fine. You really wanna know?”
“Desperately.”
She rolls her eyes but plays along, seemingly studying me. “Inotice how you laugh differently with your friends than you do with other people. And when we had World Lit together, I noticed you would crack your neck before a test or quiz.”
For a second, we just look at each other, caught in that strange, comfortable silence.
“And you’re bad at flirting,” she continues. “You could try complimenting girls.”
I grin, meeting her gaze. “You look really good right now.”
