WES
As lame as it sounds,the Bistro is one of my favorite places on campus. Always loud, always lively, always bustling with activity and people. I garner a lot of attention whenever I walk in, and today, I’m in dire need of the pick-me-up.
Heads turn. Conversations stutter. Girls smile a little too brightly, batting their lashes, while guys look at me like I’m something to measure themselves against– a standard they’ll never quite meet. I drink in the admiration like oxygen, because I fuckingloveit. I let it fill my lungs, steady my pulse, smooth out the rough edges of the day.
It hasn’t always been like this.
I still remember what it felt like to be overlooked– to blend into the background while everyone fawned over Raf and Ford. To exist in their orbit without ever beingseen. That version of me learned things this one never had to. Lessons about hunger, about patience, about what happens when you wait too long for permission to speak up.
Not anymore, and never again.
Raf’s the opposite. He’s always been magnetic in a way that doesn’t require effort, and he loathes the attention it brings him. You’d think people would stop aiming it his way when they’remet with a death stare in return, but I swear it only makes them want him more. Something about danger, I guess. He never has to work for it, which must be fucking nice.
Today he seems even more angry than usual. Hasn’t spoken more than a few words, hasn’t touched his food… hasn’t even tried to start a fight, which is his usual move when the mood goes weird. I guess that’s how you know it’s serious– rather than snapping at someone to provoke a reaction and burn off the excess, he’s just simmering in quiet fury like a bomb waiting to detonate.
It must be rubbing off on Ford, because he’s broodier than usual too. Or maybe the shitty weather’s to blame. Or our girl, missing in action. Whatever it is, he hasn’t looked up from his phone since we sat down, which isn’t like him. Between that and Raf’s silence, the vibe is oppressive. Dense, like the air before a storm. I keep waiting for something– anything– to crack it open, but clearly, I’m not gonna get it from either of their grumpy asses.
“So,” I prompt, glancing between my friends as I pick at the chicken and rice on my plate. The food’s gone cold, but it wasn’t all that appetizing to begin with. “Anyone hear from our wayward girl this morning? I’m starting to get separation anxiety.”
“Not me,” Ford grunts, still scrolling. His thumb moves too fast, restless energy bleeding into even the smallest movements. “Let me know if you see her, though. Could use a little cheering up after Professor Hunter bored me to tears this morning.”
I snort softly and turn to Raf. “Did she show up to Economics?”
He jerks his head in the negative. No explanation, no commentary. Just that sharp, clipped gesture that says it’s a subject not worth wasting his breath on.
“So she’s hiding, then,” I sigh, pushing my plate away and folding my arms on the table. “Are we gonna do something about that, or…?”
Ford shrugs a shoulder, finally glancing up. “You know I love a good hunt,” he remarks, hazel eyes lighting up. “If she doesn’t show up by dinner, I’ll find our lost little rabbit.” He grins like a maniac, tongue dragging across his teeth in a way that makes a couple of girls at the next table blush.
“Don’t fucking bother,” Raf grumbles.
I turn his way, arching a brow, and he finally swings his attention on me. His jaw is tight, eyes a shade darker than usual.
“You two have gone soft on her,” he states, voice low and dangerous. “And now she’s playing games. She wants one of you to come looking, so fucking don’t.”
“But I like games,” Ford whines, slumping back in his chair like a petulant child.
Raf cuts him a glare. He doesn’t say anything else, but his fingers start drumming against the table– slow at first, then faster. Every tap is a tell, each one a notch further up the agitation scale. He’s more bothered by this than he’s letting on.
If Avaisplaying a game, then it’s definitely working.
But I don’t think she’s going to like the outcome.
Or maybe she knows exactly what she’s doing, and that’s why she chose now to hide. Maybe she’s finally figured out how much she actually gets under Raf’s skin, and this is what it’ll take for him to finally pull his head out of his ass and admit that she matters more than he wants her to.
Tap, tap. Tap, tap tap.
I can feel the tension coiling tighter around the table with each strike of his fingers against the wood, smiling to myself.
Not only is Ava clever, but we’re rubbing off on her. She’s clearly learned things tend to break easier when you press in the right place.
My smile dissolves on a dime when I spot Chelsea making a beeline for our table. She’s flanked by Blair and Stella, a tight little cluster of blonde hair and entitlement. I clock them instantly– Chelsea’s eager stride, Blair whispering something at her side, Stella scanning the room like she’s bracing for impact. I catch my sister’s eye and jerk my chin in a clear, silent warning.
Not now.
Stella slows, reaching out to snag Blair by the sleeve, but Chelsea doesn’t break stride. She just keeps right on coming, eyes locked on Raf like he’s the only thing in the world worth seeing. A hopeful grin stretches her lips, and I can practically smell the desperation on her from here.
I kick Raf’s leg under the table.
