Academic Hostage: Or dictators who shoot down all your ideas. Probably going to create a focus group after this one to determine why buffoon's hate masquerade balls. Is it the masks, balls, or just the concept of joy itself?
I watched bubbles appear on my screen only to disappear in time for me to look up and catch Trigger smirking at me from across the table and say,"Meeting adjourned. Go enjoy your day off. My VP is about to blow my mind with her ideas, to ensure we create the most legendary homecoming this school has ever seen."
Trigger knew exactly what he was doing with those words, the manipulative ass. He was getting me back for texting during his precious meeting while simultaneously throwing me under the bus by announcing the theme would be MY idea. If this homecoming sucks, everyone will know exactly who to blame.
"He's literally the captain of the other team. I doubt he'll have time to meet me," I argue, suddenly nervous.
I like Penn. He's nice, easy to talk to, and attractive, and his title doesn't hurt. I'm not looking for a boyfriend, but dating the captain of our biggest rival's team? That kind of positioning is too good to pass up.So why am I nervous? Why does meeting face-to-face feel like it changes everything?Suddenly, it’s real, not just a safe distance. And if texting every day means something serious, what does that say about my pen pal?
"Oh, I have it on good authority he has every intention of making time." She smiles and bites the corner of her lip.
My face instantly reddens. "What does that mean?"
I missed one trip into the city for that damn homecoming meeting, and Emma ran into three guys needing a jump. She had no clue how to jump a dead battery, but she had the cables. The guys bought her dinner, and by the end of the night, she had a boyfriend, and I had an admirer: Penn.
She decided to show him my private social media pages. I told her I wasn’t interested, but she begged me to at least try a phone call so we could all hang out next time. Obviously, I agreed, and now I’m here with sweaty palms.
"I don't know the details. All I know is Philip told me Penn had two goals tonight: win the game and meet you."
My stomach knots, just as my phone pings with another text.
Captive Audience: Tell me what you're wearing.
He knows that's against the rules, but I also like knowing he wants to break them. It tells me I'm not the only one feeling some type of way about our exchanges.
"Isn't that your school phone?"
"Yep," I say, noting the tendril of judgment in her tone.
"I can't believe you carry it around. I keep mine in my desk in my room. There is no way the school is going to have me carryingaround an outdated phone twenty-four seven so they can track me."
"Well, you know me," I say, trailing off as I read the text. "Always following the rules." I pause to check another message.
Captive Audience: Give me something.
Academic Hostage: Navy.
"Well, not tonight. You're coming with me. If someone says anything, I'll tell them you were kidnapped," she says, looping her arm through mine and dragging me toward the doors. "Trust me, after you meet Penn, you'll be thanking me for dragging you out of here."
I set my phone to vibrate, knowing I won’t hear it once we’re at the game, and another text comes in.
Captive Audience: The whole school will be wearing navy.
Academic Hostage: I know.
Captive Audience: Give me something else. Pleassseee.
Academic Hostage: My hair is pulled up.
It’s another vague detail, but it still makes me smile.
"See, I knew if I could get you out of that hall, you'd finally get excited. You're allowed to have fun sometimes, Asha," she says as we cross the courtyard and make our way down Bald Hill toward the polo field.
I don't correct her. Technically, she's not wrong, but I don't tell her my smile has nothing to do with Penn and everything to do with knowing that, somewhere out there, someone knows thereal me. I still can't identify who they are, but I'm already in rule-breaking territory, abandoning the dance to sit in these stands, dropping hints in texts that dance dangerously close to revealing too much.
What's another violation if it's worth it?
I glance around, wondering what's taking Emma so long to get back. We've been neck and neck all night, and I know she'd be pissed if she misses her boyfriend score a goal. The horn sounds, signaling the last thirty seconds, and my eyes snap back to the field.
