I’m a big fan of coping mechanisms.
I’m standing by the vending machine holding a protein bar I don’t want, staring at the wrapper like it’s going to answer my questions if I glare hard enough.
It doesn’t.
It just sits there, shiny and smug, judging my life choices.
Weston is pacing two feet to my left, bouncing on his skates like a Labrador that just heard the wordpark. Asher is standing off to the side, checking his phone with the calm competence of someone who was born with his shit together.
Kai is nowhere in sight, which is…unusual. Not because Kai loves public skate hours. He doesn’t. Because if Harlow is coming, Kai usually appears like a shadow with a pulse.
Which means either he’s giving her space—or he’s trying to.
Same difference.
Weston leans toward me, stage whispering, “You look pensive.”
I don’t glance at him. “Why are you using big words? You’re a freak, man.”
“I don’t know, some girl used it in class today, and I’ve been trying to find a place to use it correctly. That’s true,” he says proudly. “Especially in the sheets. But for real, you look like you’re thinking.”
“I am thinking.”
Weston’s eyes widen. “Disgusting.”
Asher’s gaze flicks up. “Stop antagonizing him.”
Weston gasps. “I’m not antagonizing. I’m observing.”
“You’re always antagonizing,” Asher says.
Weston points at him. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Asher’s expression doesn’t change. “It is.”
I bite the corner of the protein bar wrapper—not because I’m hungry, but because my hands need something to do. My brain has been doing that annoying thing all day where it replays last night’s porch conversation like it’s trying to find a hidden message.
People tell me I’m…a lot.
The words keep circling like a puck on a string. It shouldn’t matter. Plenty of people feel like too much. Plenty of people hate crowds. Plenty of people need exits. Plenty of people freeze at buffets like the options are a threat. But my brain keeps stacking the similarities anyway.
The cadence.
The blunt honesty.
The way Harlow speaks like she’s allergic to bullshit.
The wayLittleTooMuchwrites like she’s exhausted by pretending.
Too similar.
And I hate the way my stomach tightens when the thought gets loud, because if I’m right?—
Then I’m in trouble.
Not just because of Kai.
Because ofher.
