A week has passed since Ethan handed me that Lego set for my brother, and he’s stubbornly embedded in my thoughts. Every night, as I lie in bed, I wrestle with the images of his kind eyes and gentle demeanor, so different from the bully I knew in school. His sudden shift leaves me navigating through skepticism and gratitude, questioning every look, every gesture. Is it genuine, or is it all only veiled pity? I’d rather face his stupid pranks like he did in high school than become a charity case.
Despite our history of fights and his mocking jabs, I’ve always had a weird kind of fondness for Ethan. Our verbal spats, strangely enough, were something I looked forward to, a constant in my otherwise chaotic life. That’s probably why his harsh words, spoken when I was at my lowest, hurt so much. His cruelty that day was a departure from our usual playful banter.
Dragging myself home from my shift, my mind whirls with thoughts of Ethan and his unexpected invitation to the varsity ball. It’s crucial to unravel these tangled emotions, and my roommates are the only ones I can imagine doing that with, without fear of judgment.
“Eva? Nessa?” My voice echoes in the quiet space as I toe off my sneakers and rest my bag on the floor. I deposit my tips into the food jar, a small relief that I don’t need to borrow from the girls this week. Grabbing a bottle of apple juice from the fridge, I call again, “Girls?”
Eva’s door is ajar, and as I peek inside, my eyes lock on a violin resting in an open case. My curiosity piqued, I step closer, eyes scanning the newspaper articles taped inside the case. “Evangeline Sinclair, the Violin Prodigy,” one headline reads. I lean in to read more: “Our town prodigy heading to Juilliard…”
“What are you doing here?” Eva’s voice, usually so gentle, now sharp and defensive, startles me.
I spin around, hand instinctively clutching my chest. “Eva, I—”
She frowns, closing the violin case with a snap. “Why are you touching this?”
“I didn’t, I swear.” My hands rise defensively. “The door was open, and the violin was there on the bed.” I try to ease the tension. “I didn’t know you played.”
Her eyes, darting to the closet, then back to me, soften. “That’s fine.” She sighs, placing the case back into her wardrobe. “Need something?”
I blink, the unexpected revelation about Eva momentarily derailing my thoughts. “Yeah, I…” My words trail off as I attempt to regain my composure. “Ethan asked me to the varsity ball.”
Eva’s eyebrows lift slightly, her previous defensiveness fading into curiosity. “Okay… and do you want to go? I thought we hated him,” she adds, trying to ease some of the remaining tension.
Do we? Did we ever? I used to be supremely annoyed with Ethan, yes, but I didn’t hate him, not until my last day of school. I did the walk of shame, searching for friends who now shunned me, and I caught Ethan’s eye, almost pleading. His response? A laugh.
I shrug, my gaze dropping to the floor as I wrestle with the conflicting emotions inside me. “He offered for me to bring my friends too. Said he’d buy us all dresses.”
Eva tilts her head, studying me. “And you’d be more comfortable with that?”
My eyes meet hers, though my focus is inward as I ponder. She remains silent, offering the space I’m working through, a quality of hers I’ve come to value—she knows when to let someone process things alone.
She nods as if she is speaking to herself. “I’ll go,” she says quietly after a moment, her voice gentle but firm.
I blink, surprised. “Really? You know Cole will be there.” And then realization dawns on me. “Oh, Juilliard…” I whisper, and her expression closes off again.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says quietly, “just like you don’t want to talk about what happened between you and Ethan. The past should stay in the past.”
Before I can respond, a voice interrupts us. “What are you bitches planning?”
We turn to see Vanessa in the doorway, headphones hanging around her neck. I sometimes wonder why she’s always lost in her world of music.
“Ethan wants to take Poppy, and consequently, all of us, to the varsity ball,” Eva explains, her voice steady. “Well, not really. We’ll be with his friends, but he’ll buy us pretty dresses.”
Vanessa snorts, a smirk playing on her lips. “What a boy wouldn’t do to get laid. Can I get the older one?”
I feel my cheeks heat, and I turn away, trying to hide my blush. “It’s not like that,” I mumble, “and the older one is a senior and a Brit, so I doubt it, but are you in?” I turn back toward her when she doesn’t answer, and she stares at me.
“Are you?” I press, looking at her.
“Am I what?”
“Are you in?” I ask, my voice hopeful. Please say yes, I silently plead.
She shrugs, nonchalant. “Free dress and a hot Brit? Why not?”
I frown, about to remind her again that I can’t guarantee the hot Brit, but she puts her headphones back on, effectively ending the conversation.
“By the way, your groceries were delivered. I put them on the counter,” she adds before turning and disappearing into her room.
Eva looks at me, a silent question in her eyes. “Did you take money from the food jar?”
Eva and I move toward the kitchen, the scent of fresh produce wafting through the air as we approach the brown bags on the counter. My fingers graze over the items peeking out from the top: ripe tomatoes, fresh bread, and sweet chocolate. All my favorites, all things I haven’t indulged in for a while due to the tight budget.
The sight of the chocolate bar instantly transports me back to a day in high school. I can almost hear the hum of the vending machine and feel the frustration as my favorite chocolate bar dangled, stuck, refusing to drop. I had shaken the machine, desperation evident, when a familiar voice teased from behind, “Need some help there?”
I turned to find Ethan, a smirk playing on his lips. Without waiting for my response, he’d given the machine a nudge, and the chocolate bar had fallen. He’d picked it up, waving it teasingly in front of me. “Finders keepers?”
I remember the playful anger bubbling up, and without a second thought, I’d stomped on his foot. As he yelped in surprise, I snatched the chocolate bar from his hand and sprinted away, his laughter echoing behind me.
Eva’s voice pulls me from the memory. “Poppy, are you okay?”
I nod, fingers lightly tracing the contours of the chocolate bar, but my voice betrays the turmoil inside, coming out as a mere whisper. “He remembered, Eva.”
Her eyes, understanding and gentle, meet mine. “I know we want a personal vendetta, he’s a rich jock, but perhaps he truly cares. Maybe more than you think.”
I nod, but that’s the problem, isn’t it? Ethan caring means he sees me, really sees me, in all my struggles and vulnerabilities. And his kindness, as beautiful as it is, also serves as a mirror reflecting the sad reality I’m living in.
I pull out the chocolate bar, the wrapper crinkling in my trembling hands. It’s a small luxury, one that I haven’t allowed myself in months. My throat tightens, and I’m torn between the urge to cry and to smile.
Eva steps closer, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay to accept kindness, Poppy. It doesn’t make you weak or pitiable. It makes you human.”
I nod, tears blurring my vision as I unwrap the chocolate. Breaking off a piece, I pop it into my mouth, the rich, sweet flavor mingling with the saltiness of my tears.
Eva wraps an arm around me, and together, we stand there in the glow of the kitchen light, finding comfort in silent companionship.
I close my eyes, trying to shut out the conflicting emotions bubbling within me. I’ve always prided myself on my strength, my ability to stand tall despite the storms that life has thrown my way. But Ethan’s kindness, his pity, threatens to topple the fortress I’ve so carefully built around myself.
I can’t let him see me as weak, as someone to be pitied and taken care of. I won’t be his charity case, his good deed. I need him to see me, really see me—Poppy, the fighter, the survivor, not Poppy, the girl who needs saving.
If Ethan wants me, it needs to be because of anything other than pity because that would be far worse than anything my heart has suffered so far.
My heart pounds as I navigate the unfamiliar hallways of the men’s soccer ground, the scent of sweat and disinfectant mingling in the air. The locker room is ahead, and I can hear the muffled sounds of conversation and laughter from the guys inside. My steps falter for a heartbeat, but I steel myself, determined to have this conversation with Ethan.
As I approach, Cole emerges, his smirk instantly igniting a spark of irritation within me. I roll my eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.
Ethan appears behind him, his eyes lighting up when they land on me. “We have to stop meeting like this,” he begins, a playful lilt in his voice. But as he takes a step closer, something in my stance, perhaps the rigid set of my shoulders or the tight line of my mouth, gives him pause. His smile falters, the twinkle in his eyes dimming a bit as he picks up on the unspoken tension radiating off me. The teasing tone slips away, replaced by a more cautious, gentle one. “Poppy?” he ventures, a question hanging in the air.
I take a deep breath. “You need to stop treating me like a charity case, Ethan. The groceries? It was a nice gesture, but frankly, it’s insulting. I’d rather you go back to calling me ‘Pauper.’” My voice is steady, but inside, my emotions are a confused turmoil.
He blinks, taken aback. “I didn’t mean to—”
Cutting him off, I make my stance clear. “No, I know. But you can’t do that. If you want to give friendship a try, I’m happy to, but I won’t be your charity project. And if that’s why you’re asking me to the varsity ball, I’ve changed my mind.”
He steps forward, crowding my space, his dark eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my skin heat up. “Does that mean you’re coming?”
“I—yes. But I’m taking my friends, and you’re buying them very expensive dresses.”
His grin returns, lighting up his face as if he’s won the lottery. He extends his hand, gesturing for my phone.
I give him a questioning look.
He gives a slight shrug. “I’m giving you my number. The ball is in your court.”
I jerk my head toward his hands. “Write it down.”
He shakes his head. “Fine, if you don’t want to give it to me, give me your number then; it’s the same for me,” he adds, pulling out a brand-new smartphone that I know costs about twice the price of our beat-up Honda.
The thing is, as stupid as it sounds, I don’t want him to have my number. I reluctantly retrieve my thirty-five dollar flip phone, feeling a pang of embarrassment. He frowns at it, but after a moment, his expression softens, an understanding, or perhaps a resignation, flickering in his eyes. He doesn’t comment, and I’m silently grateful for the unspoken empathy that hangs between us. How could I explain that the first thing Mom and I did was sell our cells to pay the deposit and first month’s rent on the trailer?
He inputs his number and tries to call himself to save it in his phone but frowns as the call fails. “Why does the call fail?”
“I didn’t say you could have my number, did I?”
His brow furrows, concern etching lines onto his forehead. “Why does the call fail, Poppy?” he asks more insistently.
“No credit. I forgot to add some.” It was only a half lie. I didn’t have some of the money for a while, but Jeff paid me for the first assignment. I really forgot.
“So, you’re going around with no means of communication?”
I try to take the phone from his hand, but he tightens his grip.
“This is not your problem! You’re not my boyfriend, Ethan,” I retort sharply, and as this attempt to retrieve my phone is met with success, he relents.
Phone back in my pocket, I’m ready to leave, but he’s not done yet.
“Is that why you haven’t posted on Instagram in two years? Because of the phone?”
I pause, my thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. Is that the reason? My hand instinctively goes to my pocket, where the phone is safely tucked away. Even if I had a smartphone all this time, what would I post? Smiling selfies while our world crumbled around us? I haven’t looked at it in all this time, afraid of the memories it might stir up. The last post was a happy family photo, my father’s arm around me, both of us oblivious to the impending doom.
My eyes flicker to Ethan, his gaze steady, waiting. A part of me, a tiny, hidden part, wants to spill everything, to share the burden of the past two years with someone, anyone. But I’ve built walls, high and sturdy, to keep the world, to keep Ethan at bay.
I can almost see my father’s smile. Feel his arm around me. And it’s a physical pain. He was my father, despite everything, and now he’s gone, buried in an unmarked grave, but his presence lingers, a ghost in my every step.
Pushing the memories away, I lock them back where they belong. “It’s not important,” I manage to say, though the words are barely a whisper. My eyes, I realize, are glistening with unshed tears, offering Ethan a glimpse into the storm within me.
I hate the gentleness in his face right now. The way his eyes are roaming my face with a scrutiny that is almost scientific.
“Poppy.”
“The varsity ball is in two weeks. I’ll be in touch soon for the dresses.”
I turn to leave, but before I do, I look back at him. “Thank you again for the present for my little brother. It made his day.”
His gaze warms. “You’re more than welcome. There’s not much I—” He sighs, his smile turning almost wistful. “You’re welcome,” he repeats.
We linger in a quiet, somehow reassuring silence, the world beyond us momentarily forgotten. His eyes, a tender mix of warmth and melancholy, hold mine, and I get lost, even if it’s only a brief, stolen moment in time.
A muted realization sweeps over me, subtly yet unmistakably shifting my emotional equilibrium. I like Ethan Hawthorne. Admitting that to myself might just be the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.
But for now, in this pause, I simply nod, murmuring a quiet, “See you later,” before I turn away. I leave a sea of unspoken words and potential what-ifs suspended in the space between us.
