Kentrell sat hunched to the right in his chair, the wooden surface creaking beneath his restless weight as his pencil tapped a steady, irritated rhythm against the margins of his open textbook. His thoughts refused to cooperate, spiraling instead around the same image bright, obnoxious, impossible to escape.
Sadie Hawkins
The word fucking wasn't on the poster, but it might as well have been. Every time his eyes flicked toward the classroom door, his brain supplied it automatically.
The thing was massive, plastered right at the school entrance like a dare, all neon colors and forced cheer, screaming that the dance was coming whether anyone wanted it or not.
What made his stomach churn was the rule change.
Girls asked the boys.
On paper, it sounded empowering. Progressive, even.
In reality, it felt like bait.
If a boy turned a girl down, he could counter with his own invitation pick someone else, publicly, with the same damn card.
A loophole wide enough to drive cruelty straight through. Kentrell had already seen the gears turning in some of the guys' heads, the half-smiles, the murmurs. He knew exactly how this would play out.
He knew who would suffer.
Portia.
The whispers had never stopped. The jokes hadn't either not really. They just got quieter, sneakier, dressed up as humor. And still she smiled. Still she laughed. Still she pretended she didn't hear the way boys talked about her body like it belonged to them.
That was the part that hollowed him out.
She was beautiful undeniably so but there was always a sadness tucked behind her eyes, like she was braced for disappointment even in her happiest moments. Watching her carry that weight made something in his chest ache in a way he didn't know how to fix.
"Hey, dude teacher's coming."
Kentrell jolted upright just as the teacher passed between the desks, shoes clicking softly against the tile. He flipped a page, nodded like he'd been paying attention the whole time, then sank right back into his thoughts the second the footsteps faded.
He tried to think logically. Tried to plan.
I could ask her first.
I could make sure no one else gets the chance.
I could
Every idea collapsed under its own weight.
He scratched another note into his notebook, stared at it for two seconds, then dragged his eraser through it so hard the paper thinned.
That's when Benjamin swooped in.
"What homework is that?" Ben asked, already tugging the notebook off Kentrell's desk. "I didn't know we had a to-do list. What class is this for? Is this from the day I missed?"
"Ben," Kentrell said calmly, reaching out and resting a steadying hand between his friend's shoulders. He gently pulled the notebook back. "Relax. This isn't homework."
Ben blinked. "Oh."
"It's personal."
Something shifted immediately. Ben's shoulders dropped, curiosity softening into concern.
"Personal how?" he asked. "If you wanna say."
Kentrell hesitated. He didn't like saying her name out loud in this context didn't like making her a problem to be solved. But his thoughts were a mess, and maybe someone else could see what he couldn't.
He slid the notebook back over, revealing the crossed-out plans, arrows, half-written sentences.
"The Sadie Hawkins thing," he said quietly. "The rules. I don't trust how some guys are gonna use it."
Ben read for a moment, jaw tightening.
"Yeah," he finally said. "That's a conundrum."
Kentrell leaned back again, defeated. His pencil resumed its aimless tapping, slower now. Ben mirrored it unconsciously, the two rhythms syncing together.
"Look," Ben said after a beat, lowering his voice. "You can't control what everyone else does. But you can control what you do."
Kentrell didn't answer.
Because across the room, near the window, Julian laughed at something one of his friends said too loud, too sharp and Kentrell felt it in his bones.
Whatever this dance was about to bring, it wasn't just awkwardness.
It was going to be a fight.
And Kentrell had already chosen his side.
