Pretty When We Fall

8 - Put On A Show

Nick Owens

Showcase Day.

It's Harrowhill tradition to pretend we all care about horse riding, football, and academic posters for one whole day so the school can show off to sponsors and potential donors. Horse displays. Lunchtime football. Evening rugby. The works.

And of course, the highlight? A formal dinner with said sponsors - mandatory for the Student Board. Which meant I'd be spending my entire night seated next to Scarlet Collins.

Lucky me.

Kit was riding today, Cory was captaining football, and I was saving all my charm for the post-rugby performance. The one where I'd get to smile politely and answer awkward questions about university offers, exam predictions, and 'how wonderful it must be to serve as Head Boy alongside Scarlet Collins.'

What a joy.

Most students used the morning to disappear into town and avoid being grilled about school spirit. I planned to do the same - with a detour first. Kit, Cory, and I met at the bus stop for a quick strategy talk.

"I told you I couldn't come," Kit muttered, adjusting his jacket. "I've got to be at the stables."

"Then why are you here?" Cory groaned. "You confuse me."

"He's here," I said, rolling my eyes, "so we can go over the plan. Then me and you, Cory, kill some time in town. Supportive besties, remember?"

"If you say 'besties' again, I'm throwing myself under the next bus."

Kit laughed. Cory scowled. Classic.

"So," Kit asked, eyeing me, "what do you want me to do exactly?"

"Throw him off. Get in his head. Shake him up before the match."

Kit blinked. "...You want me to sabotage Thomas Wilson?"

Cory raised a brow. "Why?"

I didn't answer. Because I didn't know if it was about Scarlet. Or the party. Or just the fact that Thomas walked around like life would always hand him the prize.

People like that don't fall - unless someone makes them.

Cory, of course, had to be the voice of reason. "You're playing in the rugby match with him. One hit on the field and it's his fault, not ours. Safer than freaking out a horse."

Fair point.

Kit gave me a look. "So... this is a public takedown?"

I shrugged. "If he slips up, he slips."

Kit raised both brows but didn't argue. "You've got murder in your eyes, man. Just don't actually kill him."

Before I could give some clever reply, Kit checked his watch and muttered something about Mr Kinley decapitating him for being late.

"At least you don't have to suffer through dinner tonight," I said, nudging Kit as he turned. "Silver spoon perks. One horse and they excuse you from everything."

He smirked. "Being Harrowhill's equestrian golden boy has its uses. Good luck charming the donors without me."

"Wasn't planning to charm them," I muttered. "Just outlast them."

The bus rolled in a few minutes later. Kit took off toward the stables. Cory and I boarded, ready to pretend we weren't scheming.

At least not out loud.

———

Scarlet Collins

I said I didn't want to see him.

I told myself I wouldn't.

But the thing was - I needed answers.

The moment I invited Thomas to talk, he said he couldn't leave the school grounds but could meet me at the riding stables. Not the old ones from the party - thank god - but the ones near the back arena.

Right. The riding showcase.

I sprinted from my room, coat flapping behind me. I didn't care about being early. I just needed to catch him before he got in the saddle.

He spotted me first.

"Hey," he said, grinning. "Didn't think you'd make it before the show."

I opened my mouth to say something casual. Something calm. But then he leaned in and kissed my forehead.

My entire brain shut down all rational thought.

"Okay," I blurted. "I need to ask you something. Something kind of stupid."

He tilted his head, curious.

"I can't remember anything after you gave me that weirdly colourful drink at the party. Did you... did you see anyone spike it?"

Thomas blinked. Once. Twice.

Then his brows pulled together, just slightly. "What? No. I was the only one handling the drinks. Are you... are you accusing me of spiking it?"

Shit.

"No. No! That's not what I meant." My stomach turned. "It was a stupid question. Forget it. Please. I feel awful."

He relaxed - just a bit - but didn't smile.

"Don't feel bad," he said, stepping closer. "You're okay."

"I feel bad anyway. I basically accused you of drugging me. Let me make it up to you?"

His mouth tugged into something like a grin. "Wear my shirt."

My eyes snapped to his.

"Excuse me?"

"For the rugby match," he said, laughing. "I made the team this year. Come cheer me on."

Oh.

Right.

I smiled stiffly, mumbled a yes, and practically sprinted from the stables before I could embarrass myself further.

As I walked back across campus, the interaction replayed on loop. Not the kiss. Not the shirt.

The way he answered.

It didn't sound shocked. It sounded... rehearsed.

And that scared me more than anything else.

———

By the time I found Emmy and Meghan, the horse show had already started. I slipped into the back row beside them and pretended like everything wasn't falling apart in my head.

The show only lasted half an hour - polished, impressive, everything Harrowhill wanted to show off. I clapped when I was meant to, smiled for any cameras nearby, and tried not to think about how I was still wearing Nick's t-shirt under my coat.

Football came next, but I planned to skip it. Meghan, on the other hand, suddenly cared deeply about school spirit.

"You might actually enjoy it!" she said, tugging on her coat. "It's tradition."

"And I will support tradition," Emmy said flatly, "by staying here and spending my father's tuition money in the café."

Meghan rolled her eyes and left us behind.

I tilted my head. "What's gotten into her?"

Emmy shrugged. "I don't know. I've been 'pushing her buttons all day', apparently. But I haven't been any more annoying than usual."

"That's... not exactly comforting."

"She also yelled at me for touching her pillow earlier, so I think the meltdown started there."

I snorted. Classic Meghan.

Emmy went back to stirring sugar into her hot chocolate. I stared out the window, trying to push the weight off my chest.

But something still felt off.

About Thomas. About everything.

And I didn't think football was going to fix it.