𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 | 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐧𝐞

Chapter 2

Lance and I met back in middle school, when I was in the sixth grade and he was in the eighth. Our parents worked together, so naturally, they decided we should spend time together too.

They'd plan "playdates" and dinners, dragging us along to every gathering. At the time, it felt like we were always being pushed together, though, in my case, no pushing was really needed. I loved spending time with him.

There was something about Lance that always drew me in. He was funny, confident, and always seemed to know just the right thing to say.

Even back then, I remember looking up to him in that way that only a younger kid can—wide-eyed and amazed, certain he could do no wrong.

As the years passed, we grew even closer. High school was a blur of shared study sessions, movie nights, and late-night talks.

He'd show up at my house just because, and I'd do the same with him. I'd tell him about my classes, my friends, and my dreams, and he'd listen, actually listen, like my thoughts mattered.

I was there for all his "firsts." His first girlfriend, his first breakup, his first big screw-up. I'd sit with him through all of it, offering whatever advice or comfort I could manage. We didn't have to say we'd always be there for each other; it was just understood.

Lance was the kind of guy who peaked in high school, and everyone knew it. He was popular, effortlessly cool, with that magnetic charm that drew people in without him having to try.

And by being his best friend, I got swept up into it, too. I was invited to parties, birthdays, random hangouts.

I had this weird "in" with people who probably wouldn't have noticed me otherwise, and as much as I hated to admit it, I kind of loved it.

Lance was extremely handsome, the kind of guy that everyone noticed when he walked into a room. Some of my friends would joke that he looked like a younger James Franco, with that same easy grin and intense stare.

I'd laugh it off, but I could see it. Sometimes I'd catch myself staring, wondering if anyone else noticed how good-looking he really was—how good-looking my best friend had always been.

Our high school years were a mix of fun and challenges, but through it all, we stayed close—until we hit a rough patch during junior year.

That was when Lance started dating his first serious girlfriend, Vanessa.

As Lance got closer to Vanessa, I noticed that she didn't like our friendship. Like most girls in high school, she seemed threatened by the idea of her boyfriend having a girl best friend.

I completely understood her feelings; I would often pull back when Lance was talking to a girl, not wanting to step on any toes. But with Vanessa, it felt different.

She seemed determined to make me a problem.

The worst part was when she started spreading rumors that I was talking badly about her. It felt like a punch to the gut. And that's how me and Lance stopped talking for weeks, until they broke up.

It wasn't until college, though, that I realized what I'd been feeling all those years was more than just friendship. I'd fallen for him somewhere along the way, quietly, completely, without ever meaning to.

But as much as I adored him, I also feared that my feelings would ruin what we had. I kept my heart locked away, hidden behind smiles and playful banter, terrified of losing him if I revealed the truth.

So I let myself admire him from a distance, cherishing our friendship while longing for something more.

In the evenings, when we'd sit together in his room, surrounded by the clutter of books and half-finished projects, I would steal glances at him.