Anvaila Emerson, a vibrant party lover, juggles her crush on Kevin Diaz, the basketball team captain, and the return of mysterious Austin Smith to senior year. Caught in a high school drama, Anvaila faces the complexities of emotions, friendships, a...
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The party was in full swing by the time I reunited with my girls—Rachel, Sierra, and Kiwi. We were huddled around a table in the corner of the living room, far from the main crowd, snacking on chips and cookies. The soft hum of music mixed with the sounds of chatter and occasional bursts of laughter from different corners of the room. The space was warm, dimly lit, and buzzing with life, but I felt like I was barely holding on.
Sierra reached for another cookie, and Rachel smacked her hand away with exaggerated drama. “You’ve already had, like, five,” Rachel scolded, wagging her finger.
Sierra feigned innocence, her eyes wide. “Five? That’s an accusation, Rachel. Maybe it was four and a half.”
“You took a bite out of mine!” Rachel shot back, crossing her arms.
“I’m just following the rules of snack-sharing,” Sierra said, shrugging as she popped the whole cookie into her mouth before Rachel could stop her. “Don’t hate me because I have good taste.”
Rachel rolled her eyes, but I could tell she was fighting back a laugh. “Unbelievable.”
I grinned, grateful for the momentary distraction from my own spiraling thoughts. "Let her live a little, Rach. It's not like we’re hosting the Cookie Olympics."
Rachel turned her mock-serious expression on me. “You’re just encouraging her. Next thing we know, she’ll be starting a petition for unlimited cookie refills.”
“Not a bad idea,” Sierra said, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll regret this cookie later, but I’ll regret it in style.”
The three of us burst out laughing, and even Kiwi, who had been unusually quiet, smiled. Her calm presence always made me feel like someone had my back, no matter how chaotic things got.
But as much as I tried to stay in the moment, my mind kept wandering. I scanned the room, searching for something—or someone—to anchor myself. That’s when I saw him. Kevin. Standing near the drinks table, talking to a couple of guys I didn’t recognize. The sight of him sent a jolt through me, my stomach twisting in a way I hated.
