Battling Hearts and High Scores: A Teenage RomCom

Battling Mischief and Missteps

If you'd asked me a year ago if I'd be staking out a party—especially my arch-nemesis's party—from the bushes in front of her house, I would've called you a joke. Yet here I am, crouched in the shrubs, watching almost everyone from school show up, except for my trio. I'm a bit surprised. Sure, I knew Shalom lived in the higher middle-class part of town, and I'd heard her family was well-off, but looking at this sky-blue estate now, it's even more massive and expensive than I imagined. That probably explains why she's so one-dimensional—always obsessing over her looks because she's never had to face any real hardship. Little Miss Perfect. Queen Bee.

"Can we just sneak in through a window or something? This is taking way too long, and I really need to take a whazz," Max whines, squirming and holding his crotch. His glasses have basically fogged up with all the exertion he's putting in to holding in his pee.

Greg pats him on the back. "It's okay, man. You'll make it."

"We can't just go in—there's someone blocking the front door!" I snap, practically pulling out my hair in frustration.

Greg shrugs. "I think you're taking this 'mission' a little too seriously. Shalom probably has a valid reason for knowing about the game, and whatever it is, it's her business."

"Yeah, her business. Can we please go now?" Max is practically in tears from holding it in.

"Fine. But if we get the door slammed in our faces, I'm blaming your inconsiderate bladder," I mutter as we all stand up.

Greg does have a point. If Shalom just knows who Sonic and Mario are from those live-action movies and decided to Google them, that's fine. But knowing about Steel Reckoning, specifically last year's release of Steel Reckoning III? That's where I draw the line. There's no way I'm letting Queen Bee waltz into my favorite game with her know-it-all attitude. No way.

As we approach the front door, I hear faint music and excited yelps from the other side. I'm starting to feel out of my element. Greg and I have Max slung over our shoulders as he's about to burst. For a 5'10" nerdy guy who seems lean, Max sure is heavy. Last time I saw him shirtless, he had this sleeper build—eight-pack abs, a defined V-line, and even a faint happy trail. If he and Izzy ever end up together, I bet she'll be pleasantly surprised. Honestly, I'm a little jealous of the guy.

My hand grips the doorknob. Walking into my arch-nemesis's house without an invitation feels weird, but it's a high school party—basically, everyone's invited. It's not like we're trespassing... right?

Click. The door swings open, and pop music blasts us in the face. Pound The Alarm by Nicki Minaj plays over the blaring stereo speakers. The interior is spacious but packed. Teens are dancing, laughing, flirting, kissing... and Harold's just being Harold.
All three of us mutter, "Oh my gosh."

Suddenly, a girl pops up in front of us, holding a bottle of booze in one hand and a pet cage in the other. Interesting.

"Oh my gosh!" she squeals in excitement. "Welcome to Shalom's party!" I can hear a faint British accent.
"Are you, like, the bouncer or something?" I ask, half-worried we've already been busted.

"Of course not! I've only been told one person isn't invited," she slurs with a huge grin, struggling to check her phone with the items she has in her hands. "I can't remember the name... maybe Sam?"

"I think it's Sage," Greg blurts out. "Sage Roe? The only person not invited to Shalom Fitch's party?"

"That's it!" she exclaims, her accent even stronger now. "Yes, Sage Roe."

I shoot a glare at Greg. Why would he say that? And great, I'm actually the only one not invited. Even Greg and Max are allowed in. But as I size up the tipsy, tattooed, and pierced girl with bright red hair, I realize she has no idea who I am—at least not what I look like.