In the competitive halls of college, Charlie is just another face in the crowd-an introverted girl with a passion for academics and a heart too often overlooked. When Simon Whitlock , the charming yet notorious leader of campus life, unexpectedly as...
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︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
Sitting in the bleachers, I leaned back, trying to engage in the chaos of the game below. My buddies—Jake, Ryan, and Tyler—were their usual loudmouth selves, squawking about plays and making over-the-top comments about any girl that crossed their field of view. It was a typical Friday afternoon, with their obnoxious banter sending waves of laughter rippling through the thronging crowd, but tonight something felt different.
Then, she walked onto the field—striking, magnetic, and unrecognizable. I blinked hard, leaning forward as if doing so would help me see her better. Tight black cropped top; high-waisted shorts, barely covering her legs. Shit. She moved with a confidence that pulled attention like a force field. I couldn’t look away, compelled by something deep inside me, an unease that clawed at my gut.
“Yo, check her out!” Jake shouted, leaning over the railing. “Dude, she's fire!”
My gaze didn’t waver; she felt familiar yet entirely foreign. The laughter she shared with her friends sparked something vague and uncomfortable—I tried to shake it off, but it lingered. Why did she look like that? I concentrated harder, my heart thudding in sync with the cheers around me.
Was that really Charlie?
Over the noise, my friends continued their mindless commentary, oblivious to the confusion crowding my thoughts. “Who the hell is that?” Ryan leaned in, clearly impressed. “Does she have an Insta? Because I need to know.”
I almost spat my drink in disbelief. “That’s Charlie.”
“She was bookish, remember? Now she’s like—what the hell?” Jake added, slapping my back. “Are you sure you’re not tripping?”
The words sliced through the haze of my mind. Memories flooded back—a sickening mix of regret and rage bubbled beneath the surface. After that bet we made, a stupid bet—I had gotten tangled up in the mess of our breakup. I had lost her and, after the fallout, convinced myself it didn’t matter, that it was all just a game. But seeing her like this, it hit me harder than I expected.
“She’s… changed,” I said, irritation creeping into my voice, though I didn’t acknowledge the flicker of jealousy straining against my better judgment.
“Charlie’s a total 5/10; now she’s gotta be like a solid 9, holy... she's got total ass!” Ryan remarked, smirking.
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the way that twisted my gut. “You guys don’t know her. She’s not just a trophy to gawk at.”
They dismissed my concern with laughter, their eyes still glued to her. My friends didn’t pick up on the tension, but I certainly felt it. How could they ogle her so effortlessly, as if she were just another conquest? The girl I’d gotten to know—before the bet tore us apart—deserved more than that.
A heavy weight settled in my chest as I wrestled with my thoughts. I had spent too long pretending I didn’t care about her, dismissing the past tragedies of our relationship like dust on my shoulders. But right now, seeing her flaunt confidence that edged into arrogance, I felt an unexpected mix of annoyance and admiration.
I tried to shake off my friends’ comments, forcing myself into the festive atmosphere of the game. I was more agitated than I cared to admit, caught up in a whirlwind of confusion and memories I thought I had buried. But as I watched her weave in and out of conversations with her new friends, confidence radiating off her like heat, I realized I couldn’t just sit back anymore.
“Guys, I’ll be right back,” I said, my voice rising slightly over the noise. My heart raced, my stomach churning with a mix of dread and determination. I had to talk to her.
As I made my way down the bleachers, I tried to gather my thoughts, rehearsing what I would say. This wasn’t just some random girl they were fawning over; this was Charlie, the girl I once knew better than anyone. The girl I had betrayed in a way I couldn't take back. I needed to show her I was still the same person underneath the past disaster—maybe convince her that the old me could connect with the new her.
Once I reached the edge of the field, I took a deep breath and made my way toward her. She was laughing with her friends, tossing her head back in a way that reminded me of late-night study sessions filled with genuine laughter. But as she turned to catch my eye, that warmth quickly shifted to something sharper and less inviting.
“Charlie,” I called out, trying to keep my tone casual, but my voice wavered as I approached. “Hey, it’s me—Simon.”
Her expression morphed into one of confusion, then annoyance. “Simon... who the fuck?” she replied, her brow arched and her tone ice cold. The transformation blindsided me, the warmth I’d once known now replaced with a defensive wall.
I opened my mouth to respond, to explain—anything—but the words stalled on my tongue, caught in the grip of obvious disbelief and a hurt that I hadn’t anticipated. Instead, I stood there, feeling utterly exposed as her friends erupted into laughter nearby.
“Who does he think he is?” one of them snorted, her voice laced with mockery. I couldn’t catch much of what they said next, but it felt like needles stabbing my confidence with every chortle.
“Just wanted to see how you’ve been...” I managed to say, but I could feel the weight of her dismissal pushing down on me.
“Wow,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Such a heartfelt reunion!” Her lips twitched with amusement, and I realized she was mocking me, savoring my discomfort. The laughter of her friends only amplified the embarrassment, the sting of humiliation flooding my cheeks.
Feeling an inexplicable surge of anger, I tried to steady my voice. “Charlie, I know we had our issues, but—”
Before I could finish, her hand swooped down to the half-finished slushy in her grip, and in a shocking, swift motion, she tossed it right at me. Bright blue ice-cold liquid splattered across my shirt, the sugar-coated chaos seeping into my skin.
“Oops,” she said, a feigned innocence widening her eyes as her friends cackled loudly, doubling over in laughter. “Guess you shouldn’t have come back. Don’t let the door hit you.”
With that, she turned on her heel, strutting away with her friends, their laughter fading as they left me standing in the chaos of the moment, coated in sticky residue and bewilderment.
I blinked, feeling the bite of humiliation harden into something sharper—frustration mixing with a cloud of disbelief. What was I even expecting? The girl I used to know was long gone, replaced by this new version that seemed to revel in putting me in my place.
Staring down at the blue staining my shirt, I realized just how little I understood the situation. I had come hoping for a chance, but instead, I’d lost whatever glimpse I might have had of the Charlie I once knew. Now, all I was left with was the bitter taste of defeat and a painful reminder of how poorly I’d handled everything.
As I trudged back toward my friends, their laughter still ringing in my ears, a shiver of realization set in—I was still tied to her in ways I hadn’t acknowledged, and if I wanted another chance, I had a lot of work to do. But right now, all I felt was frustration at my own naïveté, embarrassment for thinking I could just pick up where we left off. Little did I know, I would have to start over and earn her trust—assuming it was even possible to reach the depths of someone who had clearly moved on.
