YOU ARE IN LOVE - gracie abrams

three

chapter three:

date night

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The necklace looks perfect around Gracie's neck, the little star charm sitting delicately against her collarbone, glistening in the soft light filtering through the thin curtains. She glances in the mirror above her dresser, her eyes lighting up when she catches sight of the little star.

I watch her, and I can't help the smile that spreads on my face—it's a small victory, her joy for my gift, but it means everything.

"Okay, I'm officially in love with this," she says, her voice a bit hoarse but laced with genuine excitement. She turns to me, a happy grin dancing on her lips. "I'm gonna wear it on my date with Harry tomorrow! It'll look perfect with my outfit!"

I try to conceal the twist in my stomach with a wide and forced smile. "Sounds like a great plan."

Her eyes light up again, in the same way they've always done when she's filled with so much glee she can't contain it—the same way they lit up when we were nine and I taught her how to skip rocks one summer behind her parent's lake house.

She'd been hopeless at first, the stones sinking on her every try. But when one stone finally skipped three perfect times across the water, she squealed so loud the ducks flew away, and she jumped and hugged me like I'd handed her the moon and stars.

Now, that same light is there, but it's not for me. It's for him. For Harrison.

"Do you think it'll look best with a blue or white dress?" She asks, spinning to face me, ripping me out of my own head. "I also have a red one, but then I can't wear the shoes I wanted to wear..." She trails off, frowning in concentration as her legs shuffle under the duvet.

I look over at her, and for once, I don't have to force the soft smile on my face—it's natural, genuine; the kind of smile I can't hold back when she looks that happy. when she looks so Gracie.

"Blue." I say without hesitation, the word slipping out before I can second-guess myself.

She pauses, raising an eyebrow. "That quick? You didn't even think about it."

"I don't have to. Blue's always been your color," I reply with a shrug, trying to keep my tone natural, as if the thought of her in that dark blue dress isn't enough to mess me up all over again.

She stares at me for a moment, almost like she's trying to read something in my face, before breaking into a satisfied grin. "You're right," she says, eyeing the necklace in the mirror again. "Blue it is."

Her gaze flickers to me for a moment, but it quickly returns to the mirror, inspecting her reflection with a thoughtful expression, her fingers tracing the star-shaped pendant on her chest. "I'm glad I picked blue," she says softly, more to herself than to me. "I think it'll look perfect."

I nod, even though she's not looking at me. Because I think so too—Gracie makes everything look perfect. And maybe that's why it's so hard not to picture her in that dress tomorrow night, walking into the restaurant, clinging to his arm, laughing and glowing the way she always does.

The thought twists something inside me, lingering even as I force my gaze away from her. No matter how hard I try to focus on something else, it's still there, lurking in the back of my mind, haunting me.

"You feeling better?" I ask, my voice a little strained as I try to push the thoughts away.

Gracie nods slowly, her fingers still fidgeting with the pendant on her necklace. "Yeah, a little. Headache's almost gone." She looks up at me, her smile soft like the one I first fell in love with when we were seven on the playground. "Thanks for staying with me today, Eli."

I try to smile back, but the weight of everything I've left unsaid hangs in the air. Instead, I just nod and smile softly at her, just like I did that day in first grade by the swing set—back then, I couldn't trust myself to say a single word either.

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Tonight is the night. In an hour, Harrison will swing by in his overpriced sports car and honk to get Gracie outside. He'll drive her to a Michelin restaurant that he knows tastes like shit, but that won't matter—not when it'll show off his social status.

She'll walk down the driveway in that dark blue dress, and she'll greet him with a kiss through the open sunroof. They'll listen to his playlist the whole way there—Gracie doesn't like it, but she won't say anything about it.

And then they'll eat; he'll show her off like she's some sort of trophy, and he'll make a big deal out of paying for her—ensure everyone knows he's a gentleman.

Gracie will laugh at all his jokes, even the ones that aren't funny, just to make him feel special. She'll smile at all the right moments and act like the girl he wants her to be. She'll pretend to be impressed by his fancy words and the stories about his father's company—stories she's heard a million times before.

Because that's just who Gracie is. She's the kind of girl who'll twist herself into shapes she's not meant to fit, just so the people around her don't have to adjust.

She did it when we were 12, babysitting her friend's pet snake for a week, even though she's terrified of snakes, and she did it when we were 18, pretending to be a celibate nun so her friend could hook up with some dude.

She's put everyone else's comfort ahead of her own for as long as I've known her. It's why she'll sit through dinner tonight, laughing at Harrison's tired jokes, nodding along to his stories, and pretending she doesn't mind when he talks over her.

Not because she loves him. Not because she wants to. But because that's just who Gracie is.

And maybe I'm lying to myself here. Maybe Gracie really does find him funny, and maybe his stories are interesting to her. Maybe she really does love him.

But I can't shake the feeling that she's pretending. That it's all an act, just like it always has been. She's always been good at pretending, always been good at fitting herself into someone else's mold, whether she wanted to or not.

I watch her pick up her phone to check the time. Her smile is soft, but it doesn't reach her eyes the way it usually does, the way it should do.

"Does my makeup look alright?" She asks, glancing up at me through the mirror, her voice quiet, like she's suddenly unsure. "Or is it too much?"

I study her reflection—I don't know much about makeup, but I do know that she looks beautiful. "You look perfect, Gray," I say, my voice softer than I intended. "Harrison won't know what hit him."

For a brief moment, her gaze meets mine through the mirror. Her lips twitch, like she's trying to hold back a smile, but her eyes are distant, almost unreadable. But then she looks away, swiftly running a tube of light pink lipgloss over her bottom lip.

"Thanks," she murmurs, her fingers nervously playing with the edge of her blue dress. "I just... I don't want to overdo it."

I want to answer her, to tell her she'll look beautiful no matter what she does, but a loud honk outside cuts me off.

And I guess, maybe that's for the best.

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🫶:

the way eli isn't even hiding it anymore how down bad he is

also, will be a while before the next chapter, im so sorry but life's been a lot recently 

love you sosoosossososo much and im so thankful youre here mwah