Portia had been so engrossed in her daily routines that she completely overlooked the buzz surrounding the highly anticipated school dance, which was set to take place this Friday.
How she'd missed it felt almost impressive.
As she drifted through the bustling hallways, her gaze finally snagged on the vibrant posters plastered across the walls neon colors, glittering fonts,
DANCE FRIDAY NIGHT!
screaming from every available surface. A light laugh escaped her lips, equal parts disbelief and amusement at her own oblivion. It wasn't avoidance. It wasn't denial.
It was just Portia being Portia.
Thankfully, her mind hadn't yet spiraled into the usual worst-case scenarios. No images of standing alone. No echoes of laughter. No tight chest. She clung to that peace, hoping it would hold until Friday.
At her locker, anticipation bloomed quietly, warm and unfamiliar. Books slid into her bag with soft thuds as her thoughts wandered somewhere brighter.
The dress.
The shoes.
Her new ones the ones she'd bought on a whim last summer because they made her feel taller, bolder. Wearing those meant everything else had to work around them.
She smiled to herself, so wrapped up in possibility that she didn't even notice stepping into the wrong aisle of desks when she entered class.
She walked right past her seat.
"'Scuse me."
The voice barely registered.
A tap gentle but firm landed on the back of her hand.
"This is my seat."
Portia blinked, the world snapping back into focus. When she looked up, their eyes met and whatever he'd been prepared to say died instantly. His surprise mirrored hers. She muttered a rushed apology, scooped up her things, and retreated to her desk like she'd been caught trespassing in someone else's life.
Behind her, Julian sank into his chair, face burning.
She didn't see him bolt from the room seconds later.
But she felt something shift.
⸻
Julian pressed his back against the hallway wall like it might swallow him whole.
He dragged a hand down his face, breathing hard.
Every time.
Every damn time.
Joe appeared at the doorway, stopping short when he saw Julian's expression. "You good?"
Julian scoffed. "No."
Joe waited.
"I keep screwing things up with her," Julian admitted, the words scraping out of his throat. "Every time I'm near her, I either say too much or nothing at all."
Joe tilted his head. "You're thinking about the dance."
Julian laughed once sharp. "Thinking? I'm planning."
That was the difference.
Later that night, Julian stood in front of his mirror, shirt discarded on the bed, fists clenched at his sides. He imagined walking in with her. Imagined people seeing it. Seeing him with her.
The idea soothed something dark inside his chest.
She didn't know it yet but she was supposed to be his.
And Friday would make that clear.
⸻
Kentrell
Kentrell noticed the poster immediately.
He noticed everything when it came to Portia.
Sadie Hawkins. Friday. Girls ask first.
The rule made his stomach twist not because of himself, but because of them. He'd already heard the jokes. Already seen the looks. Already clocked Julian watching her like a locked door he meant to kick in.
That night, Kentrell sat on the edge of his bed, shoes off, tie draped across his fingers like a promise he wasn't sure he deserved to make.
He wasn't planning how to impress her.
He was planning how to make her feel safe.
He rehearsed nothing flashy. No big gestures. Just the words he meant. Just the truth.
I want to go with you.
Not because of the rule.
Not because I get to.
Because I choose you.
Across town, Portia stood in her room holding her shoes up to the mirror, smiling softly at her reflection.
Across another room, Julian tightened his jaw and imagined ownership.
And between them all, Friday waited patient, glowing, inevitable.
