Lucas' POV
I sat at the steps just outside the hallway, sun grazing my back, a bag of chips unopened in my lap. My thumbs mindlessly scrolled through my phone, but I wasn't even pretending to care about anything else anymore.
I was deep—deep—in Blake Parker's Instagram page.
His last post was from Jessica's wild party last weekend. He was laughing, shirt off, red solo cup in hand. And beside him, Sonia. Practically sitting in his lap. Her smile was glued on, and so was her damn hand around his neck.
I clenched my jaw. My thumb hovered over the heart icon.
Don't. Just don't.
"HEY—" I jolted, phone ripped clean from my hand.
"Are you frigging stalking him again?" Amy yelled with that evil grin on her face, already holding my phone up like some trophy.
"Quit it, Amy! Give it back!" I reached for it, but her ridiculous boots gave her a height advantage, and she was enjoying every second of my humiliation.
"Lucas Denacii, lover boy, professional simp of the year," she teased, twisting and dodging like a maniac.
"I will body slam you in public," I growled.
"You? Please. You'd sprain your spine just thinking about it."
Our wrestling match came to a slow halt when a strange, rhythmic thumping echoed from the janitor's closet just a few feet away. Amy and I paused.
We exchanged glances. My bad-feeling-o-meter was climbing rapidly.
Amy pressed a finger to her lips, her expression turning serious. "Be quiet—you'll scare them away," she whispered, slowly creeping toward the closet.
"I'm not tryna see anything traumatizing today," I hissed under my breath.
The door creaked open.
Reflexively, I yanked Amy by the wrist and dragged her down behind the row of lockers just across from the closet. There was a stupid fake plant we ducked behind too. I could feel my knees scraping tile, heart pounding like a speaker on full blast.
From behind the slats, we watched Sonia Williams step out.
And she wasn't alone.
A guy—tall, stocky, and definitely in a school football uniform—was right behind her, fixing his hair like nothing just happened. My stomach dropped to the basement.
Amy gasped quietly and slapped a hand over my mouth.
"Oh shit," she breathed. "That's Sonia. She's totally cheating on Blake."
I swallowed hard. No. No way. My mind didn't want to believe it, but my eyes saw it plain as day. She looked happy—smiling as she brushed the dude's chest and kissed him lightly on the cheek before sauntering off like she hadn't just ruined someone's heart.
Amy groaned. "I told you nothing good ever comes from those people. They're all assholes."
Maybe that was true of most of them. But not Blake.
Not Blake.
He was being played—manipulated like he didn't matter, like he was some kind of game. I felt it—boiling anger in my chest. He deserved someone who actually saw him, someone who'd hold his hand without checking who's watching. Someone who wouldn't hook up with a quarterback in a janitor's closet during recess.
He deserved someone who cared. Who'd stay.
Amy sighed and leaned her head against the wall. "Easy, tiger. I know that look. And as much as I hate to admit it... I'm gonna help you."
I blinked. "Wait—what?"
She flicked my forehead hard. "You heard me. I'll help you expose her. Maybe even get Blake to notice you, like, actually notice you."
My eyes widened. "You're serious?"
"As a failed math test," she said. "But you owe me, Lucas. Like big time. I want ice cream, free homework answers, and your soul. Deal?"
"I'll give you all three. Seriously—thank you."
I practically tackled her in a hug.
She patted my head like I was a dog and sighed again. "God, I hope I don't regret this."
"I'll stop stalking. I swear."
"You better. You were three seconds away from turning into a full-blown Blake shrine-builder. Weirdo."
"I'll try to be normal," I muttered.
Amy stood up, brushing off her skirt like this was just another Tuesday.
"Alright then," she grinned. "Let's figure out how to make your man forget that cheating ho and fall head over heels for you. But first..."
She glanced up at the clock.
"Crap. Recess is almost over."
"Huh?" I blinked, still trying to process everything.
And then the bell rang.
Our next class was two floors up and five hallways away.
"Shit!" we both yelled.
We bolted. Amy's boots clicking against the tile. My backpack bouncing behind me. My legs already begging me to quit.
I might've been sprinting, sweating, and dying... but for once, I actually felt like I was running toward something.
Classes were finally over.
I could practically hear the school sighing in relief. The hallways buzzed with post-class chatter, feet dragging, lockers slamming, and that weird smell of sweat, cafeteria grease, and deodorant fighting for dominance.
Amy and I strolled through the hallway side by side. I was mid-story, arms flailing as I retold one of Blake's and my greatest childhood failures—something about tying ourselves together with a jump rope and thinking we could "run faster."
"...So I tripped, obviously, and Blake got flung into Mrs. Chaney's rosebush like a human frisbee," I finished, wheezing with laughter.
Amy was holding her stomach, half-doubled over. "You both were really a pair of dumbasses, oh my god."
"I know," I grinned, my cheeks kind of hurting from smiling so much. "It gets worse—one time, we tried to cook bacon with a hair straightener—"
But Amy wasn't listening anymore.
We reached the row of lockers, and I automatically stopped in front of mine. I tossed my books inside like they personally offended me and kept talking, not noticing Amy had completely zoned out.
"...And Blake dropped the straightener on his foot, screamed like he'd been shot, and—"
"Uh huh."
"—then blamed me when his mom yelled at us—"
"Hmm. Yeah yeah."
I squinted. "Are you even listening to me—?"
"Hey," she suddenly cut in, turning toward me all innocent. "You wouldn't by chance happen to know which one is Blake's locker... would you?"
Without hesitation, I blurted, "Yeah, third one from the end, row D, number 173."
Her eyebrows shot up. Slowly, her mouth twisted into a wicked grin.
"You flipping stalker," she said with a giggle.
I blinked. "What? Huh? Wait—what are you doing?"
Before I could stop her, Amy darted across the hallway toward Blake's locker. She yanked on it, but it didn't budge. "Ugh, fuck—it's locked."
She turned toward me again with the same look she had when she convinced me to fake-sneeze in French class for a whole week. That was a dark time.
"You wouldn't by any chance know the combo, would you?"
"No!" I hissed. "What the hell are you trying to do—steal?!"
Amy rolled her eyes. "No, you goof. I wrote him a love letter. Don't worry, I made it as cringe as possible."
My stomach did a flip. "Wait—what?!"
"Relax," she waved a hand. "I didn't write your name on it."
I groaned, covering my face. "Oh my god. You're insane."
"Now give me the stupid combination."
I hesitated. I was probably going to regret this.
"Ugh... fine. It's 80085."
Amy paused. "Wow. That's... easier than I expected."
She punched in the numbers. The lock clicked open.
"Wow, it really worked."
"Yeah," I muttered, "he chose that because he thought it'd be funny to tell people his locker combo says BOOBS."
Amy gagged. "Ugh. That really is a stupid combination."
She tucked the folded letter into the locker and slammed it shut.
That's when we heard the voices.
"Crap," Amy whispered. "Incoming idiots."
We both ducked into the closest classroom—empty, thank god—and peered through the cracked door. Blake walked toward his locker with his usual crew. Jessica was beside him, gum snapping, looking bored. Anne trailed behind, followed by Einstein, who genuinely needed to be arrested for how hard he stared at girls' butts.
Blake opened his locker. He paused.
"Ooooh," Einstein pointed. "Dude, you got a secret admirer! So cute."
Blake held the letter like it was a venomous snake. "Hmm... whoever did this is dangerous. They opened my locker."
Jessica snorted. "Anyone can open your locker, you moron. Your combination is fucking easy."
Blake blinked. "Oh. Right."
He turned to the lock and reset it. "I gotta go or Coach will make me run laps until my soul leaves my body. Later."
He jogged off. Jessica grabbed Anne and dragged her into the classroom next door. Einstein followed, gross as ever.
The hallway cleared.
Amy cursed. "Fuck. He changed the combo."
"It's okay," I said, still peeking out the door. "I listened to the clicks. He changed it to his birthday."
She turned to me like I just told her I could fly.
"You what?"
I shrugged. "I memorized the sound pattern. It's... a thing I do."
Amy gasped, then pulled me into a tight hug. "Lucas. If I ever go into the life of crime, I am fucking carrying you on every single heist."
I laughed into her shoulder. "Please don't. I really don't want to go to prison because of you."
"Too late," she grinned. "We're in this now."