We ended up eating outside on one of the benches that nobody ever used, which was a nice change of pace from the controlled chaos of the cafeteria. The whole walk over, my brain was stuck on a single, ridiculous loop, replaying the mont in the classroom where she’d called hot, which was a word I was pretty sure had never been used in the sa sentence as my na before.
I wanted to ask her about it, to just casually bring it up and see if she was ssing with , but every ti I opened my mouth to try, the words just got stuck sowhere between my brain and my tongue.
’Just let it go, you idiot,’ I thought, watching her unwrap the sandwich she’d brought from ho. ’She was just teasing. It’s not that deep.’
"You’re doing that scrunchy eyebrow thing again," she said, her voice pulling out of my head. She took a bite of her sandwich and looked at , a little smile on her lips.
"Is this about your secret agent stuff with Jake? Are you planning a hostile takeover of the student council?"
"Sothing like that," I said, deciding to just roll with it because it was a thousand tis easier than explaining the actual, mortifying truth. "Phase Three involves replacing all the water fountain water with soda. It’s a bold move, but I think we can pull it off."
She laughed, "I’ll support your coup, but only if you make it cherry soda."
"It’s a deal."
We ate in a comfortable quiet for a few minutes, which was sothing I was still getting used to, this idea that silence didn’t always have to be awkward.
"So, what about you?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation sowhere completely new. "If you weren’t stuck here, in this school, what would you be doing?"
She paused, her sandwich halfway to her mouth, and got this far-away look in her eyes that I’d never seen before. "I don’t know," she said, her voice a little softer than usual. "I’ve never really thought about it."
"Co on," I pressed gently. "There has to be sothing. If you could just snap your fingers and be anywhere, doing anything, what would it be?"
She was quiet for a long mont, just staring out at the field in front of us. "I think," she started, her voice barely a whisper, "I’d want to work at a flower shop."
I just blinked at her, because that was the absolute last thing I would have ever guessed. ’A flower shop? Not a fashion designer, or a model, or whatever her old friends were probably into?’
"Seriously?" I asked. "Like, with the aprons and the little watering cans?"
She looked over at , a little blush on her cheeks, like she was embarrassed to admit it. "Yeah," she said, a shy smile on her face. "It just seems... nice and quiet. You’re surrounded by pretty things all day, and you just help people pick out flowers to make other people happy. It’s simple."
I just looked at her, at the way her whole face softened when she talked about it, sothing in my chest felt... warm.
It was like getting a peek behind a curtain I didn’t even know was there, seeing this entirely different version of her that had nothing to do with school or popularity or any of that other crap.
"That’s not what I expected you to say," I admitted.
"What, you thought I wanted to be a professional an girl or sothing?" she teased, her usual playful energy coming back.
"No, I just... I don’t know. It’s just really... you."
Her smile faltered for a second, and she looked down at her sandwich. "Yeah, well. It’s not exactly a career path my parents would be thrilled about." She sighed. "They have this whole plan, you know? Good university, a business degree, a ’respectable’ job. A flower shop isn’t exactly part of their five-year plan for ."
"It’s your life, not theirs," I said, and the words ca out with more confidence than I expected.
She looked at , her eyes a little wide. "It’s not that simple, Kofi."
"Maybe it should be," I said with a shrug. "I think you’d be good at it."
Her blush deepened, and she gave this quick, bright smile that made my stomach do a flip. "Thanks," she said quietly. "So what about you? What’s your big, secret dream? Let guess, professional manga critic?"
"Nah, I’m going to be a sword-maker. A legendary blacksmith who forges epic weapons for clueless heroes."
She stared at for a second, then just burst out laughing. "You are such a nerd," she said, shaking her head. "But you know what? I can totally see it."
Her laughter faded, and she looked down at the half-eaten sandwich in her hands, her earlier brightness dimming into sothing more thoughtful, more shadowed.
"You know, for a while there, I think I actually forgot what it felt like to have a real conversation," she said, her voice so quiet I had to lean in a little to catch it. "With Selma and Becky, it was always a performance, every single word was calculated to maintain so kind of image."
’Here we go,’ I thought, recognizing the shift in her tone. This was her opening up, really opening up, and my only job was just to listen.
"It was all about who was dating who, which parties were the best to be seen at, and what filters to use on our pictures so we looked happy, even when we weren’t. I was with them all the ti, surrounded by people, but I have never felt more alone in my entire life."
She took a shaky breath, picking at the crust of her sandwich without really seeing it. "I hated it. I hated the person I had to be to keep them as friends, and I hated myself even more for being too scared to just walk away."
The honesty of it was a bit overwhelming, a confession that you just don’t hear outside of a therapist’s office or a late-night talk with your closest friend.
"And the guys," she let out a dry, humorless laugh. "God, they were the worst part. Every single one of them was just a different version of Tyler, guys who looked at like I was a prize to be won, not a person to get to know. And I just went along with it, because that’s what my friends told I was supposed to do."
I just watched her, letting the silence sit between us, not wanting to break the spell with so empty platitude.
"Being with you," she finally looked up, her eyes eting mine with a frightening intensity, "it’s like I can finally breathe. I don’t have to perform. I can talk about stupid things, my dumb dream of opening a flower shop, and you don’t look at like I’m crazy. You just look at like I’m... ."
"That’s because you are you," The words felt simple and true. "And that person is way more interesting than the one you were pretending to be."
Her eyes went a little watery, and she gave a small, fragile smile that felt more real than any of the bright, perfect ones she used to wear. "Thanks, Kofi. For seeing that."
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