Chapter 207
Summer's POV
"Mom, I'm staying," Mia said into her phone, her tone shifting to the patient-but-firm voice she always used with her mother. "Yes, Summer's mom is home. Yes, I have my toothbrush—"
I was already pulling up the Domino's app on my iPad, adding a large pepperoni pizza and an order of cheese sticks to the cart, then adding a second order of cheese sticks because we both knew one wouldn't be enough. Victoria was working late at the office, as usual—some emergency meeting with the design team about the spring collection that would probably keep her there until midnight. The house was ours.
"Please?" I mouthed at Mia, pressing my palms together in exaggerated pleading, giving her my best puppy-dog eyes.
She rolled her eyes at me but smiled, that small conspiratorial smile that said she'd already made up her mind. "Okay, Mom. Love you too. Bye."
By the time the pizza arrived—delivered by a college kid who did a double-take at the size of the house before handing over the boxes—we'd changed into matching pajama sets I'd bought specifically for this. Powder blue with white polka dots, soft cotton that had been pre-washed to that perfect broken-in texture, ridiculous and perfect and exactly the kind of thing Victoria would never understand the appeal of. We sat cross-legged on my bed with the pizza box between us, grease already staining the cardboard and filling the room with the smell of cheap cheese and processed meat.
"This is like those sleepovers in movies," Mia said through a mouthful of cheese, sauce threatening to drip down her chin. "Except better because we're not pretending to care about our figures."
"Except in movies they don't worry about getting tomato sauce on eight-hundred-dollar sheets," I replied, grabbing a handful of napkins and tucking them around the pizza box like a protective barrier.
She nearly choked on her pizza, her eyes going wide. "These sheets cost HOW much?"
"Don't think about it. Just eat." I shoved a cheese stick at her before she could start calculating the cost of everything in my room, which I knew would ruin the mood.
Mia swallowed and pointed at me with the cheese stick, a mischievous glint in her eye that I'd learned to recognize as trouble. "You know what else they do in movie sleepovers? They rank the guys at school."
"Absolutely not."
"Too late. I'm starting." She held up her fingers to count, sauce still on her thumb. "Hottest guy at St. Jude's Preparatory Academy. Go."
"Mia—"
"Ethan Park," she declared, ignoring my protest. "Those arms? In the lacrosse jersey? Watching him during practice should require parental supervision."
"Ethan Park has the personality of wet cardboard," I said, but I was laughing despite myself. "He once spent twenty minutes explaining his workout routine to me without realizing I'd put in earbuds."
"Nobody said anything about personality. We're being shallow right now. It's midnight-pizza rules." She took another enormous bite, cheese stretching between her mouth and the slice. "Your turn."
I pretended to think, tapping my chin dramatically. "Liam Hartley."
"Liam Hartley has a girlfriend."
"You said shallow. I'm being shallow. Besides, objectively speaking, the man has excellent bone structure."
"Fair." Mia licked cheese off her thumb, then paused, her expression shifting to something more teasing. "Okay, but we both know who's actually number one on your list."
I felt heat creep up my neck. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh please. Kieran Cross. Physics genius. Mysterious past. Those eyes that look like they're seeing through to your soul." She grinned at my obvious discomfort. "Should I go on?"
"We're just... figuring things out," I admitted, the words feeling both terrifying and thrilling to say out loud. "It's... new. Intense.."
"The best things usually are." Mia's voice softened, losing its teasing edge. "But for the record? He's definitely your number one. Everyone else is just competing for second place."
I smiled, feeling warmth spread through my chest that had nothing to do with the pizza. "Okay, fine. He's number one. Happy?"
"Very. Now, controversial take incoming—" Mia straightened up with exaggerated seriousness. "Mr. Novak."
"MIA. He's our teacher."
"He's twenty-six and looks like a young Oscar Isaac! I'm not blind, Summer, I'm just also academically motivated enough to appreciate both his teaching style and his face."
I threw a cheese stick at her. She caught it mid-air and ate it without breaking eye contact, which made me laugh until my stomach hurt and I had to lie back on the pillows to catch my breath.
We demolished the entire pizza and most of the cheese sticks, talking about nothing and everything—teachers we hated, the college application process we were both dreading, whether the cafeteria's mystery meat was actually legal, if we'd still be friends after graduation when real life pulled us in different directions. The conversation flowed easy and natural, the kind of talk that only happened at night when the world felt smaller and safer.
"Of course we will," I said firmly when Mia voiced that last fear, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "You're stuck with me, Harper. No escape clause."
She grinned and leaned her head on my shoulder, her hair tickling my neck. "Promise me one thing, though."
"What?"
"If I get into Juilliard and you end up at some Ivy League school and we're on opposite coasts doing our whole ambitious-girls-conquering-the-world thing... we still do this. Pajamas, pizza, trash-talking boys who don't deserve us."
"Deal." I bumped my head gently against hers, feeling the weight of the promise settle between us. "But you have to promise to become a famous flutist so I can say I knew you when you were stealing my bra inserts."
"They're BORROWED. And I'm giving them back. Probably. Maybe. We'll see how the concert goes."