Chapter 18 Three Years Before
3 years before Penny
The morning smells like coffee, syrup, and way too much cologne.
People are scattered around the dining hall in sweatpants and hoodies, eating whatever’s left from the breakfast spread — pancakes, eggs, cereal, and someone’s failed attempt at bacon. The light pouring through the windows makes the whole place glow gold and sleepy.
I’m sitting with Nate, Caleb, and a few others, half-awake, when Ryan drops his fork like he’s just discovered gravity.
“Okay, serious talk,” he says, pointing it at us for emphasis. “Girls need to lower their expectations when it comes to height.”
Nate groans. “Oh no.”
“Here we go,” Caleb mutters, rubbing his face.
Ryan sits up straighter, clearly gearing up for one of his TED Talks. “I’m five-eight, okay? Five-eight. That’s taller than, like, seventy percent of girls. Statistically speaking, I should be fine.”
“Statistically speaking,” Nate interrupts, “you sound insecure as hell.”
Ryan ignores him completely, waving his hands like he’s conducting an orchestra. “But no. Every girl I talk to wants some six-foot-four Viking dude who can reach the top shelf and bench press a car. Meanwhile, the rest of us average kings are out here just trying to live.”
Caleb snorts. “Average kings?”
“Don’t laugh,” Ryan shoots back. “It’s real. I saw a whole thing about it on TikTok.”
I choke on my orange juice. “Oh yeah, ‘scientific research by TikTok.’ That’s legit.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Easy for you to say. You’re what—six foot? Eighteen and already built like a damn superhero.”
I laugh so hard I almost spill my drink. “I’m not a superhero, man.”
“Exactly what a superhero would say,” Nate mumbles.
Ryan throws his hands up. “See? This is what I mean! You tall guys don’t get it. You can reach things. People just…respect you more automatically. You probably get better lighting in pictures too!”
“Better lighting?” Caleb wheezes.
“I’m serious!” Ryan insists, slapping the table. “Shorter guys get all the bad angles!”
Now everyone’s laughing, including people at nearby tables who’ve caught wind of the rant. Jemma glances over from across the room, her curls tied back, smiling at the chaos.
“Ryan,” I manage between laughs, “you’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah, well,” he says, stabbing his pancakes, “ridiculous and five-eight.”
“Tragic combination,” Nate says.
“Shut up, both of you,” Ryan mutters, but even he’s smiling now.
The laughter rolls on, loud and bright, the kind that makes your stomach hurt. The kind that feels like youth and sunlight and everything good before life gets complicated again.
Jemma shows up halfway through Ryan’s meltdown, carrying a plate stacked with pancakes and the kind of smile that could make a bad day good again. She slides right into the seat next to him like she’s been part of the group forever, and it hits me how natural she looks here—like she belongs.
She’s got someone with her too. Her friend. Olive, if I remember right. She’s shorter than Jemma, hair pulled up, a kind of quiet mischief in her eyes. She drops into the seat next to me, stealing one of my strawberries before even saying hi.
“What’s all this chaos about?” Jemma asks, glancing around the table where everyone’s still half-laughing, half-arguing.
I grin, leaning forward on my elbows. “Ryan’s giving a whole speech about how girls should lower their standards for guys’ height.”
“It’s not a speech,” Ryan says, jabbing his fork in my direction. “It’s a movement.”
Olive tilts her head, pretending to look thoughtful. “Awww, you poor thing,” she says sweetly. “I happen to like a short king.”
The table loses it. Nate nearly chokes on his toast. Caleb bangs his hand on the table. Jemma’s laugh rings out over everyone else’s, bright and unfiltered.
Ryan looks betrayed. “You’re all laughing, but she gets it! She gets it!”
Jemma wipes tears from her eyes. “No, no, Ryan—you’re right. I mean, shorter guys are so useful. You’re right there to tie our shoes.”
I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts. Ryan throws his napkin down like he’s officially done with all of us.
“You’re all assholes,” he mutters, but there’s a grin threatening to break through.
“You love us,” Nate says.
Olive rests her chin on her hand, smiling at Ryan. “Seriously though,” she says, tone softer now, “I wasn’t just teasing. I like guys under six foot.”
That shuts him up fast. Ryan blinks, trying to look chill but turning pink anyway.
Across the table, Jemma mouths oh my God at me, grinning so wide she can barely keep it in. I bite back a laugh and glance at Olive just in time to catch her winking at him.
Well, damn. Maybe she really does like short kings.
Ryan clears his throat, pretending to focus on his food again, but his whole face gives him away. Jemma nudges me under the table, and I shake my head, still laughing.
About half an hour later, when everyone’s finally stopped laughing long enough to eat what’s left of breakfast, a few girls from the cheer squad stand up on a bench and start clapping their hands to get our attention.
“Okay seniors!” one of them calls out, voice full of that cheer captain authority that makes everyone turn whether they want to or not. “We organized a whole day of activities for you losers, so get dressed in sports clothes and meet us outside in twenty!”
The room erupts—people cheering, clapping, a few dramatic groans mixed in. I glance around our table, and everyone looks equally curious and suspicious.
“Activities?” Caleb says, eyebrows up. “That sounds… intentionally vague.”
“Yeah,” Nate says, smirking. “Could be anything from dodgeball to emotional trauma.”
Jemma laughs, leaning closer to me. “Either way, I’m winning.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You don’t even know what it is yet.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she says, grinning. “Winning’s a mindset.”
Ryan groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Please tell me it’s not one of those team-building things where we have to hold hands and share our feelings.”
“Don’t worry,” Nate says, completely deadpan. “I’m sure they’ll have short-people activities too.”
That earns a roar of laughter. Caleb practically spits his drink out. Even Jemma’s snorting into her napkin.
Ryan just stares at him in pure betrayal. “You know what, Nate? One day, when I’m rich and famous, you’re not getting a cent.”
“Cool,” Nate says, grinning. “I’ll just reach the top shelf myself.”
The table dissolves into chaos again, laughter spilling out loud enough that a few people turn to stare. I can’t stop smiling—none of us can.
Outside, the air looks bright and warm through the windows, the lake glinting in the distance. Whatever those cheer girls have planned, it can’t be that bad.
And if it is, at least we’ll be miserable together.