Chapter 11: The Morning After

Hallie woke to sunlight and the distant sound of her mother making breakfast.

For a long moment, she just lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the previous night replay behind her eyes. The party. The crowded kitchen. Seth finding her in the corner like he'd known exactly where to look. His hand in hers on that couch, warm and solid and real.

She pressed her palm to her chest, as if she could feel the echo of his fingers against her skin.

Stop it, she told herself. You're being ridiculous.

But she was smiling. A small, private smile that she couldn't seem to wipe off her face no matter how hard she tried.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Hallie reached for it without thinking, still half-lost in the memory of last night. The screen glowed with a notification she didn't recognize at first—a text from a number she hadn't saved, because why would she have saved it, they only ever talked in person or through the group chat Jasmine had created against both their wills.

Unknown Number: Last night was fun. Don't tell anyone I actually like your company ;)

Hallie stared at the message.

Read it again.

And again.

And again.

By the fifth reading, she'd memorized it. By the seventh, she'd analyzed every possible subtext—the winky face, the casual phrasing, the implication that liking her company was something to be hidden, which was either endearing or insulting depending on how she looked at it. By the tenth reading, she'd stopped analyzing entirely and just let herself feel the warmth spreading through her chest like honey.

Hallie: Who is this?

The response came immediately.

Unknown Number: You know who this is.

Hallie: I don't save numbers of people who call me Grey.

Unknown Number: You should. Also, ouch. I'm wounded.

Hallie: You'll survive.

Unknown Number: Barely. So?? Last night?? Thoughts??

Hallie bit her lip, considering her response. The truth was too much, too vulnerable, too honest. But the thought of deflecting, of hiding behind sarcasm the way she usually did, felt wrong somehow. After last night—after his hand in hers, after the way he'd looked at her like she was the only person in that crowded room—she owed him something real.

Hallie: Last night was good. Really good.

Unknown Number: "Good." High praise from you.

Hallie: I'm capable of enthusiasm. I just save it for special occasions.

Unknown Number: And last night was a special occasion?

Hallie: ...maybe.

Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Seth was typing, stopping, typing again. Hallie watched the screen with a mixture of anticipation and terror, her heart doing that annoying flipping thing it had been doing a lot lately.

Unknown Number: Same time next Saturday? Coffee shop? Our usual?

Hallie: That's three questions.

Unknown Number: Answer whichever you want.

Hallie considered. Considered playing hard to get, the way she'd seen other girls do in the hallways, the way the movies said you were supposed to act when someone liked you. But she'd never been good at games, and with Seth, she didn't want to be.

Hallie: Yes. Yes. And yes.

Unknown Number: :D

Hallie stared at the emoticon—a grinning face, enthusiastic and slightly ridiculous—and felt her own face break into a smile so wide it actually hurt.

"Hallie? Breakfast!"

Her mother's voice floated up the stairs, pulling her back to reality. Hallie looked at the clock. 9:47 AM. She'd slept later than she had in months, and she couldn't even be mad about it.

Hallie: I have to go. Breakfast.

Unknown Number: Go. Eat. Be nourished. But save me a seat at the coffee shop next Saturday.

Hallie: I'll think about it.

Unknown Number: You're impossible.

Hallie: So you've mentioned.

She set the phone down, still smiling, and headed downstairs in a daze.

________________________________________

Her mother was at the stove, flipping pancakes with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd been making Sunday breakfast for seventeen years. She glanced up when Hallie entered the kitchen and immediately stopped what she was doing.

"What?"

"What, what?" Hallie slid into her usual chair at the table, reaching for the orange juice.

"You're smiling."

"I smile."

"You usually make a face that is something around smiling. This is different." Her mother's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "This is a boy smile."

Hallie choked on her orange juice. "I don't have a boy smile."

"You absolutely have a boy smile. I haven't seen it since—" Her mother paused, thinking. "Actually, I don't think I've ever seen it. Who is he?"

"No one."

"The smile says otherwise."

Hallie pressed her lips together, trying to physically contain her expression. It didn't work. The smile kept trying to escape, tugging at the corners of her mouth like it had a mind of its own.

"There's no one," she insisted. "I went to a party last night. That's all."

Her mother set a plate of pancakes in front of her, her expression caught between amusement and concern. "You went to a party? Willingly?"

"Jasmine dragged me."

"Ah. That explains the location, but not the smile." She sat down across from Hallie, coffee cup in hand, settling in for what was clearly going to be an interrogation. "Tell me about the party."

"There's nothing to tell. It was loud. There were people. I left."

"And yet you came home smiling."

Hallie stabbed a pancake with unnecessary force. "Can we please talk about something else?"

"We could talk about why you're avoiding the question."

"I'm not avoiding—" She stopped, sighed. "There was a boy. Sort of. Kind of. It's nothing."

Her mother's eyebrows rose. "Nothing that requires 'sort of' and 'kind of' in the same sentence is definitely something. Who is he?"

Hallie weighed her options. Deflection would only make her mother more curious. Complete honesty would lead to questions she wasn't ready to answer. A carefully edited version of the truth was probably her best bet.

"He's someone I tutor. In math and English. His name is Seth."

"The football player?"

Hallie blinked. "How do you know about him?"

"Honey, I work at the grocery store. I know everyone." Her mother's expression softened. "He seems like a nice boy. Comes in with his father sometimes. Always polite."

"He is. Nice, I mean." Hallie poked at her pancakes. "We're just... friends. I think."

"You think?"

"I don't know what we are. We talk. We hang out. Last night he—" She stopped, heat creeping up her neck.

"He what?"

"Nothing. He just... stayed with me. The whole night. Even when other people wanted to talk to him, he stayed." She looked up, meeting her mother's eyes. "No one's ever done that before. Chosen me, I mean. When there were other options."

Her mother was quiet for a long moment, her expression shifting through several emotions Hallie couldn't quite name. Then she reached across the table and covered Hallie's hand with her own.

"You're worth choosing," she said simply. "Don't ever doubt that."

Hallie felt something tight in her chest loosen, just slightly. "Thanks, Mom."

"Now eat your pancakes. And next time this Seth person does something sweet, you tell me about it immediately. I've been waiting seventeen years for you to have a normal teenage experience, and I'm not missing a single moment."

Hallie laughed—a real laugh, the kind that came from somewhere deep. "I'll try to remember."

"You'd better."

________________________________________

Back in her room, Hallie found her phone glowing with new messages.

Seth: Did you survive breakfast?

Seth: Or did your family interrogate you about last night?

Seth: My mom definitely interrogated me.

Seth: I may have implied that I like you.

Seth: I definitely implied that I like you.

Seth: She's already planning the wedding.

Seth: Help.

Hallie laughed out loud, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.

Hallie: Your mom is planning a wedding?

Seth: She's picked out a venue. It's a barn. She's very excited about the rustic charm.

Hallie: We're not even dating.

Seth: Tell that to my mother. She's already decided we're soulmates.

Hallie: Soulmates?

Seth: Her words, not mine. I'm just the messenger.

Hallie stared at the message, her heart doing complicated things in her chest. Soulmates. It was a ridiculous word, the kind of thing that belonged in romance novels and bad movies, not real life. Not her life.

And yet.

Hallie: Your mom sounds nice.

Seth: She's embarrassing. But yeah, she's nice. You'd like her.

Hallie: Would I?

Seth: She's obsessed with fashion design. Used to make all my clothes when I was a kid. She'd lose her mind over your sketches.

Hallie felt something warm bloom behind her ribs. The idea of showing her sketches to someone else—someone who actually knew about fashion, who might have real opinions instead of just polite encouragement—was terrifying. But the way Seth said it, like it was inevitable, like she'd eventually meet his family because of course she would...

Hallie: Maybe someday.

Seth: Yeah?

Hallie: Maybe.

Seth: I'm going to hold you to that.

They texted for another hour—about nothing, about everything, about the way his mom burned toast every single time she made breakfast and the way Hallie's dad still called the internet "the world wide web." By the time the conversation finally wound down, Hallie's thumbs were sore and her face hurt from smiling.

Seth: I should probably do homework at some point.

Hallie: Probably.

Seth: But I don't want to.

Hallie: That's how homework works.

Seth: You're so helpful.

Hallie: I try.

Seth: Same time Monday? Library?

Hallie: Same time Monday.

Seth: Good. I'll count the hours.

Hallie: Dramatic.

Seth: You bring out the drama in me. Later, Grey.

Hallie: Later, Seth.

She set the phone down and stared at the ceiling, still smiling. Her room felt different somehow—brighter, warmer, like someone had opened a window she hadn't known was closed.

On her desk, her sketchbook sat open to the last page she'd worked on. The gown she'd been designing for weeks, the one with the asymmetric neckline and the back that was almost entirely open. She picked up her pencil and started working on it again, but her mind kept drifting—to the party, to the couch, to the feeling of Seth's hand in hers.

Without quite meaning to, she started sketching something else. A face. His face. The shape of his jaw, the way his hair fell across his forehead, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes when he smiled his real smile.

When she finished, she looked at the drawing for a long moment. Then she tore it out carefully, folded it into a small square, and tucked it in the back of her desk drawer with the others.

Evidence. That's what this was. Evidence that something was happening, something she couldn't control or predict or rationalize away.

Her phone buzzed one last time.

Seth: Hey, Grey?

Hallie: Yeah?

Seth: I'm really glad you came last night.

Hallie: Me too.

Seth: :)

Hallie looked at the simple smiley face—no winking, no jokes, just genuine happiness—and felt her own smile widen in response.

She was in trouble.

Real, genuine, can't-pretend-this-isn't-happening trouble.

And for the first time in her life, she didn't want to run from it.