Chapter 27 Kristen
I was slumped over the study table in the lounge, a tomb of notebooks and texts around me, and I could feel every bit of the exhaustion threading through my spine. One notebook was full of half‑formed party ideas that spiraled into doodles and wishful thoughts instead of coherent plans.
Another had schoolwork buried underneath a list of things that didn’t make sense—“lights,” “food,” “guest list,” “Clarissa doesn’t approve,” “don’t invite weirdos,” all scrawled with that messy desperation that comes from trying to figure out how to throw a social event in a place that felt like it was designed to eat you alive if you so much as breathed wrong.
Anna sat across from me with a coffee that probably had three shots of something way too strong in it, eyes sparkling with enough caffeinated life to electrify a foggy morning. She kept stealing glances at my notebook like she could see the panic scrawled between the lines. I tried to highlight the logistics of space and flow, but eventually I found myself writing things that couldn’t possibly be helpful, like “do we even have enough chairs?” and “what if Clarissa shows up like a storm?” and “never underestimate the chaos of music.”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose and exhaled with a kind of defeat that felt like gravity on my chest. Party planning was supposed to be fun, right? Something people did between exams and socializing, not a massive cultural production with logistics, expectations, clusterfuck potential, and the looming threat of public humiliation. Each second that ticked by made my confidence deflate like a punctured balloon.
“Maybe we’re overthinking this,” Anna said, not looking at me exactly, more like speaking into the swirling chaos of my anxiety. Her voice was calm in a way that made my nerves stab at themselves.
I didn’t respond immediately. Instead I watched a group of students glide past, realization mirrors in their eyes, like they had someplace they fit and I had just watched them enter. I felt like a visitor in my own life. “Maybe,” I finally said, but it felt like a fragile maybe, not the sturdy kind.
Before Anna could reply, two girls appeared on the edge of the lounge, striding with that confident precision that said they weren’t here to chat. Clarissa was in the lead, three steps ahead of her entourage, posture perfect, eyes cold with calculated ease. They moved through the room like they owned the space, and even though I tried to look composed, my stomach twisted at the sight of them.
One of Clarissa’s friends smirked as they passed, eyes flicking in my direction with sharp, thin amusement.
“We cannot wait for your party,” she said with a voice that was all sweetness on the surface but the edges were coated in teeth.
I forced a smile because politeness felt like the least conspicuous approach, like armor made of politeness might deflect future embarrassment.
“Neither can I,” I said, trying not to let my voice betray how uneasy their presence made me.
Their laughter trailed behind them like a wind that didn’t quite warm you. The way they walked off, shoulders relaxed but eyes loaded with judgment, made my skin feel prickly and raw. Even now, hours after that exchange, it felt like someone had flicked a match near my confidence and watched it waver.
I looked down at my notes and my breath caught somewhere between annoyance and exhaustion. Leo had brushed me off earlier, giving me that dry encouragement that was more like a polite push than actual support. I could almost feel the echo of his voice in my head telling me I’d figure it out, that I always did. But right then it felt like figuring it out might blow up in my face.
Then he appeared again.
Caleb.
Same easy steps that somehow belonged in sunlight rather than in this fraught building. I had just adjusted the spine of my notebook when he walked past, his gaze catching mine with that warmth that still made me feel unmoored in the best possible way. He slowed just enough for the moment to stretch, not awkward, not forced, just… present.
“Hey,” he said, voice familiar and casual, like the world was a place where people smiled and talked instead of calculating social threats in their heads. “I heard you’re throwing that party?”
My pulse jerked into a rhythm I didn’t expect. I nodded, a bit stunned that someone who wasn’t Clarissa or some judgmental stranger was acknowledging the idea with genuine interest. It felt like air hitting lungs that’d been too tight for too long.
“I’ll be there,” he said easily. “Got a number I can text in case I get lost?”
My heart skipped in a way that was irritating and delightful all at once. I didn’t even think before I gave it to him, pulling my phone from the table and handing it over like it was the most natural thing in the world. His fingers brushed my wrist for a moment that should have been brief but felt cushioned with warmth and unexpected intention.
“Thanks,” he said. Then he walked off with that measured grace that made my stomach flutter and mind wander to possibilities I wasn’t sure I was ready to define.
As soon as Caleb was out of earshot, Anna leaned in, eyes wide and unreadably amused.
“Girl. What was that?” she asked, voice low enough not to attract attention but sharp enough to cut through every doubt I had.
I attempted a shrug, but the way my shoulders tensed suggested that was a lie.
“It’s nothing,” I said, lips tilting toward something that looked like denial. “He’s with Clarissa.”
Anna cocked her head, not buying it for a second. “Is he? Then why’s he asking you for your number?”
I swallowed, that knot in my chest tightening. It was true — I didn’t want drama. I believed that, honestly. I didn’t want conflict. I wanted a party that was fun, not some battlefield with social landmines. But Anna’s gaze was unrelenting, warm but incisive in the way only she could be.
“Then don’t start any,” she said, not in warning, but in truth only friends could hit you with. “But don’t ignore it either.”
Her words circled in my head after she walked off, leaving me staring at the spot where Caleb had stood. I watched him disappear into the crowd of students, tall and relaxed, like someone who didn’t carry tension in his shoulders like I did. Maybe he was just being polite. Maybe he was genuinely interested in a social event where people could laugh and live without strategy. I wanted to believe that. I tried to swallow the surge of hope that made my chest feel like it had just been dusted with sunlight.
But then Anna’s voice echoed again in my thoughts: why do men do anything?
I blinked at the floor for a moment, eyes unfocused, and let her words wash over me like a challenge rather than a tease. I recognized that tension beneath it all — the part of me that was afraid to hope, afraid to misread a kindness for something more, afraid to engage with possibility because so much about Phoenix felt like it wanted to chew me up and spit me back out as a memory I’d regret recalling.
I exhaled slowly, letting that swirl of emotions settle into something like contemplation rather than panic. My gaze drifted back to my notes, to the half‑formed plans that looked less like instructions and more like a roadmap of everything I didn’t understand about myself yet.
The party wasn’t about school. It wasn’t just about logistics. It was about stepping into something unfamiliar and letting the outcome surprise me.
Caleb’s number sat in my phone like a bright pin on a map full of dotted lines and question marks. Maybe he was polite. Maybe I was misreading it. Or maybe… maybe he just saw something I hadn’t learned to see in myself yet.
I closed my notebook and pushed it aside with a quiet, determined breath. School could wait. The party could wait. But what was happening inside me — that curiosity, that faint spark — was worth paying attention to.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to look away from it.