Moving?

Kailee Bennett

I was one more box away from screaming.

"Kailee, could you at least pretend to be excited?" my mom asked, too chipper for someone forcing her only daughter to pack up her entire life on a two-day notice.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I stuffed my favorite hoodie into the last box with a little more aggression than necessary.

She sighed. “This is good. Greg is a wonderful man, he’ll be good for us. And his son—”

“I don’t care about his son,” I snapped. “I don’t want to move into some stranger’s house like I’m a puzzle piece that magically fits into your new life.”

Her smile faltered. “It’s not like that.”

It felt like that. Like I was being traded in for some shinier family model. I hadn’t even met Greg. And now we were moving in with him... and his son. Whoever he was.

"Why can't I just stay here?" I asked.

"Because it's time to move forward," she said softly. "For both of us."

I didn’t respond. Because if I did, I might cry. And crying in front of her right now would feel like surrender.

As soon as she left the room, I flopped onto my bed and called Charlotte.

“Please tell me you’re coming to rescue me.”

“Oh, I’m not just coming,” Charlotte said. “I’m kidnapping you. Party tonight. Chill crowd. Music. And your boy’s gonna be there.”

I sat up. “My boy?”

Charlotte grinned through the phone. “Noah.”

Just hearing his name made my stomach flutter. Tall. Clean-cut. Captain of the swim team. The kind of guy who smiled at everyone, but had never once looked at me. I had been silently crushing on him since the fifth grade and Charlotte knew it.

“I don’t know...” I mumbled.

“Come on, Kai. You’ve been locked in your house all week stressing about this move. You need one good night before you become the girl with a mystery stepbrother and a step father.”

Ugh. She had a point.

“Fine,” I sighed. “But if I humiliate myself, I’m blaming you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said. “Now put on something cute. You want effortless.”

“Effortless doesn’t come in plus-size,” I muttered.

Charlotte’s voice hardened. “You’re beautiful. Now put on those ripped jeans that make your hips look like poetry and let’s go. I’ll be there in five minutes to pick you up.”

Twenty minutes later, I found myself walking into the house party with Charlotte by my side.

The party wasn’t huge, but it was crowded enough that I immediately regretted agreeing to come.

I knew it was just in my head, but it felt like everyone was looking at me. Not because I looked beautiful. Hell no.

I felt they were staring at me because I was twice the size of anyone in the room.

I wasn’t the kind of girl guys stared at. I was the girl they dared to prank.

The one whose name floated around with giggles and cruel whispers. The fat girl.

We slipped into the living room, and Charlotte gave me the look. The He’s Here look.

I followed her eyes. Noah. He was in the kitchen — solo, finally. He was sipping from a red cup, scrolling his phone. Leaning against the counter, arms crossed like he had no idea how flawless he looked.

“I’m gonna die,” I whispered.

“Not tonight you’re not,” Charlotte whispered back. She shoved me gently. “Go. Say hi.”

I could do this. Just walk over. Say something casual.

Something like “Hey, is that Chemistry homework killing you too?”

Simple.

I took a step.

Then another.

Then—he looked up. Our eyes met.

My throat closed. My knees forgot how to move.

I froze like a malfunctioning robot, opened my mouth... and nothing came out.

Instead of words, I gave him a weird smile-panic hybrid, spun around, and walked straight out the door like I was fleeing a murder scene.

I muttered a curse under my breath—and walked right into something hard.

No—someone hard. I blinked up at him.

A strong chest. A black hoodie. A very judgmental smirk. A sharp scent hit me first — cologne, leather... and smoke.

He barely flinched.

“Damn,” he said. “That bad, huh?”

I looked up into the smuggest face I’d ever seen.

Lip ring. Cigarette dangling from two fingers. Hood up. Eyes too pretty to belong to a jerk.

He was tall. Broad shoulders.

A tattoo peeked out from under his sleeve. Sharp jawline. Arrogance in human form.

“Excuse me?” I said, trying to brush past him.

He glanced back toward the house. “You were aiming for him, weren’t you?” His gaze flicked back to me. “Tall, charming, good-hair golden boy?”

I felt my face flush.

He took a long drag of his cigarette — slow, theatrical.

“I mean,” he said, exhaling smoke directly into my face, “that was one hell of a crash-and-burn back there.”

I coughed, swatting at the air. “Are you serious right now?”

I stepped back. “What is wrong with you?”

My chest burned. Not from the smoke — from rage.

He shrugged. “Nothing. Just wondering if you always sprint away from guys mid-stare, or if this was a special occasion.”

“Were you seriously watching me?”

“Hard not to, sweetheart. You flailed like a flightless bird.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re adorable when you’re mad.”

I stared at him. “Wow. I didn’t realize human garbage could flirt.”

He tilted his head. “That was flirting? Huh. Thought I was just being honest.”

I shoved past him, full fury now. “Go to hell.”

“I’ll save you a seat.”

I walked away, cheeks burning, heart racing.

“God, you’re a jerk.”

Whoever that cocky jerk was… I hated him.

And thank God I’d never have to see him again.