Speech glitch

Mrs. Adams looked like she was about to spit actual fire.

Her face turned a bright, ugly shade of red, and her diamond earrings shook as she glared down from the VIP section. But before she could march over and cause a scene, the media descended.

Flash! Flash! Flash!

Microphones were shoved into our faces so fast it looked like a forest of black sticks. Cameras clicked like angry bugs. The reporters didn't care about the game anymore; they cared about the ultimate plot twist.

"Aaron!" a reporter from the student newspaper shouted, waving a notepad. "Why did you give your MVP trophy to Roonie? Everyone thought you were going to keep it!"

"Yeah!" another reporter yelled over the noise. "Rumor has it Roonie is just your backup! What's the deal?"

I stood there frozen under Aaron's arm, my heart pounding against my ribs. I looked up at Aaron's face. For a split second,so fast that the blinding camera flashes didn't catch it,Aaron's dark eyes flicked away from the press and straight up toward his mother.

His jaw locked tight. It was a look of pure, icy hatred. But it vanished just as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual cocky smirk.

Aaron leaned into the microphone.

"Roonie deserved that trophy more than I did," Aaron said smoothly, his voice echoing across the packed stadium. "While I was busy winning girls and breaking hearts, Roonie was living in the gym, sweating through extra drills. It has always been his dream to win this national trophy for St. Augustine, even if it's happening in our final year."

The crowd quieted down, listening closely.

"Besides," Aaron continued, a soft, almost genuine smile touching his lips, "the person in this duo with a real NBA career ahead of him is Roonie, not me. I'm just here for the fun. I hope he gets drafted and lives out his dream soon."

A wave of murmurs rippled through the student section. It was actually a really sweet thing to say. But before the crowd could finish cheering, another reporter pushed to the front.

"Wait, Aaron! Do you think your parents will be happy with that decision?" the reporter asked loudly. "And aren't you worried it will make things weird with Roonie? Like, won't he feel awkward taking the spotlight from the star player?"

Aaron didn't even blink. He answered in a sweet, dripping-honey voice that sounded totally innocent, though I knew better.

"My mother is right here today," Aaron said, turning his head toward the VIP box and flashing a blinding, fake smile up at Mrs. Adams. "And I'm certain that if she didn't want it to happen, she'd have objected by now, right Mom?"

Mrs. Adams looked like she had just swallowed a lemon. She crossed her arms so hard her knuckles turned white.

"And about my relationship with my peers," Aaron went on, looking back at the reporter. "We're in our penultimate year already. All I wanted was for my homie Roonie to shine and feel seen. If anything, I'm sure our friendship is stronger than ever."

"That's beautiful, Aaron, but what about—"

Before the reporter could finish his next question, the crowd parted sharply.

Click-clack, click-clack.

Heels clicked hard against the hardwood floor. Everyone turned to look. Emilian Francis was marching right toward us.

She wasn't crying anymore. The tears were gone, wiped away, and replaced by a terrifying, smug grin that stretched from ear to ear. Her cheerleader skirt swished around her thighs as she stormed past the reporters, reaching out and literally snatching the microphone right out of the reporter's hand.

"Excuse me," Emilian snapped into the mic, her voice ringing clear across the stadium.

She turned her dark, hateful eyes away from me and locked them onto Aaron. Her smile was sharp enough to cut glass.

"That's a very nice speech, Aaron," Emilian said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Truly. But I think you're getting a little confused in all the excitement. Why don't you check your phone right now?"

The stadium went dead silent. You could hear a pin drop from the top bleachers all the way down to the court.

Aaron didn't move. His arm stayed wrapped around my waist, but his dark eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about, Emilian?"

"Check. Your. Phone," she repeated, holding her own glowing screen up high for the cameras to see. "Because I think you made a little mistake with your introduction just now. Unless you forgot who you were texting all morning while you were dragging this nobody into the locker room."

My stomach dropped straight down to my shoes.

My breath caught in my throat. No. What was she talking about? What did she have?

Aaron slowly let go of my waist. He pulled his phone out of his gym shorts pocket. He tapped the screen, unlocked it, and glanced down at a message.

Whatever he read in that brief second, his face completely changed. The cocky, untouchable playboy expression vanished, replaced by a cold, blank mask.

"Aaron?" I whispered, my voice shaking as I looked up at him. "What is she talking about?"

Aaron didn't look at me. He slowly raised his head, stepping away from me just an inch,a distance that felt like a mile.

He lifted the microphone back to his mouth.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Aaron's voice boomed out, but it didn't sound warm anymore. It sounded flat, hollow, and completely robotic. "I... I need to correct a mistake I made a moment ago."

My legs started to shake. The hardwood floor felt like it was melting under my sneakers.

"I misspoke," Aaron said, his eyes staring straight ahead, refusing to look down at me. "Jessica Conway is... she's not my girlfriend. It was a joke. A stupid joke between friends."

Gasps erupted across the stadium like popping firecrackers.

"My real girlfriend," Aaron continued, his voice tight, "has always been Emilian Francis. I'm sorry for the confusion."

Before I could even process the words,before my brain could even understand the nightmare happening in real time,Emilian stepped forward with a triumphant screech of joy. She threw her arms around Aaron's neck.

And right there, in front of cheering university students, under the blinding stadium lights, with cameras flashing a million pictures a second...

Aaron leaned down and kissed her.

He actually kissed her.

It wasn't a quick peck. It was a deep, public, undeniable kiss that sealed the lie and burned it into the history books of St. Augustine University.

The stadium exploded into wild cheers, thinking it was some kind of romantic movie plot twist. But standing right there beside them, I felt like I had been stabbed straight through the chest.

I was too stunned to even speak. My mouth opened, but no sound came out. My legs turned to absolute jelly, shaking so hard I could barely keep my balance.

The humiliation rushed over me in a massive, freezing tidal wave. It was a million times worse than the pink paint. It was a million times worse than the raw eggs. He had used me to make a point, used me to humiliate his mother, used me to play a game, and then tossed me away like trash the second Emilian flashed a screen in his face.

He played me.

He played me right in front of the whole school, making me look like a delusional, pathetic clown who thought the school's golden boy actually wanted her.

Tears burned hot behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn't give them that satisfaction. I wouldn't let Emilian see me cry, and I sure as hell wouldn't let Aaron see me break.

With a trembling breath, I pulled my shoulders back. I dropped my head down, hiding my face under the shadow of my black hoodie, and started walking.

I didn't run. Running meant I was scared. I just walked as quietly, as steadily as I possibly could, away from the blinding spotlight, away from the screaming crowd, and away from the two people standing in the center of the court.

"Jess!"

I heard Isabella's voice screaming my name from the stands, her heavy footsteps thudding down the metal bleacher stairs as she rushed to meet me.

I kept my head bowed, my fists clenched so tight inside my hoodie pockets that my fingernails drew blood from my palms.

Every step felt like walking through broken glass. The whispers of the students parted around me like a toxic cloud. “Isn't that the girl he just introduced?” “What a weird joke.” “Look at her, she looks like a mess.”

I swallowed the massive lump of glass stuck in my throat, tasting copper and salt.

You just made a greater enemy, Adams, I thought to myself, the ice in my veins turning into pure, freezing liquid nitrogen.

Youthink you can use me as a pawn in your rich-kid games and throw me away like dirt?

Game on, you arrogant son of a bitch.

I finally reached the edge of the court tunnel, stepping out of the glaring lights and into the cool, dark shadows where Isabella was waiting with wide, furious eyes.

"Jess..." Isabella breathed, grabbing my shoulders, her face twisted in rage. "Jess, I am going to kill him. I am going to find a knife and.."

"No," I whispered, my voice sounding completely dead.

“Let's leave.”