003.

MIA ♥

I slammed the front door shut behind me—okay, not slammed, more like closed it with a little extra force.

The bus ride home had been a nightmare all because of the kid beside me that was blasting TikToks without headphones. 

My backpack also felt like it weighed a ton. I kicked off my sneakers in the entryway, already dreaming about collapsing on my bed and reading a romance novel until dinner.

But as I padded toward the kitchen, something immediately felt off. 

Mom and Dad were both there, which was weird enough—Dad usually didn't get home from work until six, and Mom was always buried in her home office emails this time of day. 

They were standing by the kitchen island, whispering like conspirators, and when they heard my footsteps, they spun around with these massive, identical grins.

Mom's eyes were sparkling, and Dad had that proud-dad glow he usually reserved for when his football team won.

Uh-oh. Did something happen...? 

My brain immediately jumped to worst-case scenarios: Oh god—did they find my secret stash of junk food under the bed? Or go through my novel smut stash?

I mean, they wouldn't be this happy about something like that...

"Hey, sweetie!" Mom chirped, way too enthusiastically, waving me over like she'd just won the lottery. "How was school? Come here, come here—we've got news!"

I froze in the doorway, eyeing them suspiciously. "Uh... school was fine? What's with the faces? You both look like you just robbed a bank and got away with it."

Dad chuckled, looking like he was trying not to explode with excitement. "Better than that, kiddo. Way better. Sit down—actually, no, stand there. We want to see your reaction."

My heart started pounding. I dropped my backpack on the floor with a thud and crossed my arms. "Okay, you're freaking me out. Spill."

Mom laughed, clapping her hands together. She grabbed a piece of paper from the counter and thrust it toward me. "Read this. Out loud. We already did, but we want to hear it again through you."

I took it, scanning the header. Harvard? My stomach flipped. 

"Wait, is this...?" I started reading, my voice shaky at first. "Subject: Harvard Future Innovators Scholarship – Finalist Notification. Dear Mia Harper,"—oh my god, that's my name—"We are pleased to inform you that after careful review of thousands of applications worldwide, you have been selected as one of the few high school students under consideration for the Harvard Future Innovators Full Scholarship Program."

I paused, my eyes widening. No way. No freaking way.

"Keep going!" Dad urged, bouncing on his toes like a kid. "This is the good part!"

"Your achievements in scientific innovation and academic excellence have distinguished you among your peers," I continued, my voice getting louder with each word. 

"You are hereby invited to proceed to the final evaluation stage, including interviews and project presentation. Congratulations on this remarkable accomplishment. Sincerely, Office of Undergraduate Admissions, Harvard University."

I stared at the paper, then back at them, my brain short-circuiting. "This... this is real? Like, I'm a finalist?"

Mom squealed—actually squealed—and lunged forward, pulling me into a bone-crushing hug. "Yes! It's real! We checked the sender, called the admissions office—and everything! Oh, Mia, we're so proud of you! My baby girl, a Harvard scholarship finalist!"

Dad wrapped his arms around both of us in this awkward family sandwich hug. "Proud doesn't even cover it, kid. You're a genius! That robot arm project you did for the science fair? All that late-night studying? It paid off! Harvard, Mia! Freaking Harvard!"

I laughed, half in shock, half in pure joy, hugging them back as tight as I could. 

Happy tears pricked my eyes. "Oh my god, guys! I can't believe it! I applied on a whim—I didn't think I'd even make the first cut! Thousands of applications? And they picked me?"

"You bet they did," Dad said, pulling back but keeping his hands on my shoulders, beaming like I'd just cured cancer. "Because my daughter is brilliant. Innovative. All those big words they used. You're going places, Mia. Big places."

Mom wiped her eyes, still grinning ear to ear. "We knew you had it in you."

"I... yeah, wow. I mean, thank you—for believing in me." I was babbling now, the excitement bubbling over. 

"This is insane! Harvard! Full scholarship? Do you know what that means? No loans, no debt—actual freedom to study what I love!"

"Exactly!" Dad pumped his fist. "We're celebrating tonight. Your mom's already on it."

Mom nodded enthusiastically. "Speaking of which—I invited a few neighbors over. You know, the Coles, the Patels, maybe the Johnsons. Nothing huge, just pizza, cake, some sparkling cider. We have to share this joy!"

I blinked. "The Coles? As in... Ethan's family? Mom, no—"

She waved me off. "Oh, come on, sweetie. We've been neighbors forever. Mrs. Cole is thrilled—she texted back right away. It'll be fine. Ethan's probably at practice anyway."

Ugh. Ethan. 

The last thing I needed was him crashing my moment. But whatever—nothing could ruin this high. 

"Fine, fine. As long as he doesn't show up and ruin the vibe."

Dad chuckled. "That's the spirit. Now, go take a shower. We'll set everything up down here. Be back in twenty?"

"Sure," I said, bounding up the stairs two at a time. My mind was racing: Harvard. Finalist. Me.

As I hit the top of the stairs, I heard Mom call after me: "And wear something nice! This is your night!"

I yelled back, "Got it! Love you guys!"

"Love you more!" they chorused.

I shut my bedroom door and flopped onto the bed for a second, staring at the email again. 

Holy crap. This was happening. For once, life was throwing me a win. A massive, life-changing win.

This is the best day of my life.

*...*...*...*...*...*

ETHAN ♠ 

This is the worst day of my life.

I’m sprawled on my bed with my controller in hand, mid-match in Valorant, when Mom bursts through my door without knocking.

“Ethan! Get up, change your shirt. We’re going next door in ten.”

I don’t even look away from the screen. “Pass. I’ve got plans.”

She plants her hands on her hips and glares at me. 

“Plans? You mean sitting in this dark cave smelling like shit? No. We’re celebrating with the Harpers. Mia got some huge Harvard scholarship news. They’re having people over.”

I snort. “Cool for her. Still not going.”

“Ethan James Cole.” Her voice drops into that low tone. “You will put on a clean shirt, brush your hair, and you will come with us. Or you can spend the next two weeks grounded—no phone, no console, and no leaving this house except for school.”

I finally pause the game and swivel the chair to face her. “That’s not fair.”

“Are you coming or not?”

I stare at her. She stares back. 

I groan reluctantly. “Fine. But I’m not staying long. And I’m not talking to her.”

Mom rolls her eyes. “You two have been neighbors since kindergarten. You can manage basic politeness for thirty minutes.”

“Yeah, well, she’s insufferable. Always has been.”

“Mm-hmm. And yet somehow she’s going to Harvard while you’re barely scraping Cs in AP Chem. Funny how that works.”

I feel my jaw tighten.

She softens just a fraction. “Look. Mia’s parents have always been good to us. You guys even used to be friends. This is a big deal for them. For her. Just… show up, smile, eat some pizza, and don’t be a jerk. That’s all I’m asking.”

I mutter something unintelligible that might’ve included the word “whatever.”

She points at my closet. “Clean shirt. Now.”

Ten minutes later I’m waiting by the Harper's door behind her and Dad.

Mom rings the doorbell. I shove my hands in my pockets and stare at my sneakers.

The door flies open. And I can hardly believe my eyes.

Mia is wearing this deep purple dress that's just above her knees, fitted everywhere that matters, and—Jesus Christ—her boobs are practically about to spill out. 

The neckline isn’t even that low, but the way the fabric hugs and lifts her breasts… it’s criminal. 

My brain stops working for a solid three seconds.

She’s got her brown hair down in loose waves, and she’s smiling.

Her hazel eyes land on me last.

“Hi, Mrs. Cole, Mr. Cole,” she says brightly, stepping aside. “Come in! Everyone’s in the living room.”

Mom sweeps in with joyful enthusiasm. “Mia, sweetheart! Look at you! You’re glowing! And congratulations—Harvard! We’re so proud!”

Mia blushes and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you. It’s… still sinking in.”

Dad claps her on the shoulder. “You're gonna be running the world someday, kid.”

I hang back in the doorway with my arms crossed.

Mia’s gaze slides to me again.

“Ethan,” she says politely. 

“Mia,” I return with the same tone.

Awkward silence stretches for half a second before Mom elbows me in the ribs.

I clear my throat. “Uh. Congrats. On… the thing.”

She raises an eyebrow. “The thing.”

“The Harvard thing. Yeah.”

She studies me like she’s trying to decide if I’m being sarcastic. “Thanks. I think.”

Mom beams like we just exchanged friendship bracelets. “See? Was that so hard?”

Mia’s mom calls from the kitchen—“Mia, honey, can you grab the extra napkins?”—and Mia turns, giving me an unintentional view of her back and the way the fabric clings to her waist before she disappears around the corner.

I exhale through my nose. Fuck, I pray to God that I don't get a boner in front of my parents.

Dad nudges me toward the living room. “Come on, grumpy. Pizza’s calling.”

The next twenty minutes are torture.

Neighbors are everywhere and everyone's gushing over Mia like she just won the Nobel Prize instead of a scholarship interview slot. 

I grab a slice of pepperoni and lean against the wall near the stairs.

With everyone occupied, I slip toward the hallway like I’m heading for the bathroom, but keep going up the stairs.

I tell myself I’m just looking for a quieter spot to scroll on my phone. That’s all.

Her bedroom door is cracked open, light spilling into the hall. I push it wider and step inside.

Jesus.

I didn't realize how much she liked the color purple. There's literally purple everywhere.

The room smells like her—a warm vanilla floral scent. It’s everywhere and—fuck—my dick twitches hard in my jeans before I can stop it.

I swallow.

I shouldn’t be here. But, I’m already moving deeper into the room anyway.

Her desk is tidy but occupied. A couple textbooks stacked. A half-empty water bottle with a purple silicone sleeve. 

And right in the middle, face-down but open, a paperback novel. The spine’s creased like it’s been read a hundred times. 

I flip it over without thinking.

It's probably some romance novel. I open to where the bookmark is.

My eyes scan the lines.

“…rough fingertips dragging over sensitive skin until he found her already soaked. She gasped when he pushed two fingers inside her without warning. ‘So fucking wet for me,’ he growled against her throat, pumping slowly, letting her feel every inch of his fingers stretching her open…”

My mouth goes dry. My pulse is suddenly loud in my ears.

I read the next paragraph. Then the next.

She’s reading this shit. Regularly enough to leave it open on her desk.

Sweet, perfect, Harvard-bound Mia Harper reads filthy fingering scenes.

A low laugh slips out of me before I can catch it.

“Dirty little Mia,” I murmur under my breath when the door slams open behind me.

I spin so fast I almost drop the book.

Mia stands there with her eyes wide, her cheeks already flushing crimson.

“What the hell are you doing in my room?!”

Her voice is sharp, but it cracks at the end—like she’s trying to sound furious but mostly just sounds shocked.

I raise both hands, the book still dangling from my fingers.

“Relax. I was just—”

“You were just what?” She steps inside and kicks the door shut behind her. “Going through my stuff? In my room? Without asking?”

I glance down at the open pages, then back at her. I can’t help the slow smirk that pulls at my mouth.

“Didn’t know you were into this kind of stuff, Harper.”

Her face goes from pink to full-on scarlet. 

She lunges forward and snatches the book out of my hand.

“Get out.”

I don’t move.

Instead I take one step closer. Just enough that she has to tilt her head up to glare at me.

“You left it open,” I say, voice low. “On a pretty detailed scene. It was hard not to be curious.”

“This is trespassing” She scoffs, but her breathing is faster now. 

“Maybe.” I shrug. “But you don't seem to really mind.”

Her eyes narrow. “I'm processing the fact that my asshole neighbor is apparently a creep who sneaks into girls’ rooms.”

“Only the ones who read books about guys finger-fucking them until they beg.”

She sucks in a breath. Her grip on the book tightens so hard her knuckles go white.

“Shut up.”

I lean in. 

“Make me.”