Chapter Three

Riley’s Pov

If everything that happened last night was a performance, I might have rated it as the worst play of the year. And the fact that I had willingly cast myself in it? Embarrassing. Mortifying. What was I even thinking—doing something like that completely sober?

Despite the disaster, a stubborn part of me still hoped I had made it past the first round of the audition. That hope sat quietly beneath everything else, fragile but persistent.

I pushed myself out of bed, the sheets tangled around my legs, and drifted toward the mirror as if pulled by something I couldn’t quite resist. The girl staring back at me didn’t feel like me. Her hair was a wild, matted mess—“bedhead” didn’t even begin to cover it. Smudged lipstick clung unevenly to her lips, and dark streaks from last night’s eyeliner shadowed her eyes, swollen and raw from crying. My skin looked dull, my expression hollow.

It was almost safe to say last night had been the worst night of my life. And as if that thought alone wasn’t intrusive enough, my mind kept circling back—again and again—to the kiss. To the stranger. To the moment he kissed me back.

He wasn’t supposed to. He shouldn’t have. But he did. The memory lingered in a way that unsettled me, like a note that refused to fade. I shook my head sharply, as though I could physically dislodge it.

No. I wasn’t about to complicate things further by giving those thoughts room to breathe. I needed a cold shower. Something grounding. Something that could rinse this entire night off me like it had never happened.

An hour later, I walked through the school hallway with forced confidence stitched carefully into every step. If there was one way to deal with rumors—and there would be rumors, there was no avoiding that—it was to meet them head-on with complete, unwavering nonchalance.

Fake it until it became real. I switched off my phone as it buzzed relentlessly in my hand, the vibration sharp and constant. Calls and messages flooded in—half from Matty, the other half from the theatre group chat, no doubt replaying last night like it had been a live show instead of my actual life.

Campus felt… different. Quieter. The chaos from last night had dissolved into something calmer, like it had never existed at all. Low autumn light filtered through the tall windows, stretching across the polished floors in soft golden strips. Students moved in clusters, their voices blending into a steady hum. The smell of coffee drifted from nearby vendors, warm and bitter, mixing with food, perfume, sweat, dust, and the faint, comforting scent of old books.

Everything felt too normal. Too awake. Too loud. Especially compared to the dull heaviness sitting behind my eyes from a sleepless night. And then I saw him. The stranger.

My confidence slipped instantly, draining out of me as though someone had pulled a plug. My heart lurched—too fast, too sudden—as our eyes locked. For one suspended moment, the hallway blurred at the edges, and all my mind could conjure was the memory of his lips against mine. Heat crept up my neck. No.

I shut the thought down immediately, turning away so quickly it almost made me dizzy. I hurried toward the ladies’, my footsteps quick, uneven. The door swung open suddenly, and I jumped, a sharp breath catching in my throat.

June stood there, her expression tight with concern. “Riley, are you okay?” she asked, stepping closer. “I’ve been trying to reach you all night.” I forced a smile. It felt too sharp, like it might cut. “Of course I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She studied me, her brows knitting together. “Well, I thought with all that happened last night—” “Oh my gosh, June. Have you seen the time? We’ll be late for class.” “You’re deviating.” “Seriously, June, can we not.”

She held my arm for a moment, searching my face, then nodded reluctantly. “Fine.” A small silence settled between us, filled only by the distant echo of voices in the hallway and the faint drip of a tap somewhere behind us. “But I’m really curious about something. How was my performance last night?” I asked, my tone just slightly off—even to my own ears.

If she noticed, she didn’t show it. “Are you even asking that? You were absolutely beautiful. There’s no way you wouldn’t make the call off,” she said, her voice bright, reassuring. Of course, June managed to circle me right back to the thing I was trying not to overthink.

“We should get going to class now,” I said, quieter this time. We stepped out together, the hallway noise swelling around us again. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding when I noticed the stranger was no longer there. Good.

We walked to class, filling the space between us with small, meaningless conversation. But the moment I stepped into the room, it felt like the air shifted. Eyes. Too many eyes. Usually, I thrived in that kind of attention. Owned it. But today, after my very public, very unscripted performance last night, it felt different—heavier, more invasive. I paused. June noticed immediately. She slipped her hand into mine, squeezing gently, then tugged me forward with quiet insistence.

After we sat, class unfolded like any other day—lectures, scribbling notes, the scratch of pens against paper—but it all blurred together. The moment it ended, we headed straight for the cafeteria. I hadn’t eaten properly since yesterday, and now my body was making up for it. Hunger clawed sharply at my stomach, hollow and insistent, making me feel lightheaded.

The cafeteria doors swung open, and warmth hit me instantly—thick with the smell of food. Fried, savory, sweet. Layers of spices and oil and sugar blending into something almost overwhelming. The buzz of conversation filled the space, laughter bouncing off the walls, trays clattering, chairs scraping. My stomach growled loudly, the sound embarrassingly obvious.

June let out a soft laugh, tightening her grip on my hand. I glanced at her, amused. At this point, I wasn’t entirely sure who needed the emotional support more. June had always had a complicated relationship with crowds and attention—that was why she stayed behind the scenes, choosing backstage management over the spotlight. Meanwhile, I thrived in it… usually.

We grabbed two burgers and yogurt drinks each, the heat from the food seeping through the wrappers into my hands, and found a table. The smell alone made my mouth water. I took my first bite—And froze.

There he was again. The stranger. Something in me reacted instantly, instinctively. Before I could think, I grabbed my food and yanked June up from her seat, dragging her along as she scrambled to gather her things. “Riley! What’s going on?!” she called, nearly losing her yogurt in the process.

I didn’t stop until we were outside, the cooler air hitting my skin like a shock. “Okay, what was that?” she demanded. I opened my mouth—and realized I had absolutely no explanation. So I said the first thing that came to mind.

“Well, I think the cafeteria was a bit too stuffy, and I’m like, why not have our lunch on the bleachers where I’m sure it would be less stuffy and more refreshing.” She stared at me. Then glanced up at the glaring sun. “On a hot summer afternoon?”

“What better mood for a picnic date?” “Right.” The bleachers radiated heat beneath us, the metal warm—almost too warm—against my skin. The sun beat down relentlessly, wrapping around us like a heavy blanket.

“Well, isn’t this so much better and more refreshing than the cafeteria?” June said dryly, a small scowl tugging at her lips. “Totally,” I hummed. We both burst into laughter, the tension loosening just a little. Somehow, we managed to finish our lunch without melting completely into overheated disasters. June had to leave shortly after, rushing off to handle something else. Which left me alone.

Not ideal. Not today. But I didn’t have much of a choice. I had my weekly session with my counselor, so I headed in that direction, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. And of course—I ran into him. Again.

“Seriously?” I muttered under my breath. “You’re not even trying anymore.” I turned quickly, ducking into the nearest classroom and shutting the door behind me. My heart pounded hard against my chest, loud and uneven. It took me a second to realize—I wasn’t alone.

I slowly lifted my head. And froze. Standing just a few feet away was Noah Bennett, the hotshot football star, a faint smirk playing on his lips. And behind him—The entire football team. Some looked confused. Others amused. A few barely bothered to hide their interest.

Oh my God. I had just walked into a team meeting. Not just any team—the biggest one in the state. “Hello, pretty,” Noah said, tilting his head slightly, his smirk softening into an easy, disarming smile. “You’re scaring her, Noah,” someone called from behind him. If this was a dream, I needed to wake up immediately.

I took a slow step back. Then another. My fingers fumbled with the door handle before I managed to open it, slipping out without a word. I didn’t look back. And that was my mistake. Because if I had— I might have avoided walking straight into him.

I lifted my head slowly. There he was. The stranger. After spending the entire day avoiding him, I had somehow managed to collide with him anyway. His gaze dropped to mine, recognition flickering in his eyes. And just like that—I knew. I was completely, utterly cooked.