LOGINShare
Chapter Twelve: Neon Rollers
publish date:
2026-07-14 02:57:16
Latest chapter
nineteen and unravelling Chapter Thirteen: Front Rows
A month flies by at a completely different frequency when you're living inside a campus bubble.For the past four weeks, my life had been a blur of matte-black Mercedes drives, late-night takeout on a charcoal grey comforter, and getting to know the quiet, guarded boy behind the elite athletic facade. I learned that Malik hated tomatoes, that he listened to old-school jazz when he was genuinely stressed, and that he had a habit of biting his lower lip right before he drove the lane. And in return, the entire campus learned one definitive fact.Everyone knew I was Malik Thompson's girl."Kelsey, honey, if you don't stop fidgeting, the eyeliner will detect your anxiety," Chris warned, leaning across my desk with a liquid brush in his hand."I'm not anxious," I insisted, though my fingers were tightly gripping the edge of the vanity stool.For tonight's official pre-season opener, I wasn't just attending; I was representing. I was wearing an oversized Ashcroft basketball jersey with
nineteen and unravelling Chapter Twelve: Neon Rollers
The bass from the sound system at the 4th Street Roller Rink was a physical thumping in my chest before we even stepped out of the matte-black AMG. The venue was a glorious, high-contrast time capsule—bathed in a wash of buzzing magenta and electric blue neon lights, with a steady stream of students laughing and clattering through the entrance in retro gear."Alright, let's see what this fashion kid's vision is about," Malik murmured, a slow, effortless smirk cutting through his features as he shifted the car into park.For the night out, we had completely coordinated without looking like a tragic, cheesy matching-couple post. Malik was wearing an oversized white vintage graphic tee that clung perfectly to his broad shoulders, relaxed dark-wash denim, and his signature heavy silver chain gleaming under the neon glare. I had leaned completely into my aesthetic: a high-waisted, pleated white retro tennis skirt, a cropped neon-pink baby tee that hit just above my waist, and my curls pu
nineteen and unravelling Chapter Eleven: Realities & Roller Rinks
The text thread was already buzzing before my sneakers even hit the linoleum of the third-floor corridor. The Elites (3) Talia: So you're just going to leave us stranded in the dining hall while you vanish into thin air? Bianca: She's with the basketball player. Let her breathe, Talia. Kelsey: i'm back in the room o! come now now before i lose my mind The heavy wooden door to Room 304 didn't just open—it practically flew off its hinges. Talia burst in first, her voluminous blowout slightly wild from sprinting down the corridor, followed closely by Bianca, who closed the door behind them with her usual calculated precision. "Alright, unlock the vault," Talia demanded, dropping face-first onto my green duvet, her long legs dangling off the side. She rolled over, her eyes wide with frantic curiosity. "You vanished for three hours with the campus deity. Did he apologize? Did he explain the tragic two-letter text?" Bianca crossed her arms, leaning against my wardrobe, her sha
nineteen and unravelling Chapter Ten: Cardboard Roses & Accelerated Timelines
The silence inside the matte-black AMG wasn't heavy, but it was loaded. The interior smelled intensely of Malik—expensive cedarwood, leather, and the lingering trace of mint. He steered with one hand on the steering wheel, his heavy silver chain catching the afternoon sun as we glided away from the campus quad and out onto the main road. "You hungry?" he asked, his voice low as he broke the quiet, pulling into the drive-thru of a premium burger joint off-campus. "What do you want?" "Just a chicken burger and a vanilla shake," I said, keeping my tone perfectly measured. He ordered, pulled up to the window, and tapped his card against the reader before I could even pretend to reach into my bag for my wallet. He handed the brown paper bag over to my lap, the warmth of the food radiating through the packaging. "Thanks," I murmured. "Don't mention it, Vance." A slow, knowing smirk touched his lips, but he kept his eyes on the road. Five minutes later, we pulled into the undergr
nineteen and unravelling Chapter Nine: The Creative Shift & The Direct Message
"If you don't use the cuticle oil, the lavender tint won't pop," my mother's voice vibrated through my phone speaker, warm, clear, and perfectly grounded."I'm applying it right now, Mother, look," I said, tilting my camera down toward my left foot. I was sitting cross-legged in the center of my duvet, wearing my softest grey lounge shorts and a worn-out high school t-shirt. On my desk, my phone was propped perfectly against a stack of hardcover books. On the screen, my mum was sitting on the plush cream sofa back home in our living room, a matching glass bowl of warm water resting on her lap as she gave herself a corresponding Sunday pedicure. It was our sacred tradition, digitized across state lines."Much better," she approved, leaning closer to her screen. "Now, tell me about these grand campus plans. You sounded like a revolutionary on the phone yesterday, Kelsey."I let out a dramatic axial sigh, capping the lavender nail polish bottle. "I just... I want to be a meaningful p
nineteen and unravelling Chapter Eight: The Brand Re-Evaluation
"We are officially striking his name from the record," I told the bathroom mirror on Sunday afternoon, aggressively blending my under-eye concealer with a damp pink sponge. "He is no longer Malik Thompson. He is simply The Variable. And we do not adjust our equation for an unpredictable variable."I leaned in closer to the glass, examining my face. My curls were impeccably defined today, cascading over a cream-colored, cropped cable-knit sweater that perfectly complemented my high-waisted, pleated houndstooth mini skirt. I looked like an Ivy League editorial—polished, intellectual, and completely unbothered by the digital negligence of a sophomore athlete.Internal pep talk execution: You are Kelsey Vance. You do not spiral over a hollow pink Snapchat arrow. If an NBA-bound boy wants to act like a ghost, we treat him like a house decoration. We move on. We pivot to the brand.Before leaving Room 304, I set my phone up on my desk, setting the timer for three seconds. I posed near th
You may also like
ADOPTED HEIR
Blessing D writes41.9K viewsThe Guardian's Return
Old Pumpkin99.3K viewsRevenge Of The Son In-law
Preshy writes47.6K viewsThe greatest son: Zane strikes back
Rever164.6K viewsOnce His Wallflower, Now His Biggest Mistake
Authoress Funky4.3K viewsWITHOUT WARNING: Book 2 Of The Redemption Series
Shay Robinson3.1K viewsWho's The Loser Heir?
JDHWS258 viewsPlain ivy? No more!!
Onyx2.0K views
