Chapter 3
Joycelyn’s POV
I have to admit, Nathan’s timing was almost suspiciously perfect.
For seventeen years, I’d had exactly one goal in life.
When my dad would stumble home at 2 AM, bourbon fumes clinging to his real estate broker suit, slamming doors and muttering about “missed opportunities” before the fighting with my mom
started.
When my mother disappeared into 70–hour workweeks at her law firm, leaving me to microwave my own dinners while she chased partner status to pay for our mortgage in Boulder’s “respectable” neighborhood–the one that stretched her salary to breaking point but maintained the facade that our family wasn’t falling apart.
“Get into Harvard. Leave this life behind.”
That mantra had kept me focused through everything. Through the nights I’d put my younger sister to bed while our parents‘ shouting match escalated downstairs. Through the empty refrigerator weeks when dad’s commission checks didn’t come through and mom was “too busy” to notice.
By junior year, I could casually ace Princeton Review tests without studying. I maintained a perfect GPA while running the debate team and captaining the cheerleading squad–the latter being my calculated move to round out my application with the “leadership” and “school spirit” boxes Ivy League admissions officers loved to check.
The plan was foolproof: finish senior year, submit those early decision applications, and count the days until I could leave Boulder in my rearview mirror.
But some nights, alone in my immaculate bedroom with its shelf of academic trophies, I’d look at the gray monotony of my life–the joyless childhood, the endless grind of achievement without enjoyment.
My Instagram was filled with posed photos of academic competitions and carefully curated cheer squad pictures, but nothing real. Nothing that wasn’t meticulously engineered for college admission officers‘ eyes.
That Friday night, with my parents at separate “work functions” (dad’s probably involving his
12:26
Touchdown PLAY: Cheer Queen vs. Quarterback King
10.5%
Chapter 3
twenty–something assistant), I was home alone mindlessly rolling, through Dhowy. when stumbled across “High School Musical The Musical: The Series.” I watched those spotly beautiful teens with their carefree smiles, singing about epic romances and perfect prom nigh
Something ached in my chest–not just envy, but hunger.
“What would it feel like,” I whispered to the empty house, “to experience one real, heart grading high school romance before I leave this place behind? To have someone look at me and see more than just grade point averages and extracurriculars?
Then, like the universe had heard me, Nathan Darwin appeared.
He was everything those Disney actors tried to be–raw, magnetic charisma that didert need perfect lighting or camera angles,
The way his jersey stretched across his shoulders as he jogged across the field made my mouth go
dry.
The slight stubble along his jaw, the intensity in his eyes when he played–it awakened something primal that all my careful planning and discipline couldn’t suppress.
I wanted him.
Not just in the innocent, holding hands in the hallway way that good girls were supposed to want
boys.
I wanted to know how his skin would feel against mine, how his weight would feel pressing me down, how his mouth would taste when there was nobody watching
But I knew I couldn’t have him.
Like I said, I’d poured everything into academics.
My social skills were calculated and performative–enough to secure team captain positions but not to make real connections.
I knew how to intimidate freshmen cheerleaders into perfect formations, not how to flirt with the golden boy of Boulder High.
I was definitely not the type that Nathan Darwin–who’d been voted “Most Likely to Be Famous” as a sophomore–would ever look at twice.
But now, thanks to whatever twisted revenge scheme Raven Green was orchestrating, he was
12.3
Chapter 3
standing right in front of me, those intense eyes focused entirely on me for the first time.
And despite knowing better, despite recognizing the trap, I could feel myself already falling into it
willingly.
(0)
曰(0)
