Part One:
My best friend smiled at me and said, “You like kids, right? Help get rid of one for me.”
“What the what do you mean get rid of one?” I gasped, almost choking on my iced latte.
Audrey waved her hand like she was brushing away a fly. “Relax. I meant distract him. Babysit. Keep him occupied. Whatever.”
Audrey could make anything sound like it was no big deal — even asking me to lie to a twelve-year-old.
She leaned closer across the cafeteria table, lowering her voice. “It’s for Kurt. You know, the new guy? The one with the dark hair and that jawline?”
I did know. Everyone knew. Kurt Jacobs had transferred to Jefferson High a month ago and single-handedly wrecked the social ecosystem.
Audrey had been obsessed from day one — sketching his initials on her notebook, stalking his Instagram like it was her part-time job, and analyzing every emoji he used.
And honestly? I got it. Kurt had that musician thing going for him. Always with a guitar slung over his shoulder, always looking like he’d just walked out of an indie movie.
Audrey leaned forward, eyes wide and pleading. “Please, Hannah. I just need an hour or two alone with him. He’s always got his kid brother tagging along. Joey. He’s, like, twelve and… clingy.”
I groaned. “You want me to babysit Kurt’s little brother so you can flirt with him?”
She grabbed my hands across the table, squeezing dramatically. “I knew you’d understand! You’re literally the best person I know.”
That’s how I got roped in.
I told myself it was no big deal — a couple of hours entertaining some middle-schooler while Audrey played heart-thief. I owed her anyway; she’d helped me through my breakup with Ben last semester, listening to me cry over late-night milkshakes. Babysitting was nothing compared to that.
But when I showed up at Kurt’s apartment the next afternoon, I immediately regretted saying yes.
The place was nice — a cozy two-bedroom above a coffee shop, the kind that smelled like espresso and laundry detergent. Kurt opened the door wearing a plain black t-shirt and jeans, his hair still damp from a shower.
“Hey, you must be Hannah,” he said, smiling in that easy, natural way that made me forget words existed.
“Uh, yeah,” I stammered. “Audrey said you needed someone to hang out with Joey.”
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks for doing this. I’ve got to meet a friend about a gig, and Joey’s been… kind of a handful lately.”
He called over his shoulder, “Joey! Come say hi!”
A small voice mumbled something from inside, followed by the sound of footsteps. Then Joey appeared — wiry, shaggy-haired, wearing a hoodie two sizes too big. His eyes flicked between us suspiciously.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” he muttered.
“I’m not a babysitter,” I said quickly. “More like… a temporary gaming rival.”
He raised an eyebrow, like he wasn’t buying it.
Kurt looked amused. “Good luck,” he whispered before heading out the door. “He’s all yours.”
The door clicked shut. Silence.
Joey stared at me like I’d shown up to ruin his life.
“So,” I said, trying for casual, “what do you like to do?”
He crossed his arms. “I want my brother back.”
Oof.
“Okay,” I said, nodding. “Totally fair. But… how about we kill some time first? Arcade? Dave & Buster’s?”
That got a flicker of interest.
“Fine,” he mumbled. “But only if I get to pick the games.”
“Deal.”
On the drive over, Joey barely spoke. He just stared out the window, earbuds in, lost somewhere else. When we finally pulled into the parking lot, I held up my old Dave & Buster’s card like a secret weapon.
“Alright,” I said. “If you can beat me in any game, we’ll go home.”
That got his attention.
He grinned — the first real smile I’d seen from him — and raced toward the doors.
Turns out, Joey was competitive. Like, scary competitive. He threw himself into every game — air hockey, racing, basketball — determined to win. But what he didn’t know was that I basically grew up in arcades.
When I demolished him in Guitar Hero, he turned to me in disbelief. “No way. You cheated.”
I laughed. “You’ll need another ten years before you can beat me, kid.”
He stared at me, then cracked a smile. “You’re not bad.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I said, tossing him another set of tokens.
He lit up. For the next hour, he was unstoppable — laughing, trash-talking, and even high-fiving me after close calls.
Then, out of nowhere, he got quiet again.
“You actually like hanging out with me,” he said softly.
“Of course I do,” I said.
“People usually just pretend,” he mumbled. “They hang out with me because they want to be near Kurt.”
My chest tightened.
“Joey,” I said gently, “you’re not annoying. You’re just… twelve. And honestly? You’re kind of cool.”
He smiled, small but real. “Thanks.”
By the time I dropped him back off, Kurt was home, leaning against the doorway with that easy grin again.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
“Joey’s got a wicked backhand in air hockey,” I said.
Joey grinned proudly.
“Glad to hear it,” Kurt said. “Hey, thanks again. You have no idea how much this helps.”
“No problem,” I said, trying to sound casual while my stomach fluttered.
When I got home, Audrey was already texting me.
Audrey: “You’re the best!!! Kurt and I had such a great talk! 💕💖”
Me: “That’s great :)”
Audrey: “So… how’s the kid?”
Me: “Cooler than you’d think.”
Audrey: “LOL good. Anyway, I owe you big time.”
I tossed my phone aside, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Joey’s smile — or the way Kurt’s hand brushed mine when he took the keys earlier.
It was supposed to be one favor.
But favors have a way of getting complicated.
The second time Kurt called, I almost said no.
He said Joey had asked if I could come over again. “He’s been asking since last weekend,” Kurt said with a small laugh.
That made my heart do something weird.
So I went.
This time, Joey met me at the door, holding two game controllers. “You’re late.”
“You’re bossy,” I said, stepping inside.
“Someone’s gotta keep you in line,” he said, grinning.
Kurt was in the kitchen, strumming his guitar absentmindedly. He looked up and smiled. “You’re saving my life again.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I said.
Joey rolled his eyes. “You guys sound like a married couple.”
We both laughed, awkwardly, and Joey smirked like he knew something we didn’t.
That night turned into something I didn’t expect.
We played, laughed, ordered pizza. Joey dozed off halfway through Guardians of the Galaxy, his head on my shoulder. Kurt came in, smiling softly as he carried Joey to his room.
When he came back, we sat together on the couch, the movie still playing.
“Thanks for being here,” he said quietly. “He’s had a hard time since… our parents.”
My chest ached.
“You’re doing a good job,” I said.
He looked at me for a long moment — and in that silence, something shifted. Something that felt both right and wrong all at once.
When he finally reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, I froze.
Then I remembered Audrey.
Her texts. Her voice on the phone, giddy when she talked about him.
I stood up quickly. “I should go.”
Kurt looked surprised but didn’t push. “Yeah. Of course.”
On the drive home, my phone buzzed. Audrey again.
Audrey: “OMG Kurt’s been so distant lately… Do you think he’s losing interest?? 😭”
I stared at the screen, guilt twisting in my gut.
I didn’t know what to tell her.
Because I was afraid I already did know the answer.
Part Two:
The next morning, I woke up feeling like I’d swallowed a brick.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand — Audrey, again.
Audrey: “We’re going to the coffee shop after class today, right? I need to vent 😩”
I groaned and texted back, “Yeah. See you there.”
I had no idea how I was supposed to sit across from her after what almost happened with Kurt last night.
All day, I tried to distract myself with algebra and essays and cafeteria gossip, but my brain kept replaying that moment — Kurt brushing my hair aside, his hand lingering just a second too long.
And the look in his eyes.
That stupid, devastating look.
By the time I met Audrey at the café, my stomach was a mess of guilt and coffee.
She waved when she saw me, bright and oblivious. “Thank God you’re here. I seriously needed this.”
I smiled weakly and sat down across from her.
“Okay,” she said, leaning in. “So Kurt’s been acting weird. Like, we used to text all the time, and now it’s just… dry. You know what I mean?”
“Dry?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said, gesturing dramatically. “No emojis, no exclamation points. Just boring answers like ‘yeah’ and ‘sounds good.’ That’s not flirty. That’s friend energy. What do I do?”
I stirred my coffee, staring at the swirl of cream turning the dark liquid cloudy.
“Maybe he’s just busy,” I said.
“Maybe,” she sighed. “Or maybe he’s losing interest.”
My throat tightened.
She kept talking — about how she thought they’d had a connection, how he’d smiled at her that one time after class — and every word felt like a small knife in my ribs.
Because I couldn’t tell her the truth.
Not about what almost happened last night. Not about the way Kurt looked at me.
Not about the fact that her crush had started texting me instead.
That night, I stared at my phone for an hour before finally opening a message from Kurt.
Kurt: “Hey. You okay? You left kind of fast last night.”
Me: “Yeah. Just needed some air.”
Kurt: “Joey was asking about you. He really likes having you around.”
Me: “He’s a good kid.”
Kurt: “He is. You’re good with him.”
I didn’t respond for a long time. Then another message came through.
Kurt: “I like having you around too.”
I stared at the screen, my heart pounding.
I could’ve ignored it. Should’ve ignored it.
Instead, I typed back: “I like being around, too.”
The moment I hit send, I felt like I’d set something in motion that couldn’t be undone.
Over the next week, I told myself nothing was happening.
That I was just helping with Joey.
That Kurt was just being nice.
But then there were the little things — the way he smiled when I walked in, the way his hand brushed mine when he handed me a slice of pizza, the way Joey teased us about “acting weird.”
We’d all laugh it off, but there was truth in the joke.
And every time I went home, Audrey would call or text, asking if I’d seen Kurt, what he said, how he looked.
I gave her vague answers and told myself I was protecting her feelings.
But really, I was just avoiding the guilt.
Then came Friday night.
Kurt texted saying Joey wanted a “movie marathon night” and asked if I wanted to come.
I hesitated for a full minute before typing back yes.
When I got there, the apartment smelled like popcorn and pizza. Joey was already in his pajamas, bouncing excitedly on the couch.
“Guess what?” he said. “I got to pick the movies this time.”
“Oh no,” I said. “That means we’re watching something with explosions, doesn’t it?”
He grinned. “Two superhero movies and a zombie one.”
“Lucky me.”
We watched until Joey’s eyelids started drooping. Halfway through the third movie, he fell asleep against my shoulder, popcorn bowl still balanced on his lap.
Kurt reached over carefully and moved the bowl aside.
“He’s out,” he whispered.
I smiled softly. “He’s cute when he’s not trying to destroy me in Mario Kart.”
Kurt chuckled. “Yeah. He misses having people around. I think… I think you’ve been good for him.”
He looked at me for a long second.
And there it was again — that silence full of something neither of us could name but both could feel.
I should’ve looked away.
But I didn’t.
He leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve been good for me too.”
My heart was pounding so loud I could barely think.
And then — he kissed me.
Just a soft, hesitant kiss that felt like both a question and an apology.
When we pulled apart, I could barely breathe.
“Kurt—” I started.
“I know,” he said quickly. “Audrey. I know. I shouldn’t have.”
We sat there in silence, both of us looking at Joey asleep on the couch, like he was the only thing holding us back from completely falling apart.
When I finally stood up, my legs were shaking.
“I should go,” I whispered.
He nodded, standing too. “Yeah.”
Neither of us said goodbye
The next morning, my phone buzzed before I’d even opened my eyes.
It was Audrey.
Crying.
“Hannah,” she sobbed. “I don’t know what I did wrong. He’s been so cold lately. He barely answers my messages. I just—can you come with me to his place? I need to talk to him face-to-face.”
I froze.
Everything inside me screamed no, but my mouth said, “Yeah. I’ll come.”
Ten minutes later, I was standing by my window watching her car pull into my driveway, heart pounding so hard I thought it might crack my ribs.
The entire drive to Kurt’s apartment felt like I was trapped in a nightmare.
Audrey was rambling, rehearsing what she’d say — “I just want to understand if I did something wrong” — while I nodded along, every word slicing me open.
When we got to the door, Joey opened it.
He smiled when he saw me — then froze when he saw Audrey beside me.
His expression darkened instantly.
He turned his head and called for Kurt, his voice flat.
Kurt came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. The moment he saw the two of us together, his face went pale.
“Hey,” Audrey said quickly. “Can we talk?”
Kurt looked at me — just for a second — and in that glance, Audrey’s whole body went rigid.
Something in her changed.
She noticed.
Still, he nodded and gestured toward the kitchen. “Sure.”
They disappeared into the next room.
I stood there frozen until Joey tugged on my sleeve. “Wanna play?” he asked softly, like he was trying to protect me from whatever was happening in the other room.
We sat on the living room floor, controllers in hand, but neither of us was really playing. The voices from the kitchen carried through the walls — muffled but sharp.
Audrey’s voice broke halfway through a sentence, and Kurt’s reply was calm but final.
Joey looked down at his lap, fidgeting. “She’s crying,” he said quietly.
I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
He stared at me with wide, accusing eyes. “Is it your fault?”
The question hit me like a slap.
I couldn’t answer.
When Kurt and Audrey came back, her face was blotchy and red, but she was smiling — that brittle, too-bright kind of smile that fooled no one.
“Let’s go,” she said cheerfully, already heading for the door.
I followed silently, giving Joey a small, apologetic wave.
He didn’t wave back.
Audrey held herself together until we were halfway home.
Then she broke.
“He said we’re just friends,” she sobbed, gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping her from collapsing. “He said he doesn’t feel the same way. And I just—what’s wrong with me, Hannah? Why am I never enough?”
Her voice cracked, and I reached over to squeeze her shoulder, fighting back tears of my own.
“You’re enough,” I said softly. “You always have been.”
But I didn’t say the rest — that maybe it wasn’t about her at all.
When she dropped me off, she hugged me tightly. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered. “You’re the best friend I could ever ask for.”
I closed my eyes against the sting of guilt.
I wasn’t the best friend.
Not anymore.
That night, Kurt texted me.
Kurt: “I’m sorry for today. I didn’t know she’d bring you.”
Me: “She needed support.”
Kurt: “You okay?”
Me: “No.”
Kurt: “Yeah. Me neither.”
I stared at the last message for a long time before turning off my phone and curling up in bed.
For the first time in a long time, I wished I could just disappear.
Because no matter what I did next — someone was going to get hurt.
Part Three:
I didn’t sleep that night.
Not really.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Audrey’s tear-streaked face, Joey’s question — “Is it your fault?” — and Kurt’s eyes, heavy with guilt.
By morning, I’d gone from heartbroken to numb.
When my alarm went off, I stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out how I’d walk through the hallways pretending everything was fine.
School felt like a minefield.
I avoided eye contact in first period, skipped breakfast, and practically hid behind my locker door during passing time.
But I couldn’t avoid her forever.
At lunch, Audrey spotted me across the cafeteria and waved me over.
I froze.
There was no avoiding it now.
I walked to our table, trying to act normal.
“Hey,” she said, smiling — but it wasn’t the kind that reached her eyes.
“Hey,” I replied.
She was surrounded by our usual group — Maya, Jasmine, and Ben (yeah, that Ben, my ex, who was now pretending to care about Audrey’s heartbreak).
They were all looking at her with that mix of sympathy and curiosity that only high schoolers can pull off.
Audrey launched right into her story before I could even sit down.
“So, Kurt and I talked yesterday,” she said, twisting her straw in her iced coffee. “And yeah, turns out he just doesn’t feel that way. But it’s fine.”
Her tone was airy, casual. Too casual.
“I mean, whatever,” she continued, laughing too loudly. “Guys are stupid. It’s his loss, right?”
Everyone murmured some version of “you deserve better” or “totally his loss,” and I tried to smile, but my throat felt tight.
Then Maya said something that made my blood run cold.
“I saw him talking to you last week, Hannah,” she said, sipping her soda. “At Joey’s thing, right? You were helping out with that fundraiser?”
Audrey’s head snapped toward me.
“Oh,” she said, voice just a little too light. “Right. You and Kurt talk sometimes, don’t you?”
Her eyes looked curious, but there was something sharp behind it.
I forced a laugh. “Only about Joey. You know, when I help out.”
Audrey’s smile didn’t waver, but the space between us suddenly felt miles wide.
“Right,” she said quietly.
The conversation drifted to something else — prom, weekend plans, college apps — but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something in her had shifted.
Something suspicious.
When I got home that afternoon, I collapsed face-first on my bed.
I wanted to call someone, but the only people I could talk to were the same ones tangled in the mess I’d made.
My phone buzzed.
It was a message from Joey.
Joey: “Audrey was crying a lot. Are you okay?”
That one line undid me.
Even after all of it, he was worried about me.
I typed back, “I’m fine. Just tired. You?”
Joey: “I got suspended today.”
I sat up immediately.
What?
I called him right away, panic rising.
He answered on the second ring, voice small.
“Hey.”
“Joey, what happened?”
He hesitated. “Some kids were saying stuff about me. About Kurt. About you.”
My stomach dropped. “What kind of stuff?”
“That I only get invited places because my brother’s hot and girls want to see him. And that you only hang out with me because you like him, too.”
I couldn’t breathe. “Joey—”
“I told them to shut up, but they wouldn’t. So I punched one.”
“Oh, Joey…”
Now I understood the flatness in his voice, the exhaustion.
“Does Kurt know?” I asked.
“Yeah. He’s mad. But not at me. At the school. He’s picking me up soon.”
I bit my lip. “Do you want me to come over later?”
He paused. “Yeah. Please.”
That one word — please — broke something in me.
“Okay,” I said softly. “I’ll be there.”
When I showed up, Kurt opened the door, looking wrecked.
Dark circles under his eyes, hair messy, expression tight.
“Hey,” he said, voice low. “Thanks for coming.”
“How’s Joey?”
“In his room. Won’t talk to me.”
“I’ll try,” I said.
He nodded, stepping aside to let me in.
Joey was sitting on his bed, staring at his hands.
I sat down beside him and waited.
After a while, he said, “They weren’t wrong.”
“What?”
“You do like Kurt.”
I froze.
His voice was soft but steady, like he’d been rehearsing the words all day.
“I’m not mad,” he said, eyes fixed on the floor. “I just… I thought maybe you were different. That you liked hanging out with me because of me.”
“I do,” I said quickly. “Joey, that’s not—”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. People always say they like me, but it’s always about him. Always.”
I reached for his hand, but he pulled it away.
For a second, I thought he was going to cry, but instead he just looked tired.
“Are you going to stop coming over now?” he asked quietly.
I blinked back tears. “No. I’m not going anywhere.”
He finally looked at me then — eyes red, lower lip trembling — and said, “Promise?”
“I promise.”
We sat there in silence for a long time, and eventually, he leaned his head on my shoulder.
That’s how Kurt found us when he came to check in — both of us quiet, but together.
He mouthed thank you from the doorway.
Later, after Joey went to bed, Kurt and I sat in the living room.
He looked exhausted.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” he said softly. “He’s been through so much already. And now…”
“It’s not your fault,” I said.
He rubbed his temples. “Maybe not. But it feels like it.”
We sat in silence for a moment, the air heavy with everything unspoken.
Finally, he looked at me.
“You should know,” he said quietly, “Audrey came by earlier.”
My stomach clenched. “What?”
“She wanted to check on Joey. But I think it was an excuse to see me.”
“Oh.”
“She didn’t say much. Just… she knows something’s up. She asked if we’d been spending time together.”
My pulse started pounding. “What did you tell her?”
“The truth,” he said. “That Joey likes having you around. That you’ve helped.”
I nodded, staring at the floor.
Then he added, “She asked if I liked you.”
I looked up. “What did you say?”
He hesitated, then sighed. “I told her yes.”
My breath caught.
“She didn’t say anything,” he continued. “Just nodded, like she’d already guessed. Then she left.”
“Oh, God,” I whispered, covering my face.
“She deserves the truth,” Kurt said. “Even if it hurts.”
He was right. But knowing that didn’t make the guilt any easier to bear.
I stood up, needing air. “I should go.”
He reached for my hand but stopped himself halfway. “Hannah—”
I shook my head. “Not tonight. I just… I need to think.”
At home, I stared at my ceiling for hours.
Every path in my mind led to pain.
If I stayed quiet, I’d lose my best friend.
If I told her, I’d still lose her.
By morning, I was done hiding.
So I walked into the counseling office before first period and asked if I could talk to someone.
That’s how I met Marcela Holland — a young counselor with soft eyes and a calm voice that somehow made it safe to tell the truth.
At first, I kept it vague — “friend drama,” “stress,” “feeling guilty.”
But the more she listened, the more it came out.
Every detail.
The babysitting, the kiss, Audrey’s heartbreak, Joey’s fight.
I told her everything.
When I finally stopped talking, Marcela was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “You’re carrying a lot for someone your age.”
I laughed weakly. “Tell me about it.”
She leaned forward slightly. “You can’t undo what’s happened. But you can decide how to move forward.”
“How?” I whispered.
“By being honest,” she said simply. “With Audrey, with Kurt, and with yourself.”
My throat tightened. “If I tell Audrey the truth, she’ll hate me.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But hiding it won’t save your friendship. It’ll only make the betrayal deeper when she finds out.”
I stared at my hands. “So I just tell her? Everything?”
Marcela nodded. “Yes. But remember — her reaction is hers to have. You can’t control it. You can only control your honesty.”
I nodded slowly, even though my stomach felt like it was turning inside out.
When I left her office, I didn’t feel lighter.
But I did feel clear.
I knew what I had to do.
That afternoon, I texted Audrey.
Me: “Hey. Can we hang out this weekend? Just us?”
It took her an hour to reply.
Audrey: “Sure. What’s up?”
Me: “Just want to talk. Coffee?”
Audrey: “Okay. Saturday.”
I exhaled shakily.
It was set.
Now all I had to do was find the courage to actually show up.
Part Four:
Saturday morning felt like waiting for a storm I couldn’t avoid.
I’d barely slept. My stomach was in knots. Every version of what I could say to Audrey replayed in my head — each one ending in disaster.
By the time I pulled into the coffee shop parking lot, my hands were shaking on the steering wheel.
The same place where we used to laugh about stupid teachers and crushes.
Now it felt like a courtroom.
Audrey was already inside when I walked in — sitting by the window, stirring her drink like it had personally offended her.
She looked… calm. Too calm.
When she saw me, she smiled. “Hey.”
I sat down across from her, heart pounding.
“So,” she said, “what’s up?”
I opened my mouth — and for a second, no sound came out.
Then I forced the words. “I need to tell you something. And it’s not easy.”
Her smile faded a little. “Okay.”
I stared down at my hands. “I like Kurt.”
The air between us went still.
Audrey blinked. Once. Twice. “What?”
My throat felt tight. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I swear. It just—he was around, and I was helping with Joey, and then—”
“Then what?” she interrupted. Her voice wasn’t angry yet. It was worse — quiet, sharp, cold.
“And then I started feeling things,” I said softly. “And he… he felt them too.”
She laughed. Once. Harsh and humorless. “Wow. Okay.”
“Audrey—”
“No, it’s fine,” she said, holding up a hand. “I mean, you could’ve told me sooner, right? Instead of—what—sneaking around behind my back?”
“I didn’t sneak around,” I said quickly. “We didn’t even—”
Her eyes snapped to mine. “Did you kiss him?”
Silence.
Her face crumpled like she’d been punched.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “You did.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, voice breaking. “I didn’t want it to happen that way.”
She shook her head, eyes glossy. “You were supposed to be my best friend.”
“I am your best friend.”
“Best friends don’t do that.”
Her words hit harder than anything Kurt could’ve said.
She stood up so suddenly her chair screeched against the floor. “I can’t do this right now,” she said, grabbing her bag.
“Please,” I said, standing too. “Just—let’s talk about it.”
She looked at me, eyes red and furious. “You talked enough already, Hannah.”
Then she turned and walked out of the coffee shop.
I stood there for a full minute, staring at the door, trying to breathe through the guilt clawing at my chest.
When I finally sat back down, I realized I was shaking. My untouched coffee sat in front of me, the foam collapsing.
I didn’t cry right away.
Not until I got back to my car.
Then it all came out — every bottled-up fear, guilt, confusion. I gripped the steering wheel and sobbed until my throat burned.
By the time I calmed down, the sky had started to darken.
And I knew I’d just lost her.
Two days passed. No texts. No calls.
At school, she kept her distance — polite smiles, nods in the hallway, nothing more.
Our friends noticed immediately. Maya asked what happened, and I just said we were having a “disagreement.”
No one pressed further.
Then Monday night, my phone buzzed.
Audrey: “Don’t go out with him yet. Please. I just need time.”
I stared at the message for a long time before replying: “I won’t. I promise.”
Her response came a minute later: a simple 👍 emoji.
That was it.
I should’ve felt relieved.
Instead, it felt like someone had taped over a broken window — not fixed, just temporarily contained.
By the end of the week, I couldn’t take it anymore.
Kurt texted again.
Kurt: “Have you thought more about dinner?”
I stared at the message, thumb hovering.
Then I told him the truth.
Me: “I talked to Audrey. She knows everything. She’s hurt. She asked me to wait.”
He replied almost instantly.
Kurt: “Then we’ll wait. I’m not going anywhere.”
That should’ve made me feel better. It didn’t.
Because waiting didn’t fix the tension. It just stretched it out.
A week later, Joey texted me.
Joey: “Game night? Please?”
I hesitated — then said yes.
When I got there, he met me at the door with his usual grin. “You brought snacks, right?”
“Of course,” I said, holding up a bag of chips.
He smiled, but I could see the tiredness in his eyes.
We played for a while, laughing and teasing each other like nothing had changed.
But halfway through a round of Mario Kart, he paused the game and looked at me.
“You and Kurt are weird now,” he said.
I froze. “We’re… figuring things out.”
He frowned. “Are you mad at him?”
“No. Why?”
“Because he’s been quiet. He’s always quiet when something’s wrong.”
I sighed. “It’s complicated.”
He crossed his arms. “Grown-ups always say that when they don’t want to explain stuff.”
I smiled faintly. “You’re too smart for your own good.”
He grinned. “That’s what Kurt says too.”
We both laughed, and for a moment, things felt normal again.
After Joey went to bed, I sat on the couch staring at my phone.
There was a text from Kurt waiting for me.
Kurt: “Still up?”
Me: “Yeah.”
Kurt: “Come outside for a sec?”
My heart jumped. I glanced toward Joey’s room, then tiptoed to the front door and slipped out.
Kurt was leaning against his car, hands in his pockets, looking tired but calm.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hey.”
We stood there in the cool night air, the silence thick between us.
“She hates me,” I said finally.
Kurt sighed. “She’s hurt. She’ll come around.”
“I don’t think she will.”
He looked at me for a long moment. “Do you regret it?”
I swallowed hard. “No. But I wish it hadn’t happened like this.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”
We stood there quietly for another moment.
Then he reached out, brushing his fingers against mine. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad it did happen.”
I looked up at him — really looked — and saw the same quiet honesty I’d seen the first night we watched movies together.
The same warmth. The same weight.
“I don’t want to hide anymore,” he said. “But I’ll wait as long as you need.”
That was the thing about Kurt — he never pushed. He just waited.
And for the first time, I believed him.
Days turned into weeks.
Audrey stayed distant but civil. We sat together in some classes, exchanged polite smiles, nothing more.
But then, something started to shift.
She texted me one afternoon — a meme about our chemistry teacher.
It was small, stupid, and somehow exactly what I needed.
I sent back a laughing emoji.
Then another text came.
Audrey: “I miss when things weren’t complicated.”
Me: “Me too.”
After that, we started texting again — slowly, cautiously.
By the time midterms rolled around, we were grabbing coffee again, though we avoided talking about Kurt.
It wasn’t the same. But it was something.
One Thursday, Kurt called.
“Hey,” he said. “You busy?”
“Not really.”
“Can you come over? Joey’s been quiet all day. He could use you.”
“On my way.”
When I got there, Joey was sitting on the couch, arms crossed.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting beside him.
“School stuff,” he muttered.
Kurt came out of the kitchen, sighing. “He got in trouble for snapping at a teacher.”
“Did not,” Joey protested. “She was being unfair.”
Kurt gave me a helpless look. “See what I deal with?”
I smiled. “Come on, kid. Let’s play something.”
We played, we laughed, and slowly, Joey’s mood lifted.
By the time he went to bed, he’d even hugged me goodnight — something he hadn’t done in weeks.
Kurt came back from his room and sat beside me on the couch.
“Thanks,” he said softly. “For being here. For him. For everything.”
I smiled faintly. “Always.”
He looked at me, eyes soft. “You know, it’s been a month.”
I knew what he meant.
The month we agreed to wait.
I nodded. “Yeah. I know.”
“So,” he said, voice low, “do we keep waiting?”
I thought about Audrey — about her cautious smiles and late-night memes.
And then I thought about Kurt, and Joey, and how it all felt when we were together.
“I think it’s time,” I said quietly.
He smiled, slow and sure. “Then let me take you out.”
I laughed. “Isn’t this already a date?”
He leaned closer. “Not officially.”
And then, finally, he kissed me again.
This time, I didn’t pull away.
Part Five:
Spring came late that year — the kind that still needed a hoodie in the mornings but made the afternoons glow gold.
Everything in my life felt like it was thawing at the same time.
Audrey and I weren’t what we used to be, but we were trying.
Kurt and I weren’t hiding anymore, but we were careful.
And Joey — well, Joey was laughing again.
Every Thursday was our night. No matter how busy things got, I’d show up with snacks, and he’d have the console ready. It was our little tradition, one I didn’t realize how much I needed until it became routine.
That Thursday, Joey met me at the door holding a stack of games like a salesman.
“Okay,” he said, dead serious, “you pick one, but no racing games because you cheat.”
“I don’t cheat,” I said, stepping inside.
“You totally do!” he said, grinning. “You do that thing where you block me on purpose.”
“That’s called strategy.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
From the kitchen, Kurt called, “You’re both insufferable!”
Joey laughed so hard he almost dropped the games.
Moments like that made everything that had happened — all the mess, guilt, heartbreak — feel worth it.
After Joey went to bed, Kurt and I ended up outside on the fire escape with mugs of tea. The city lights blinked below us, and for a second, everything was still.
He leaned against the railing beside me, close enough that our shoulders brushed.
“You know,” he said, “if you told me two months ago that my kid brother’s babysitter would change my life, I’d have laughed.”
I smirked. “Babysitter? I prefer ‘emergency chaos manager.’”
He laughed, quiet but real. Then he turned serious. “I mean it, though. You’ve been there for Joey in ways I couldn’t. And for me.”
I looked at him, warmth blooming in my chest. “You give me too much credit.”
He shook his head. “Not even close.”
We sat there quietly for a while, sipping tea. Then he said, “How’s Audrey?”
The question caught me off guard.
“She’s… better,” I said slowly. “We’ve been talking again. She’s seeing someone, actually. A guy from her art class.”
Kurt smiled faintly. “Good. She deserves that.”
“She does,” I agreed.
He reached over, brushing his fingers against mine. “You do too.”
I turned toward him, smiling. “I think I already found it.”
He kissed me then — soft, certain, warm. Not the uncertain, guilt-laced kiss from before, but something that felt like a beginning instead of a secret.
The next weekend, Audrey texted me out of the blue.
Audrey: “Coffee later? I have news.”
My heart jumped. News.
When I got to the café, she was already there, waving from our usual booth with a huge grin.
“I’m seeing someone,” she said before I even sat down.
I laughed. “Yeah, I figured from your texts.”
“No, I mean like — really seeing someone. Like, official. His name’s Eli. He’s funny and he actually listens. And he doesn’t play guitar.”
I grinned. “Finally, a win for the non-musicians.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled. “And he’s not you-know-who.”
There was a pause — not awkward, just heavy with shared understanding.
“I’m happy for you,” I said quietly.
She looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. “I’m happy for you too.”
It wasn’t forgiveness, not in full. But it was peace.
And for the first time since everything exploded, I let myself believe we might really make it out okay.
That night, Kurt and Joey invited me over for dinner.
Kurt cooked — which meant grilled cheese, because that was his culinary limit — and Joey insisted on setting the table like it was a five-star restaurant.
He’d even made place cards out of sticky notes.
When we sat down, Joey cleared his throat dramatically. “Okay, we need to make this official.”
“Make what official?” I asked.
He grinned. “Thursday game nights. Forever.”
Kurt chuckled. “Forever’s a long time, kid.”
Joey shrugged. “Then at least through college. Or marriage. Or the apocalypse.”
“High standards,” I said, laughing.
He nodded solemnly. “Pinky promise?”
Kurt and I exchanged a look, smiling. Then we both held out our pinkies. Joey hooked his through ours and grinned like he’d just sealed the world’s most important treaty.
“There,” he said proudly. “Now you can’t ditch us.”
Kurt leaned over and whispered, “Guess you’re stuck with us.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” I whispered back.
Weeks turned into months.
Kurt’s band started playing regular gigs downtown. Audrey and I found a rhythm again — slower, steadier, but real. She even came to one of Kurt’s shows once, clapping for the band like old times.
Afterward, she caught my eye across the crowd and mouthed He’s good.
And somehow, that one gesture said everything we needed it to.
It’s funny how life rebuilds itself quietly.
Not in big moments, but in little ones.
In late-night drives with music too loud.
In inside jokes with a twelve-year-old.
In coffee dates that don’t end in tears.
In being honest, even when it hurts.
Sometimes the mess doesn’t get fixed — it just becomes part of the story.
One night, months later, I was at the arcade again with Joey — back where everything started.
He was older now, taller, still pretending he didn’t care when he lost.
“Rematch?” he asked, pointing at the Guitar Hero machine.
I smirked. “You sure? I’d hate to destroy your ego again.”
He grinned. “You’re on.”
Halfway through the song, Kurt showed up, watching us from the side. When the round ended, Joey threw up his hands dramatically.
“Okay, fine! You’re still better.”
I high-fived him. “Told you.”
Kurt laughed. “You two are ridiculous.”
I looked over my shoulder, grinning. “And you love it.”
He smiled, and for the first time since the chaos began, I felt completely at peace.
Because somehow, out of heartbreak and guilt and all the wrong turns, we’d built something good.
Something honest.
Something real.
Months later, I found the old Dave & Buster’s card at the bottom of my glove compartment.
Faded, worn, still holding a few credits.
I smiled and texted Joey a photo of it.
Me: “Guess it’s time for another rematch.”
Joey: “I’ve been practicing.”
Me: “Not enough.”
Joey: “Bet dinner on it?”
Kurt (jumping into the group chat): “Loser buys pizza. Winner gets bragging rights forever.”
Joey: “Deal.”
Me: “You’re on.”
And just like that, everything that once felt impossible had found its balance again.
Not perfect, not simple — but ours.
Because sometimes the best stories don’t end with fireworks.
They end with forgiveness, friendship, and a pinky promise that somehow manages to hold everything together.
THE END
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