The secrets we bury

The First Party

The second we stepped into St. Agatha’s, I knew we had won.

It was only the first week back, and already it felt like a scene straight out of a high school movie.

My girls flanked me on both sides — the loyal, well-trained minions — and behind us, like a polished little shadow, came Melanie.

All eyes were on us.

No, scratch that.

All eyes were on her.

Melanie cleaned up well.

Her blonde hair bounced with every step, now styled into a fresh bob with highlights that shimmered under the fluorescent hallway lights.

The thick glasses were gone, replaced by baby-blue contacts that made her eyes pop.

Lip gloss? Shiny as hell.

Books? Nowhere in sight.

My little project. My protégé.

We strutted toward our lockers like we owned the world.

And then, of course, the air shifted.

Cue the hiss.

“What did you do to my sister, you b***h?”

Melody.

She stood in front of us like a thundercloud with attitude.

Arms crossed. Hair pulled back too tight. Eyes spitting fire.

God, she was exhausting.

I smiled as I opened my locker, casual and unbothered.

“Melanie, sweetie,” I said, my tone sugar-sweet. “Care to answer your sister?”

Melanie stepped forward, voice quiet but clear.

“I’m fine, Mel. I’m… pretty. Why can’t you just be happy for me? You never cared to help.”

Oh.

Well, well.

Look who was growing a backbone.

Melody stared at her like she had been slapped.

“I hope when this cunt turns her back on you, you don’t come running to me,” she spat, before whipping around, flipping her hair over her shoulder and storming off.

We burst out laughing.

Who the hell did she think she was?

The rest of Friday flew by.

Anticipation buzzed through the air like static.

Tonight was the first party of the year.

And not just any party.

Thornton Grayson’s frat party.

The moment school ended, we rushed out, giggling in the parking lot, already planning the night.

We all agreed to get ready at my house. Of course. Where else?

Getting Ready

My walk-in closet became a war zone of short skirts, strappy heels, and body spray.

Averie went with a red cut-out dress.

Emma chose black leather pants and a sheer top — predictable but hot.

Melanie, however…

We chose a blush pink two-piece set for her. Tiny skirt. Tight crop top.

I curled her hair just enough to give it bounce, glossed her lips, and added a single dab of shimmer to her collarbones.

She looked… almost stunning.

Not quite me, of course.

But she’d turn heads. Maybe even the right one.

“Do you think it’s too short?” she asked, tugging the hem nervously.

“Mel,” I said, brushing her hand away. “That’s the point.”

The Party

The frat house pulsed with music and hormones.

Bass thumped in our chests as we walked through the doors, the smell of beer, sweat, and bad decisions thick in the air.

It was alive.

Wild.

Exactly how I liked it.

We moved through the crowd like royalty — Emma already looking for Jason, Averie grabbing drinks, Melanie trailing us nervously until…

I saw it.

He saw her.

Thornton.

Standing by the pong table in a white tee and jeans, drink in hand, a lazy smirk on his face.

He looked up — and his eyes locked on Melanie.

There it was.

The flicker.

I saw his eyebrows lift, his mouth twitch like he was impressed.

She turned away quickly, flustered, pretending she hadn’t noticed him.

Oh, this will be fun, I thought.

Later that Night

The party blurred into music and lights and too many drinks.

Emma was off with Jason somewhere, God knows where.

Averie was dancing with a senior from another school.

And I?

I found Thornton leaning against a wall, cocky and relaxed, beer dangling in his hand.

His eyes trailed over me slowly.

“I see your project turned out nice,” he said with a smirk.

I leaned in, lips brushing the rim of his cup.

“You haven’t even seen my best work yet.”

He laughed, low and rough.

And then he kissed me.

We slipped upstairs.

It was rough.

It was messy.

It was the kind of thing that left marks on your hips and guilt in your chest —

but it made me feel alive.

Powerful.

I knew he didn’t love me.

But I didn’t care.

I didn’t need love.

I needed to own him.

The First Time I Saw Ethan

Afterward, I cleaned myself up in the bathroom, reapplied my lipstick, and walked back downstairs like nothing had happened.

And that’s when I saw him.

Ethan.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping a Coke, chatting with Thornton like they were old college bros — which they were.

He was older.

Taller.

Confident in a way that wasn’t performative.

God. He was beautiful.

He looked at me, and I felt something c***k under my ribs.

Our eyes locked.

Fireworks.

I walked over, hips swaying, smile locked in.

“Hi,” I said.

He looked me over, not in the way boys at school did.

Not like he wanted to conquer me.

Like he saw me.

“I’m Ethan,” he said, offering a hand.

“Ava,” I replied, slipping mine into his.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Student or alum?”

“Alum,” I lied smoothly.

“I’m twenty.”

He grinned. “Good. I’d hate to be talking to a sixteen year-old.”

I smiled.

I was sixteen .

But he didn’t need to know that.

We talked. Flirted.

Exchanged numbers.

By the time I left that party, I knew two things.

Thornton wanted Melanie.

And I wanted Ethan.

Game on.