The Edge Of Control
771 Words
PPeople expected things from Prince Ellington—grades he never earned, smiles he didn’t feel, and a future he hadn’t agreed to.
He played the part well. Cocky grin. Easy swagger. The kind of guy who never tried too hard but always ended up with what he wanted.
Except when it came to Pearl Donovan.
There was something about her that disrupted his rhythm. Like a song you couldn’t get out of your head, but the lyrics never quite made sense.
She was quiet, but not weak. Cold, but not cruel. And every time she looked away from him, it made him want to make her look back.
He leaned against the locker outside the science wing, earbuds in, pretending to scroll his phone while watching her from a distance.
She always walked like the hallway belonged to her. Straight spine. No wasted movement. No friends close enough to talk to. No one ever close enough, period.
Prince knew that feeling.
He just hid it better.
“Yo,” his best friend Zay said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You ghosted us at lunch again. You good?”
“Yeah,” Prince said, eyes still on Pearl. “Wasn’t hungry.”
Zay followed his gaze and smirked. “Ah. That explains it.”
“It doesn’t explain anything,” Prince muttered, finally pocketing his phone.
Zay leaned in. “You into her?”
Prince didn’t answer.
Because the truth was complicated.
He wasn’t into the idea of her.
He was into the things she didn’t say. The armor she wore. The silence she used like a blade. And that moment on the rooftop?
It wasn’t nothing.
It was... something.
---
Later that day, practice was brutal. Football drills in the late heat, coaches yelling, sweat blurring his vision. He moved on instinct, but his mind wasn’t on the field.
It was in a quiet library corner.
It was tracing the curve of a smile that rarely showed.
It was wondering what it would take to make Pearl come undone.
After practice, he showered quickly and slipped out early. No one noticed. No one ever questioned him when he disappeared.
He drove through the city with the windows down, music low, eyes scanning the streets. He didn’t know why he drove past her neighborhood, or how he even remembered where she lived.
He told himself he wasn’t a stalker.
He was just curious.
And maybe he wanted to see the version of Pearl no one else saw.
But her curtains were drawn. Lights off. Nothing.
He stayed for three minutes.
Then drove away.
Prince didn’t go home right away. He ended up at a park near the river, parking the car and stretching out on the hood, staring up at the darkening sky. The city lights bled into the clouds, soft and golden, like everything was on the edge of something.
He hated how much he thought about her. It wasn’t like him. He usually moved on fast. Flirted, laughed, forgot.
But Pearl wasn’t like anyone else.
She never looked at him like he was a star. She looked at him like he was a storm—beautiful maybe, but dangerous. And somehow, he wanted to prove her wrong and right all at once.
His phone buzzed.
Mom: “Dinner. Don’t be late. Your father’s in a mood.”
He sighed, running a hand through his damp curls. Back to the castle.
Home was a glass-walled condo downtown, polished and perfect. Too quiet. Too clean.
His father didn’t look up from his laptop as Prince walked in.
“You’re late,” he said, not as a question.
“I had practice.”
“You should’ve stayed after. You need to push harder if you want that scholarship.”
“I’m not even sure I want to play in college.”
That got his dad’s attention.
A slow, cold stare. “You don’t have the luxury of not being sure.”
His mother tried to soften it with a smile. “Your father just wants what’s best for you.”
Prince stabbed a fork into his food. He didn’t reply.
Because what was best for him might not be football. It might not be Princeton or pre-law or any of the paths laid out like golden roads.
What if what was best for him had dark eyes and sharp wit and didn’t give a damn about who his parents were?
He went to bed that night thinking about Pearl’s laugh—the rare one, the real one—and how it sounded like something he wasn’t supposed to want.
But already did.
- Writer
