What Love Isn’t

Chapter 1

The first time I saw Marcus Chen, he was leaning against the brick wall outside the cafeteria, laughing at something on his phone. September sunlight caught the angles of his face, and I remember thinking he looked like someone from a movie—the kind of person who existed in a different orbit than mine.

I was fumbling with my backpack, trying to balance my lunch tray and find my student ID at the same time, when everything went sideways. Literally. My tray tipped, my sandwich made a break for freedom, and my apple juice carton exploded across the concrete in a spectacular arc of orange liquid.

"s**t," I muttered, dropping to my knees.

"Here." A hand appeared in my line of vision, holding my sandwich. "I caught this one before it hit the ground. The juice, though..." He gestured at the spreading puddle. "That's a lost cause."

I looked up, and there he was. Up close, Marcus was even more striking—dark eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled, black hair that fell just right across his forehead, a dimple in his left cheek.

"Thanks," I managed, taking the sandwich. My face felt like it was on fire.

"I'm Marcus. I just transferred here from Riverside." He crouched down beside me, helping gather the napkins that had scattered everywhere. "And you are?"

"Julia. Julia Morrison." I shoved napkins into my bag, acutely aware that half the senior class was probably watching this disaster unfold. "I'm usually more coordinated than this. Usually."

"I don't know, I think you pulled off that juice explosion with real flair. Very artistic." His smile widened. "Are you okay? You didn't get any on you, did you?"

I glanced down at my jeans. Miraculously, I'd escaped unscathed. "No, I'm good. Just my dignity that took a hit."

"Your dignity looks fine to me." He stood, offering his hand to help me up. His grip was warm and steady. "Tell you what—let me buy you another lunch. It's the least I can do for witnessing your performance art."

"You don't have to do that. It was my fault for trying to multitask."

"I insist. Besides, I don't know anyone here yet, and eating alone on the first day is pretty depressing." He tilted his head, studying me. "Unless you already have plans?"

I thought of James, who was probably already at our usual table in the corner, saving me a seat like he had every day since freshman year. But James would understand. This was Marcus Chen, asking me to have lunch with him.

"No plans," I heard myself say. "Lunch sounds great."

---

We ended up at a small table by the windows, away from the main crush of students. Marcus had insisted on buying me a full meal—sandwich, chips, a cookie, and a replacement juice.

"So, Julia Morrison," he said, unwrapping his own sandwich. "Tell me about Riverside High. What should I know?"

"Well, the wifi is terrible, the coffee in the teachers' lounge is supposedly toxic, and if you want to survive Mr. Patterson's history class, never sit in the front row. He's a spitter."

Marcus laughed—a real laugh that made his whole face light up. "Noted. What else?"

"The drama club is actually pretty good, the football team is terrible but everyone pretends they're not, and the best place to study is the second floor of the library, by the big windows."

"You spend a lot of time in the library?"

"More than is probably healthy." I took a bite of my sandwich, suddenly self-conscious. "I'm kind of a nerd."

"Nothing wrong with that. What are you into?"

And just like that, we were talking. Really talking. Marcus asked questions like he actually cared about the answers—what books I liked, what I wanted to study in college, what I did for fun. He listened when I talked about wanting to be a writer, didn't laugh when I admitted I kept a journal, and seemed genuinely interested when I rambled about my favorite authors.

"You're really easy to talk to," I said, surprising myself with the honesty.

"So are you." He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes intent on mine. "I'm glad I caught your sandwich, Julia Morrison."

My phone buzzed. A text from James: *Where are you? Everything okay?*

I typed back quickly: *Sorry! Got caught up. See you in English?*

His response was immediate: *Sure. See you then.*

I felt a small pang of guilt, but pushed it aside. James and I had lunch together all the time. He'd be fine for one day.

"Boyfriend?" Marcus asked, nodding at my phone.

"What? No. Just my best friend, James. We usually eat together, but..." I trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

"But you're having lunch with the new guy instead." Marcus grinned. "I'm honored. And relieved, actually."

"Relieved?"

"That you don't have a boyfriend." He held my gaze for a moment longer than necessary. "I was hoping I could ask you out sometime. Like, on an actual date. Not just a cafeteria lunch after a juice explosion."

My heart did something complicated in my chest. "You want to ask me out?"

"Is that so surprising?"

"Kind of, yeah." I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "You just got here. You could probably ask out anyone."

"I don't want to ask out anyone. I want to ask out you." He said it simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "So what do you say? Friday night? There's supposed to be a good Italian place downtown."

I should have said I needed to think about it. I should have played it cool, not seemed too eager. But Marcus was looking at me like I was the only person in the room, and I felt something shift inside me—a door opening to possibility.

"Friday sounds perfect," I said.

---

I floated through the rest of the day in a daze. In English, I slid into my usual seat next to James, who looked up from his notebook with a raised eyebrow.

"So," he said. "You ditched me for the new guy."

"I didn't ditch you. I just... had lunch with someone else. One time."

"Uh-huh." James studied me with those steady gray eyes that always saw too much. We'd been best friends since middle school, when he'd found me crying in the library after some girls had made fun of my secondhand clothes. He'd sat down next to me, handed me half his sandwich, and said, "Those girls are idiots. Your shirt is cool." We'd been inseparable ever since.

"Don't look at me like that," I said.

"Like what?"

"Like you're worried."

"I'm not worried. I'm just... observant." He tapped his pen against his notebook. "What's his deal?"

"He doesn't have a deal. He's nice. He just transferred from Riverside, and he asked me out."

James's expression flickered—something I couldn't quite read. "And you said yes."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"No reason. I just..." He shook his head. "Never mind. I hope you have fun."

But there was something in his voice that made me pause. "James, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm happy for you, Jules. Really." He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just be careful, okay?"

"Careful of what? He seems really sweet."

"I'm sure he is. I just mean... you don't really know him yet."

"That's kind of the point of dating. Getting to know someone." I tried to keep my tone light, but I felt a flicker of irritation. James was my best friend, but sometimes he was a little too protective.

"You're right. Sorry." He squeezed my shoulder. "Forget I said anything. Tell me about this date."

So I did, and James listened like he always did, making jokes and asking questions. But I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between us, some invisible line that I'd crossed without meaning to.

---

That night, I lay in bed scrolling through Marcus's i********:. He'd followed me after lunch, and I'd spent an embarrassing amount of time looking through his photos. There weren't many—he wasn't one of those people who posted constantly—but what was there painted an interesting picture.

Marcus at the beach, squinting into the sun. Marcus with an older woman who had to be his mom, both of them laughing. Marcus playing guitar, his fingers blurred in motion. Marcus with a group of friends, his arm slung around a pretty blonde girl.

I stared at that last photo longer than I should have, trying to read the body language. Was she an ex-girlfriend? A current girlfriend? But no—he'd asked me out. He wouldn't do that if he was with someone else.

My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: *Hey, it's Marcus. Got your number from the school directory—hope that's not creepy. Just wanted to say I had a really good time talking to you today.*

I saved his contact immediately, my fingers flying over the keyboard: *Not creepy at all. I had a good time too.*

*Good. I was worried I came on too strong with the date thing. I don't usually ask girls out five minutes after meeting them.*

*What made me special?* I typed, then deleted it. Too flirty. Too presumptuous. I tried again: *I'm glad you did.*

*Me too. Sweet dreams, Julia Morrison.*

I fell asleep with my phone clutched in my hand, a smile on my face, and no idea that I'd just taken the first step toward losing myself completely.