ELOISE
The crisp morning air of Oakridge High usually felt neutral, but today, the hallways felt suffocatingly heavy.
I kept my head down as I walked past the rows of red lockers, my fingers gripping the straps of my backpack until my knuckles turned white. After the beautiful, chaotic perfection of last night—the dim candles, the laughter with Chad and Jake, and the breathtaking weight of Mike’s lips against mine in the dark study—the transition back to school felt like a bucket of ice water to the face.
That was the unsaid rule of our lives. At home, behind the high stone walls of the Weller estate, he was mine. He was the boy who wrapped his massive arms around my waist and rested his forehead against mine in the moonlight.
But here? Here, we had to be strangers.
A few feet a
