School feels the same as always—buzzing with noise, phones out under desks, the halls thick with too much cologne and not enough personal space.

I slide into first period just before the bell, drop my backpack on the floor, and nod at the teacher like I’m here to learn something. She doesn’t look convinced.

Math drags. So does History. I get through both without falling asleep, which feels like a win.

By the time lunch hits, I’m starving.

Cole’s already at our table when I get there, halfway through a slice of pepperoni pizza that’s dripping grease onto his tray.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says through a mouthful.

“Barely,” I mutter, grabbing two chocolate milks and sitting down.

Mason’s ranting about a ref’s bad call from some college game, and Hailey joins us a minute later, sliding into her spot next to me like we’re in some pre-choreographed routine. She smells like vanilla and expensive shampoo.

“Big chemistry test tomorrow,” she says, pulling out a highlighter. “You study yet?”

I snort. “I’m counting on you to get me through it.”

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” she says, rolling her eyes. But she’s smiling.

Cole leans forward. “Everything’s still on for tomorrow night, by the way. Preston texted me—his band’s locked in, backyard’s ready, no parents.”

Hailey raises a brow. “And it won’t get shut down in the first hour?”

“It’s not that kind of party,” Cole says. “It’s a cool one.”

“Famous last words,” she mutters, but she doesn’t say no.

Honestly, I’m just glad something’s happening. This week’s been nothing but school, practice, and the same routine I could sleepwalk through. A party means music, space to breathe, and maybe a break from thinking about the dozen people who expect me to be someone 24/7.

Even if it’s just for a few hours.

The bell rings, and we all scatter in different directions. I’ve got English next—Hailey’s in there too. She always takes notes in different colored pens. I borrow them more than she probably likes.

Just another Thursday.

Nothing big. Nothing weird.

Just the usual.

PART 2

I’m halfway through my second chocolate milk when someone walks up to our table. Not a teacher, not a kid I recognize. He doesn’t look like he belongs here—which is kind of the point, I think.

Black jeans, band tee, rings on his fingers. Hair that probably started messy on purpose and got worse on the way in. He’s got this easy, slow way of moving, like he’s not in a rush for anyone.

He stops right at our table, hands in his pockets, and looks at Cole.

“You Preston’s friend?” he asks.

Cole blinks up at him, confused for a second, then snaps his fingers. “Oh—Jace, right?”

“Yeah.” Jace nods. “He said you had details about tomorrow?”

“Oh—right. Yeah.” Cole leans back in his chair, grabbing his phone off the table. “Backyard setup starts around six. We’ll have extension cords and a couple of standing lights, but bring whatever sound crap you need. You guys are the only band, so you’ve got the night.”

“Cool,” Jace says. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t sound rude either. Just… flat. Like this is a favor he doesn’t mind doing, but also wouldn’t notice if it got canceled.

He glances around the table once, like he’s checking who’s there but doesn’t really care. His eyes flick past me and Hailey, then back to Cole.

“That it?”

“Pretty much,” Cole says. “Party starts at eight. You’re playing at nine-ish. Just don’t blow the speakers.”

Jace gives a lazy two-finger salute and turns to go.

“Wait,” Hailey says, raising an eyebrow. “You’re the one in the band?”

He pauses, turns his head just a little. “Lead vocals. Guitar.”

She blinks. “You’re in high school?”

“Technically.”

Then he walks off without waiting for a response.

I watch him leave, not sure what to make of it. Of him. I don’t even realize I’m staring until Hailey leans in close and mutters under her breath:

“Well, he’s got main character energy.”

Cole laughs. “You have no idea.”

I shake my head and go back to my sandwich.

Just another weird blip in a long, boring Thursday.

PART 3

Hailey’s waiting on the porch when I pull up—legs crossed, phone in hand, sunglasses on even though the sun’s barely holding on. She looks like she stepped out of a magazine, casual but somehow perfect. She always does.

“Took you long enough,” she says, sliding her phone into her back pocket as I step out of the truck.

“I had to avoid a herd of freshmen clogging the lot. Nearly didn’t make it.”

“Tragic,” she deadpans, then grabs my hand and pulls me inside like she’s been counting down the minutes.

The house smells like candles and whatever lotion she uses that I’ve never been able to describe—warm and sweet and just… Hailey. Her mom’s car isn’t in the driveway. Her dad’s probably still at work. The place is quiet.

We end up on the couch. The same couch we’ve made out on a hundred times. Her head finds my shoulder like muscle memory, her hand resting just under the hem of my shirt.

We talk about nothing—weekend plans, people being idiots in class, how she’s probably going to ace the chemistry test tomorrow. She gives me crap for not studying. I promise to make flashcards, which is a lie we both let slide.

It’s easy.

This part of my life usually is.

We don’t go anywhere after. I hang out until just before dinner, when she starts hinting that she should probably get some actual studying done, and I take the hint.

She kisses me goodbye at the door, lingering just long enough to make it worth the drive.

“Don’t forget to actually read chapter eight,” she says.

“Eight. Got it.”

“You’re gonna forget, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

She rolls her eyes, smiling. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”

And I do.

I climb back into my truck and head home. My mom asks about my day when I walk in. I tell her it was fine. She’s making pasta. My sister’s blasting music upstairs. Dad won’t be home until late.

It’s a regular Thursday.

Nothing special. Nothing strange.

Just normal.

PART 4

My alarm goes off at 6:45. I hit snooze twice before dragging myself out of bed.

The house is quiet—Dad already gone, Mom half-asleep with coffee in one hand and her planner in the other. She reminds me to pack a jacket in case it gets cold tonight. I pretend I don’t hear her.

Shower. Deodorant. Hoodie. Sneakers. I grab a protein bar and a sports drink and I’m out the door by 7:25.

The school parking lot’s the usual mess. I find my spot and head inside, earbuds in, music low. I nod to a few people I recognize, say hey to a couple teammates. Cole’s waiting near the stairs when I get in, tossing a football in the air like he’s bored.

“You ready for tonight?” he asks, falling into step with me.

“Yeah. Should be fun.”

“Preston says his neighbors are chill, so we shouldn’t have to worry about the music. Said his band might do two sets if people are into it.”

“I’m down,” I say. “Just don’t let Mason near the fire pit again. Last time he tried to roast a burger.”

Cole grins. “No promises.”

The day moves like it always does. Classes come and go. I zone out during English, forget my calculator in math, and completely bomb a Spanish vocab quiz I didn’t know was happening.

Hailey and I meet up at lunch. She’s got a whole thing about how Friday tests should be illegal. I agree, mostly because she looks good when she’s worked up about something.

Cole drops more details about the party—time, who’s bringing what, whose older brother is buying beer. Hailey says she might show up late, depending on how long her study group runs.

“Bring me something decent to drink,” she says. “Not that bottom-shelf garbage Mason always shows up with.”

“You got it,” I tell her.

It’s just a party. Another weekend. Nothing new.

I go to practice. I run drills. I shower, drive home, eat dinner, and text Hailey a picture of my cleaned-up room to prove I’m not a total disaster.

Around 7:40, Cole texts me:

Cole (7:39 PM):

Heading to Preston’s. Bring cups if you’ve got some.

I grab a red plastic sleeve from under the sink and head out.

The night hasn’t even started yet.

Just another Friday.