Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

To say Lucy Chen was good at everything was an understatement.

Calculus? Nailed it. Chemistry? Practically spoke it fluently. Future valedictorian? All but confirmed.

Debate team captain. Yearbook committee. Co-author of The Wilshire Weekly’s most-read editorial column.

If there was an extracurricular that looked good on a college application, Lucy Chen was on it.

But when it came to love? That was the one subject she couldn’t seem to crack.

Sure, she loved reading about love. Devoured romance novels like they were her final meal. Hell, she even wrote about love—letters never meant to be sent, feelings scribbled down just to get them out of her system.

But actually being in love? Living it, navigating it, risking her carefully structured life for it? That was a different story.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lucy Chen has been “in love” a total of 3 times.

First, there was Jackson West in middle school—her talent show duet buddy, and the first boy to ever compliment her makeup. He also turned out to be one hundred percent gay and, more importantly, her future platonic soulmate and partner in crime.

Then, Chris Sanford. A total walking cliché—varsity swimmer, charming smile, couldn’t hold a conversation about anything other than the weather outside and how much he can bench press.

But none of her harmless, here-and-gone crushes hit as hard as Tim Bradford.

Sure, he was cocky—it practically radiated off of him. Captain of the football team, campus royalty, already on the radar for a full ride to Stanford as their future star quarterback. But there was something else, something buried just beneath that cocky smirk and those ridiculous shoulder pads, that made Lucy’s heart stutter in ways she couldn’t explain. She’d only spoken to him once during all four years of high school. If you could even call it that. It happened between the third and fourth period, when he “accidentally” bumped into her while moving through the crowded hallway. Her books hit the floor, her pride hit right after, and he? He didn’t so much as glance back. Just brushed his shoulder off like she’d scuffed his jersey and kept walking.

That should’ve been the end of it.

But of course, her heart had other ideas.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lucy started to notice Tim more after their first encounter—or, more accurately, their complete and utter lack thereof.

One careless shoulder check between classes. Her books went flying across the hallway floor. Him? He didn’t even pause. Just kept walking like she was nothing more than a speed bump on his way to Calculus.

She told herself it didn’t matter. That he was just another self-absorbed jock who didn’t see anyone outside his orbit. And she believed it—mostly.

But three months after their worlds had collided (literally), she found herself sitting at her desk, pen in hand, writing everything she couldn’t say out loud. 

Dear Timothy Bradford, 

I don’t know why I’m writing this.
Actually, I do.

It’s because three months ago, you shoulder-checked me in the hallway, sent my books flying, didn’t apologize, and just kept walking like I didn’t exist. And somehow, somehow, I’ve been thinking about you ever since.

Which is ridiculous.
Because I don’t like you.

I don’t even know you. You’re the football captain with the too-perfect hair, the smug grin, and a college scholarship already lined up like the rest of your life is one big game plan. You walk around school like the world owes you something.

But then there are these moments—small, stupid ones—that mess everything up.

Like the way your eyes go weirdly soft when you’re talking to Coach. Or how you always make sure the younger players get their moment after a game. Or how your eyes—annoyingly blue, by the way—look less smug and more tired when you think no one’s watching.

And I hate that I notice these things.
I hate that you’ve taken up space in my brain for this long when you don’t even know my name.

This isn’t some epic love story. This is me, being irrational and hormonal and probably just avoiding my AP Stats homework.

Still, I wrote the letter. Still, I’m going to fold it up and hide it in the box under my bed. Because maybe writing it down will finally make it go away.

Yours truly, 

Lucille Chen.

And just like the other two, she folded it carefully and placed it in the box beneath her bed—a quiet little graveyard of feelings too big to say out loud, but too loud to ignore.

Letters she’d re-read on the nights when her heart felt heavier than her logic could handle—or when her mother scolded her for the 93% she got on a math quiz, or for eating “too much” at the dinner table, or on those nights when the weight of everything made her want to disappear.

Those nights when she’d rather bury her face in those pages than face the world outside her bedroom door.

With every reread, the letters became a shield, a way to hold onto the parts of herself that felt too fragile to show.

Because out there—beyond her bedroom walls—life was loud. Expectations were louder. And love? Well, love was the loudest and most confusing thing of all.

But here, with her letters folded carefully in a box, Lucy could finally breathe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Being the first and only child of two overbearing therapist parents meant Lucy Chen learned early on how to keep her emotions tightly bottled up.

But that didn’t mean she didn’t feel things. In fact, she felt everything—deeply. She cared too much, too often, about people who didn’t always deserve it. Even when Doug Stanton had very clearly groped her in eighth grade, she hadn’t told a soul. Not because she wasn’t angry—she was—but because expressing that kind of messy, overwhelming emotion never seemed like an option in her household.

So when those feelings got too loud, too tangled, too much, she turned to the only outlet that made sense. She wrote.

Letters. Neatly folded, sealed, and tucked away in a box beneath her bed because writing it down was safer than saying it out loud.

Simpler than explaining it.

And far more bearable than the idea of being seen.

It was safe.

It was hers.

And it was supposed to stay secret.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey Chen, wait up”

Lucy glanced over her shoulder, heart skipping a beat—not because of the words, but because it was him . Timothy Bradford, football captain, walking briskly toward her with that signature confident stride.

She slowed, trying to steady her breath.

Tim stopped a few feet away, holding something in his hand.

“You got something for me?” His voice was casual, but there was an edge—like he wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed, curious, or something else entirely.

Lucy’s eyes flicked down to the crumpled paper in his palm. Her letter.

“I—” she started, then stopped. Words tangled in her throat.

Tim held up the letter. “This… was in my locker today. I figured you’d want it back.”

She swallowed hard. “I didn’t— I mean, I wrote it, but I never meant for you to see it.”

For a long moment, they just stood there, the noise of the hallway fading into the background.

“I’m dating Ashley,” Tim said suddenly, eyes locking with hers. “So, I don’t know what this means.”

But Lucy didn’t respond. No. She couldn’t. Her entire body froze up until she was seeing literal stars in her vision.

“Chen?” Tim’s voice snapped through the haze, sharp with concern.

Before she could answer, her knees buckled.

“Whoa!” Tim caught her just in time, steadying her against his chest. How the hell does a 17 year old have a 6 pack?  

Everything went dark for a second—the noise of the hallway faded away, replaced by the thundering of her own heartbeat.

When she came back to herself, Tim’s face was inches from hers, worry etched deep in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

Lucy swallowed hard, still trembling.

“Yeah. Just... didn’t expect that,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. But her mind was on other things, like who the hell went through her stuff and set out the letter.

Chapter Text

But her mind was on other things, like who the hell went through her stuff and set out the letter.

Because she hadn’t put it in his locker.

And if she didn’t… someone else did.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to regain some space from Tim’s arms, from the warmth of his chest and that ridiculously toned body that somehow still had her thinking completely off track.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to steady her nerves. “Really.”

Tim looked skeptical, but he didn’t push. He just held the letter out again.

“I didn’t show anyone,” he said after a pause. “I didn’t even tell Ashley. I just... I wanted to hear it from you.”

Lucy took the paper with shaking fingers, eyes flicking up to his. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“I got that much.” His expression softened slightly. “Still... that letter didn’t read like some joke. It felt real.”

She bit her lip. “It was.”

There it was. Out loud. No take-backs.

Tim looked at her like he didn’t quite know what to do with that. “Look, I don’t want to be a jerk. But I’m with Ashley. And this? I don’t know what to do with this.”

“I’m not asking you to do anything,” Lucy said quickly, trying to keep her voice steady. “I wrote those letters for me. To deal. Not to, like, confess my undying love in the middle of a hallway.”

Tim smirked. “Kind of feels like that, though.”

She shot him a glare, but there was no heat behind it. “Shut up, Bradford.”

He chuckled—actually chuckled—and shook his head before turning slightly to glance down the hall. His posture shifted like he was about to walk away, and Lucy felt her stomach drop.

But then he said, “For what it’s worth... I’ve never gotten a letter like that before.”

30 minutes earlier

Tim Bradford stared at the plain white envelope on his locker shelf, the neat, familiar handwriting on the front catching his eye: Lucille Chen .

He frowned. He didn’t know anyone who actually used their full name anymore. And Lucille ? That sounded like something out of a dusty novel like Pride and Prejudice or something.

His fingers hovered over the envelope for a beat before curiosity won out. He slipped it open, unfolding the letter inside.

Dear Timothy Bradford,
I don’t know why I’m writing this. Actually, I do.
It’s because three months ago, you shoulder-checked me in the hallway, sent my books flying, didn’t apologize, and just kept walking like I didn’t exist. And somehow, somehow, I’ve been thinking about you ever since...

Tim’s eyes scanned the words—words that felt too real, too raw, too unlike anything anyone had ever said to him.

And who in their right mind would send him a love letter while he’s dating Ashley?

“Guess we’re talking about this,” he muttered under his breath, slamming the locker shut and heading off to find Lucy Chen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After that bizarre—was that even the right word for it?—encounter with Tim, Lucy headed off in search of the one person who knew about the letters.

Her best friend, Jackson West.

She found him leaning against the wall near the theater doors, earbuds in, mouthing along to something only he could hear. Lucy didn’t hesitate. She walked right up and yanked one of the earbuds out.

“Hey!” Jackson protested, nearly dropping his phone. “Rude.”

“We have a situation,” she said, voice low but urgent.

Jackson took one look at her flushed cheeks and wide eyes and sighed. “What did you do?”

“Tim read one of the letters.”

“Wait. Tim Bradford?! Mr. I-don’t-need-to-study-because-I’m-the-star-quarterback-and-have-a-scholarship-at-Stanford Bradford ?” Jackson repeated, eyes wide.

Lucy winced. “Yes. Yes. That Tim.”

“Oh My God. Lucy!!!!!! How did that even happen”, Jackson gawked at her like she’d just confessed to setting the school on fire.

How?! I thought those letters were stashed away in a shoebox under your bed, next to your collection of tragic YA novels.”

“They were!” she hissed. “But I was writing a new one last night, and I must’ve accidentally slipped it into my math folder instead of putting it away. I guess I had it out when we were assigned lockers, and somehow—it ended up in his.”

Jackson blinked slowly. “Okay, first of all, you really need to get better at compartmentalizing your chaos. Second of all… you wrote a new one? I thought you were done!”

Lucy’s face flushed deeper. “I had feelings, Jackson.”

He gave her a flat look. “You always have feelings. That’s literally your brand.”

She groaned and buried her face in her hands. “He read it. And then he found me and brought it up.”

“Wait, wait, what did he say? ” Jackson leaned in, all gossip-hungry now, and actually hungry as the duo headed toward the cafeteria.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The low roar of the cafeteria buzzed around them—clinking trays, bursts of laughter, the occasional shouted name. Lucy sat across from Jackson at their usual table near the windows, picking at her salad like it had personally offended her.

“You’re stabbing that lettuce like it owes you money,” Jackson said, eyeing her fork’s death grip.

Lucy sighed. “I feel like I’m living in a nightmare. Like… that thing where you show up to school naked? Except instead of being naked, the hottest guy in school read my soul and then caught me mid-faint.”

Jackson sipped from his juice box with exaggerated calm. “Yeah, well, at least you’re not naked.”

Lucy shot him a look.

He held up a hand. “Just saying. It could always be worse.”

At that exact moment, laughter rang out from the far side of the cafeteria. Like a magnetic pull, Lucy’s eyes flicked over.

Tim Bradford.

And Ashley McGrady, perched on his lap like she was auditioning for the cover of Teen Drama Weekly.

Her manicured fingers traced his jawline before she leaned in and kissed him— long enough to draw whistles from the nearby football table.

Lucy looked away so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.

Jackson winced. “Yikes.”

“I hate this school,” Lucy muttered, focusing very hard on the raisins in her salad.

He glanced over at the couple again. “They have no shame.”

“It’s like they know I’m watching,” she said through clenched teeth.

“They probably don’t. Ashley would make out with him in front of a school assembly if it meant she got attention.”

Lucy tried not to glance back again. She failed.

Tim wasn’t even kissing Ashley anymore, but he was looking at her like she’d just scored the game-winning touchdown. It hurt more than it should have. Especially after what he said earlier. Especially after he caught her.

Especially after he didn’t seem to hate it.

Jackson reached across the table and gently nudged her tray away. “Okay, no more torture salad. You need fries and a distraction. Preferably something stupid and impulsive.”

Lucy leaned back in her chair, blinking rapidly. “Why does it feel like I’m the villain in a movie about two golden people who are meant to be together?”

“Because you wrote secret love letters to the quarterback while he was dating the head cheerleader,” Jackson said, deadpan. “It’s giving classic teen drama.”

Lucy groaned and buried her face in her hands.

Jackson leaned forward. “But guess what, Chen? The villain is usually just misunderstood. And sometimes? They end up with a better story.”

Lucy peeked at him through her fingers. “You think?”

“I know,” he said confidently. “Also, Ashley just got ketchup on her white jeans, so... the universe is clearly on your side.”

Lucy grinned despite herself. “That’s dark, but also karma’s a bi–”

“Hey, guys,” a voice interrupted, cutting her off mid-sentence.

Lucy looked up to see Wesley Evers, buttoned-up and perpetually anxious, clutching a lunch tray and looking wildly out of place in the chaos of the cafeteria.

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Wesley? Since when do you eat in here with the rest of us peasants?”

“I don’t, usually,” Wesley said quickly, adjusting his glasses. “But I, uh… needed some advice. From both of you.”

Lucy blinked. “Okay… shoot?”

“It’s about Angela Lopez,” he said, already blushing.

Jackson immediately perked up, grinning. “Ooh, Lopez? You’ve got a thing for her?”

“I wouldn’t call it a thing exactly,” Wesley said, clearly flustered. “I just—she’s smart, she’s cool under pressure, she has a very aggressive note-taking system and—okay, yeah, I have a thing.”

Lucy exchanged an amused glance with Jackson. “So what do you need us for?”

“Well,” Wesley said, sitting down across from them, “You’re on the football team with him”, he gestures toward Jackson, “and you , well, uh. I don’t really know what I need you for.”

Lucy blinked. “Wow. Thanks.”

Jackson nearly choked on his fry, laughing. “Bro. You seriously just said that out loud. ”

Wesley’s eyes widened in horror. “No! I didn’t mean it like that! I just—Tim talks to you sometimes? You’re like… approachable?”

“Approachable?” Lucy repeated, eyebrows raised.

“I mean you don’t scare me the way Angela does!” Wesley added quickly, waving his hands in apology. “That came out wrong too. What I meant was—”

Jackson leaned in, grinning. “What you meant was that Lucy Chen is friendly, harmless, and possibly unnecessary to your romantic strategy.”

Lucy leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “Keep digging, Evers. Let’s see how deep this hole goes.”

Wesley groaned. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m bad at this. But I really like Angela, and I thought maybe you guys could help.”

Lucy exchanged a look with Jackson—half amused, half pitying. “Fine. You’re forgiven. Barely. But only because I think Angela secretly likes you back.”

Jackson's jaw dropped. “ What?! You think Lopez likes Wesley ?”

Lucy shrugged. “She asked about him the other day in chem. Said he talks like a podcast.”

Wesley blinked. “Was that… good?”

“She smiled after,” Lucy said. “So yeah, I’d say it was.”

Wesley visibly relaxed, like someone had just disarmed a bomb in his chest. “Okay. Okay. This is progress.”

Jackson grinned. “Congrats, man. Just don’t open with ‘I like your aggressive note-taking system.’”

“I won’t,” Wesley said solemnly. Then paused. “Even though I do.”

Lucy snorted. “God help you.”

Just then, a fresh burst of laughter came from the football table, and Lucy’s eyes drifted back to Tim and Ashley without meaning to.

Ashley had her head on Tim’s shoulder now, smiling like she didn’t have a care in the world.

And Tim?

He wasn’t smiling at her.

He was looking straight at Lucy.

Their eyes met.

Just for a second.

And Lucy’s heart did that thing again—skipped, stuttered, stopped.

Wesley was still rambling about conversation openers, but Lucy couldn’t hear any of it.

Because in that one look, everything felt loud again.

And maybe, just maybe… it wasn’t over.

Chapter Text

Tim Bradford had never been the type for PDA.
That was, until he began dating Ashley.

You see, Tim’s had his share of relationships ending in disaster when the girl doesn’t get what she wants.

Exhibit A: Isabel.
8th grade summer camp. She’d asked him to hold her hand during a group hike, and he said something dumb like, “My hands are sweaty.”
She didn’t speak to him for the rest of the week. And by Friday, she was hugging Doug Stanton underneath the big mangrove tree.

He wasn’t upset about it per se—but it made him realise that sometimes you just need to 

Ashley nudged him under the table. “You good?”

Tim blinked, turning toward her. She was sipping her smoothie, eyes bright, perfect lip gloss still intact from their make-out session two minutes ago.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just tired.”

He nodded. 

Ashley smiled back. “Well, get some rest tonight, quarterback. Big game Friday. Can’t have you spacing out on the field.”

The sound of the bell filled the cafeteria, students hurrying off to their last period. Ashley lingered on Tim’s lap, arms draped around his shoulders like she didn’t have anywhere else to be.

“Walk me to class?” she asked, her voice sugar-sweet, lips dangerously close to his ear.

Tim hesitated, then gently shifted her off him. “Can’t. Coach wants us in the weight room early.”

Ashley pouted, clearly not used to hearing no. “Ugh, fine. But you owe me later.”

He gave her a tight smile, the kind he’d perfected over the last few months. “Yeah. Sure.”

He stayed seated for a beat longer than he should have, eyes lingering on the now-empty table across the room—where Lucy had just been.

Then, slowly, he stood.

His mind wasn’t on football. Or Friday. Or anything that he should have been thinking about.

It was on something else. Someone else.

Lucy.

And the letter. And the way everything felt different since he’d read it.

Which was ridiculous.

He had a girlfriend. He shouldn’t be thinking about other girls . 

Tim ran a hand through his hair, annoyed at himself—for feeling guilty, for being confused, for wondering what it was about Lucy Chen that made his stomach feel like it was going to burst at the seams.

He tightened his grip on his backpack strap and forced his feet toward the field, each step heavier than the last.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Across the school, Lucy sat with Jackson in chemistry, laughing and giggling at whatever Chris Sanford had just said to make him sound like even more of a douchebag. 

“I swear,” Jackson said, wiping a fake tear from his eye, “if he mentions his ‘6-pack’ one more time, I’m calling Chris Hemsworth over to say ‘hold my beer,”

Lucy burst into laughter, nearly snorting soda through her nose. “Please do. Actually—no. Let’s just start a petition to ban him from speaking in public altogether.”

For the first time all day, she felt normal again—light, unbothered, like the world hadn’t flipped sideways the second Tim Bradford looked her in the eye with that letter in his hand.

But the calm didn’t last.

A shadow fell across their table, and Lucy looked up. It was Wesley Evers, clutching his phone in one hand, looking like he’d been rehearsing a speech in his head for the last hour.

“Hey,” he said. “Sorry to interrupt. I just—I need advice.”

“Okay… shoot,” Jackson replied calmly.

“I’m having trouble finding the right way to ask Angela out, and I figured our little friend here,” he gestured to Lucy, “could help me out?” he winced, one eye shut.

“Oh so now you think I’m useful. Funny.” Lucy responded, before rolling her eyes and simply saying, “sure what do you need me to do Wes?”

Wesley sank into the seat across from them with a grateful sigh, like he’d just survived a war zone. “Okay. So, I’ve tried approaching her in the hallway—twice. One time I choked mid-sentence, and the other she was in the middle of yelling at someone on the soccer team and I panicked.”

Jackson winced. “That’s rough, man.”

“I know!” Wesley groaned. “Anyway, I’m not here to dwell on the past. Lucy, I need you to find out everything you can about Angela. I know you guys take History together so I guess just talk to her then? Find out what she likes and stuff you girls talk about I guess.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You want me to be your spy now?”

Wesley shrugged helplessly. “More like… intel gatherer? Just please don’t stalk her. She already thinks I’m a complete weirdo.”

Jackson snorted. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m desperate,” Wesley shot back, dead serious. “Come on, Lucy. You’re literally the only person in this entire school Angela tolerates who isn’t on her soccer team or terrified of her.” He shot puppy-dog eyes at Lucy and begged, “Please.”

Lucy sighed, shaking her head with a smile she couldn’t quite suppress. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do. But I’m not promising anything.”

Wesley clapped his hands together like he’d just won the lottery. “You’re a lifesaver. I owe you. I’ll buy you a muffin. Or better yet! I will get you movie tickets to see 10 Things I Hate About You .”

Lucy perked up at that. “Okay, now that’s a bribe I can work with.”

Jackson leaned back in his chair, smirking. “You really think that movie’s gonna fix your love life?”

Wesley shrugged, backing away slowly like he knew he was outnumbered. “Heath Ledger fixes everything.”

“Okay Wes, I’ll talk to her. Maybe entice her to tell me her ideal date spot or something if that helps?”

“Oh my God, Lucy! I’d legit owe you my firstborn—like, Angela and me’s first kid, you know?”

Jackson choked on his water. “First born? Dude, you haven’t even held her hand yet.”

Lucy laughed. “Relax, Jackson. It’s called manifesting.”

Wesley pointed at her like she’d just spoken ancient wisdom. “Exactly. Manifesting. You get it.”

Lucy rolled her eyes but smiled. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do in History tomorrow. But if she catches on and thinks I’m being weird—”

“I’ll deny everything,” Wesley said quickly. “I’ll throw Jackson under the bus if I have to.”

“Hey!” Jackson protested, but he was grinning.

Wesley gave them both a grateful look. “Seriously, though. Thanks, Lucy. You’re the best.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Practice was the absolute last place Tim wanted to be. The sun beat down hard on the turf, heat shimmering off the field as whistles shrieked and cleats pounded like thunder. He moved on autopilot—running drills, calling plays, barking orders like muscle memory.

But his head?
Nowhere near the game.

“Focus, Bradford!” Coach Daniels shouted. “Your throws are off!”

Tim gritted his teeth, nodding without arguing. He adjusted his grip on the ball and tried again—this time tighter, faster, sharper. Good enough to earn a grunt of approval. But the second the play ended, his shoulders sagged. His whole body felt like it was dragging through quicksand.

Practice ran long. By the time Coach called it, sweat was soaking through his shirt, his throat dry, arms heavy.

“Hit the showers,” the coach barked. “Don’t be late for practice tomorrow.”

Tim peeled off his helmet and jogged toward the locker room, grateful for the silence and the promise of cold water and solitude. The rest of the guys were still straggling in behind him, laughing and tossing towels, messing around like always.

He rounded the corner into the locker room, reaching for the bottom of his jersey—then froze.

A sound. A giggle.

Low voices, hushed but too familiar.

He paused, frowning, and took a step farther in.

There, halfway between the rows of lockers, lips locked, hands everywhere —was Ashley.

And standing between her legs, shirtless and smug?

Zach Mitchell.
Smirking like the world belonged to him.

Tim blinked, like maybe his brain was playing tricks on him. But no. It was real.

Ashley gasped and jerked back, hair a mess, lipstick smeared. “Tim—wait—this isn’t—”

Zach didn’t bother pretending. Just shrugged. “Dude.”

Tim stood there, unmoving. Not angry. Not even shocked.

Just… hollow.

Like something had cracked in his chest and everything spilled out without warning.

Ashley scrambled to fix her top, stepping toward him like that would fix anything. “I—I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

Tim’s voice came out low, even. Too calm. “How long?”

She flinched. “Tim, please—”

“How long.”

Zach shifted awkwardly, suddenly not so smug. “Couple weeks,” he muttered. “Didn’t think you’d care, man.”

Tim stared at him—at both of them—and for a second, he wondered if he should hit something. Yell. Break a locker door.

But all he did was shake his head.

“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t.”

Then he turned and walked out—leaving the two of them frozen, and the echo of betrayal ringing in his ears.

Funny.

Two can play at that game.

And that's exactly what Tim decided to do.