The week went by faster than she expected. Tate had been on house rest the entire time.
Her mom was so worried she even took a few days off work just to take care of her. Even though Tate was feeling better, and the medicine had done its job—no more head pounding or dizziness—her mom still fussed over her like she might break.
Then Saturday came.
The day Tate had been dreading.
Martha had been texting her nonstop about the project meeting, even told her she didn't have to come if she wasn't feeling up to it.
But Tate had declined. She needed to be there. She wanted to be there.
This project would affect her overall grade, and after the last term's disaster, she needed every point she could get.
She had to suck it up and act normal, even if she didn't feel that way.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Allen.
He'd been checking up on her ever since he heard about the ball incident.
At this point, the entire school had heard about the ball incident.
Allen: hey Tate
:how are you feeling?
Tate: Good
Allen: that's good
:do you maybe want to get some food or hangout?
:That is, if you're up for it.
Tate stared at the message for a moment. She should say yes. Allen was one of the few people who actually cared about her, regardless of everything.
Tate: sure
Allen: is today okay?
Tate: sorry, not sure today will work. I have a meeting with my project partners.
Allen: oh
:no problem
Tate: you know what, if we finish early
:I'll text you, and maybe we can hang out
Allen: that would be nice
:it's a date
:sorry
:I meant that's nice
Tate laughed at his corniness.
"Did a boy just make you laugh?"
Tate jumped, not realizing her mom was behind her.
"Mom! You scared me," she said.
Her mom stepped into the room and sat on the bed. "That was the intention."
Tate rolled her eyes.
"So who's the lucky boy that made you giggle like that?" her mom asked.
"No one. I wasn't laughing," Tate said, a little too quickly.
Her mom raised a brow. "Mhm. Okay."
Then, with a more serious tone, her mom asked, "Are you feeling a hundred percent better?"
"Yes, Mom."
"You sure?"
"Yesss, Mom."
Her mom stood up and headed for the door. "What time should I expect you back today?"
"Probably in the evening."
"I know I've given you a little more freedom now, but don't push your curfew. Use your freedom wisely."
"Yes, ma'am."
Her mom had been less strict lately—letting her use her phone more, even extending her curfew to 8 p.m. She said since Tate was turning sixteen this year, she could have a little more freedom, like other teenagers. But she'd also warned her not to misuse it.
When Tate was finally done getting ready, she realized she was running late.
She rushed out and hopped on the next bus, the map Martha had sent open on her phone. She'd never been in that part of town before. As she glanced out the window, it hit her—this wasn't just any part of town. This was the rich part.
Of course he lives here, she thought to herself. With the way he acts, it wasn't exactly surprising.
When the bus dropped her off, she stepped out and immediately felt lost. The street was quiet, lined with tall gates and fancy houses that all looked like they came from magazines.
She decided to call Martha, just to confirm which house was Damien's.
First call—no answer.
Second call—still no answer.
Where on earth did Martha drop her phone?
Tate stood awkwardly near the bus stop, trying not to look as confused as she felt. She couldn't just stand here like an idiot. She needed to figure this out.
There was only one other person she could call.
And she wasn't making that call.
Calling him would be crossing the line she had already drawn for herself. She was trying to keep her distance. She needed to.
She paced a little, glancing around. No one was nearby. The whole street felt weirdly isolated—like it belonged to some secret club for people with too much money.
"Who even lives in a place like this?" she muttered under her breath. "Tate."
She froze. The voice came from behind her—low, familiar.
She turned and saw Damien standing by the gate of the house just behind her.
Damn.
He looked—good. His curls were a little messy, but it worked. He had on a black tank top and loose baggy jeans, and of course, the tank top hugged his body way too well.
"Hey," she said, awkwardly.
"What are you doing all the way over there?" he asked. "Come this way."
She walked toward him and slipped through the open gate without meeting his eyes.
While she was walking in, she took in the view of his compound—wide driveway, manicured hedges, a sleek black car parked in the garage.
His parents weren't just rich. They were rich rich.
Damien followed beside her. "You know you're late, right?"
She didn't answer. Just kept walking.
Inside, the house smelled like expensive candles—the kind that were probably imported from somewhere that sounded fancy. The floors were polished marble, cool and clean under her sneakers. A chandelier hung from the high ceiling, dripping with crystals like something out of a movie. The furniture looked like it had never been sat on, and there were bold, modern art pieces hanging on the walls.
Everything screamed wealth—and taste.
Tate blinked a few times, soaking it all in, before she spotted Martha talking to two classmates across the room.
She walked toward them, eager to escape the weight of Damien's presence.
Martha's face lit up the moment she saw her. "Tate! Where have you been? We've been waiting forever."
"I'm late," Tate said. "I kind of got lost."
"But I found her," Damien added from behind her.
Tate didn't turn around. She kept her eyes locked on Martha.
"Alright, since everyone's here," Martha said, clapping her hands together, "let's start."