They all spent the next hour brainstorming ideas for the project. Their topic was a social issue—bullying—and the goal was to create awareness in school, something impactful enough to leave a mark.
Tate had actually started getting into it, throwing out a few ideas like doing a poster campaign. Leo suggested an anonymous hotline, and Martha wanted to make a short film. Damien just nodded along, offering a few smart additions here and there.
By the time they'd filled up three pages with scattered notes and half-baked plans, they were all tired and hungry.
"I'll make lunch," Damien offered, already pushing his chair back.
"I'll help," Martha said, standing too quickly.
Tate watched them walk off to the kitchen together—side by side, laughing at something he said. They looked... perfect. Like they belonged next to each other. Like the kind of duo people rooted for in books and movies.
How could she compare?
Maybe her plan will work and they'll grow closer and fall in love and she'd finally forget about him. Maybe that would be for the best.
As she sat there in silence, the need to pee hit her. She stood and asked Lexi, one of their project partners "Do you know where the guest bathroom is?"
Lexi pointed down the hall. "Through that door—room at the end. I used it earlier."
Tate muttered a thanks and headed down the hallway. The house was quiet back here, the soft hum of conversation from the kitchen fading behind her.
She found the bathroom easily enough. When she was done, she was heading back when she noticed another door slightly ajar just a few steps away.
She hesitated.
She knew she should just keep walking.
But curiosity tugged at her.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she pushed the door open.
It was a bedroom.
Damien's bedroom.
She knew it instantly—the smell hit her first. A mix of fruit and wood. Masculine but fresh. Clean. It was definitely "him"
The room was spacious and neat. His bed sat perfectly centered, the black headboard pressed against the wall, gray sheets smoothed out like he hadn't touched them all day. A shelf stood against the far wall with a few books, his desk was tidy, headphones resting beside a closed laptop.
At least he's clean, she thought to herself
She stepped in further, drawn in despite herself. Her fingers brushed the edge of his desk. Her gaze landed on a pair of sneakers neatly lined up near the wall. Then, the closet door caught her eye.
She opened it.
It was spacious—way too spacious for a teenager. His clothes were hung up perfectly, color-coordinated even. Rows of sneakers lined the bottom, and a collection of cologne bottles stood proudly on a small dresser inside.
She picked up one of the bottles and sprayed it into the air.
The scent washed over her, warm and intoxicating. It was... him. The version of him she wished didn't affect her this much.
She closed her eyes for a second and breathed it in.
Then quickly set the bottle down, guilt crawling over her skin.
She needed to leave. Now. Before she got caught.
Her phone rang.
It was Allen.
She picked up immediately, whispering, "Now's not really a good time."
"Sorry," Allen said. "I just wanted to confirm your favorite restaurant. I was thinking of calling ahead and making a reservation."
Tate blinked. A reservation?"Allen, you don't have to go all out. Just pick anywhere—it's fine."
"Okay," he said. "Talk to you later."
She ended the call, her fingers still warm around her phone, and turned toward the door—
"What are you doing here?
Tate froze.
Damien stood at the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp but unreadable.
Her heart dropped to her stomach.
"Shit," Tate thought to herself.
"I—I uh, sorry," she stammered. "I was just... looking for the bathroom. I guess I took a wrong turn."
Damien didn't respond right away. He just leaned against the doorframe and stared at her. The look in his eyes made her stomach twist. She already felt uncomfortable—now she felt even more on edge.
"I should go. The others are probably looking for me," she said, trying to move past him.
But he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, locking it with a click.
"What are you doing?" she asked sharply.
"Why have you been avoiding me?" he said, voice low. "Treating me like I'm the plague?"
Tate let out a short, humorless laugh. "What do you think?"
He smirked, stepping closer.
"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, wary.
"Nothing. Just doing what you did—invading personal space."
She backed up. "I know I shouldn't have come in here, but this isn't the same."
Her back hit the wall. Before she could move, he was in front of her, pinning her there. Not forcefully, but enough that she couldn't move.
This is not a good situation, she thought. If someone walked in on this...
She placed her hands on his chest and tried to push him away, but he didn't budge.
"Why have you been ignoring me?" he asked again, eyes searching hers. "And I know you blocked me. After the ball incident at the field... everyone could reach you except me."
"I blocked you. So what?" she snapped. "Let me go. Everyone out there will notice we're gone. Especially Martha, Damien. Let me go."
"I will," he said, eyes flicking to her lips. "But I need to test something first."
"Test wha—"
Before she could finish, his lips were on hers.
She froze.
She tried to fight it—tried to push him away—but then his lips moved against hers, soft and desperate, and something in her caved.
His kiss was hungry, almost frantic, like he'd been holding back for too long. He pressed their bodies closer, and her breath caught in her throat.
It felt like magic.
She'd never been kissed like this before—had never been kissed at all, really. Her mind was spinning, floating. Her hands moved instinctively, clutching his shirt, pulling him closer. His hands were on her waist, then moving higher—to her breast—and she let him. Just for a second.
She was kissing Damien.
Damien.
The boy she couldn't get out of her head.
The boy who called her an ugly bitch.
The same boy who said he'd fuck her if he had the chance.
The boy who liked Martha.
And just like that, reality slammed back.
She shoved him away—hard. "Stay the fuck away from me."
His expression shifted instantly—shock, confusion.
"This is your play, right?" she spat. "I'm just the ugly bitch you said you'd screw if you got the chance?"
"Tate—" he started, guilt blooming in his eyes.
She didn't let him speak.
"You've been mean to me since the day we met. What did I ever do to deserve that?"
Damien opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked guilty—like the truth was choking him.
"You said you liked Martha," she went on. "But here you are. Kissing me."
She shook her head, furious and hurt. "Whatever sick game you're playing with me and Martha—I don't want any part of it."
"Just stay away from me," she snapped. "Whatever you have going on with her, leave me out of it. I'm done being your rag you can pull around."
And with that, she stormed out of the room, heart pounding, eyes stinging.
She needed to get out of there. But she couldn't return to the living room—not like this. They'd know something happened.
Her heart still racing, she turned and made her way back to the bathroom she'd been in earlier. She slipped inside quickly and locked the door behind her.
She couldn't wrap her head around what had just happened.
Damien had kissed her.
And she had kissed him back.
Then she'd exploded—confronted him about everything he'd said. About the way he'd treated her. She'd never had an outburst like that in her life.
She looked at the mirror and barely recognized herself. Her lips were swollen, her hair a mess. She looked… shaken. Messy. Not like her.
She washed her face with trembling hands and tried to fix her hair, forcing it back into place. She had to pull herself together.
Then she heard it.
Knock. Knock.
"Tate, I know you're in there. Let's talk, please," Damien's voice came through the door.
She froze. Said nothing. Prayed he would just leave.
But he didn't. He kept knocking. Frantically now.
If he kept this up, people would hear. They'd come looking.
"Damien, what's happening? Where's Tate?" Martha's voice rang out, moving closer.
Shit.
She didn't have a choice.
Tate opened the door quickly, revealing Damien, Martha, and a few classmates from their project group staring at her with worried expressions.
Martha stepped forward, concerned. "Tate, what happened? Why did you lock yourself in the bathroom? I've been looking for you and Damien since."
Tate swallowed and forced a weak smile. "I—I was feeling sick. Damien was knocking because he was worried."
A lie. But a necessary one.
She shot Damien a quick look, silently pleading for him to go along with it.
Damien nodded, clearing his throat. "Yeah. I couldn't find her, then I realized she was in the bathroom… I got worried and knocked."
Martha still looked skeptical. "You scared us. I think you should go home and rest. We should call it a day."
"Yes," Tate agreed quickly. "Let's call it a day."
She was more than happy to get the hell out of there.
While everyone packed their notes and bags, Damien stayed far away from her. She was grateful. She didn't want him near her. Not after what had happened.
As they all said their goodbyes, Martha surprised her by getting on the same bus, even though it meant a longer journey to her own house.
"I don't want you going home alone if you're not feeling okay," she said softly.
Tate didn't say much during the ride. But she was thankful—so thankful—that Martha cared enough to do that.
She sat there, quiet, heart heavy.
Damn Damien for kissing her that way. How was she supposed to forget him now?
She remembered she was supposed to hang out with Allen today. No way she could do that now. She grabbed her phone and texted him.
Tate: Hey, I'm really sorry, but I'm not feeling too great today. Can we reschedule? Maybe next week Saturday
When they reached her stop, Martha hugged her tightly. "Take care of yourself, okay?"
Tate nodded. "Thanks."
When she got home, she greeted her mom quietly, went straight to her room, and lay on her bed. Staring at the ceiling. Trying to breathe.
Ping.
A notification lit up her phone.
Unknown Number: This is Damien. Please, let's talk, Tate.
She stared at the message.
Then ignored it.
Ping.
Another notification. This time from Martha.
Martha: I just got home. Try to rest and take care of yourself.
Tate: I will.
Martha: Okay.
Tate saw the typing bubble appear and held her breath. She hoped Martha wasn't going to ask what really happened in the bathroom.
But what Martha sent next broke her a little.
Martha: "Damien asked me out on a picnic date this afternoon. When we were making lunch"
Tate felt her chest tighten.
I guess he took my suggestion, she thought bitterly.