Page 37 of Bound By Fury

“You okay?” Sam asks, glancing in Malachi’s direction.

“Yeah, I just hate him.”

“Wait, you never told us the tea yesterday,” Sam says, scooting closer. “I didn’t realize things were that bad between you.”

Daisy tsks in agreement. “Hate is a really strong emotion…” She looks from him to me and back again. “You’re sounding very Daisy-Emma right now, actually.”

“Yeah,” Sam mutters around a Bo-Tato round. “It’s giving heartbreak.”

When I don’t respond, Daisy gasps, turning to straddle the bench and grab me by the shoulders. “Are y’all exes?!”

“What? Ew! No way. We never—we didn’t—it’s not—”

“Are you trying to come up with a lie right now?” Daisy asks, incredulously.

“No!” I screech. “It’s just… it’s complicated! He didn’t… we were never together or anything! He used to be my best friend. But then things got complicated”—the understatement of the century—“and he ghosted me.”

Daisy puts a hand on either side of my face. “Do you want me to hex him? Be honest. Because I have no qualms with using my powers for evil.”

My stomach hurts from laughing. “No hexes needed here, Daze, but I appreciate your loyalty.” I cross my legs. “They both ghosted me, actually. He and Lucas.” And maybe I deserved it. After everything.

For what I said to Malachi. For telling Lucas I regretted that moment between us.

“That’s really fucked up, Harper, I’m sorry,” Sam says, running their hand through their hair.

“So, you hung out with the both of them? Together?” Daisy asks.

“… Yeah?”

“Interesting.”

Daisy and Sam share a look.

“What?”

“Oh, it’s just… they might be cousin-brothers or whatever, but they’re not friends. They’re actually, like, weirdly cold to each other.”

There’s a buzzing in my ears.

What happened between them? Between all of us? It’s obvious I’m missing a crucial piece of information.

But for now I don’t know what to do about it, so I stick it in my back pocket, another unraveling thread to investigate.

The rally goes on long enough that the midday sun is high in the air by the time we’re done. We peel our sweat-sticky thighs from the too-hot metal bleachers and make our way down to the field.

The rest of the day is free, with informational booths about clubs and sports peppered around campus. I figure I’ll check out the art building and do a mock run of my schedule so I don’t get lost on the first day of classes. I’m also considering joining the Creative Media Club or maybe Forest Watch. I’ve never been into extracurriculars before, but that was the old me. Perhaps it’s time to try something new.

We’re caught in a traffic jam of students leaving through the gates of the stadium when I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder.

Turning around, I lift my right hand to shield my eyes and am met with a lopsided smile punctuated on either side with a dimple.

“Hey,” I say, clearing my throat awkwardly when the words get caught on the way out.

His grin barely wavers at the edge, and I chastise myself for immediately making it weird. It’s just Lucas. A tall and lean, ripped out of Sports Illustrated, Lucas. A completely leveled-up version of the boy I left behind. His muscle tee is cut low on the sides, revealing a set of abs that are totally CW teen-drama worthy, and his mouth is accented with a bright white scar running through the side of his upper lip.

He sticks out his hand, looking at me expectantly, and I hesitate before placing my palm in his.

“I figured we could use a reintroduction,” he says. “Your name is?”