Humbling Owen-Kyle
“Or notice you?”
I smile. It’s small, sharp, and determined. “I’ll make him.”
There’s a beat of silence as that sinks in. Then all three girls grab cushions, press them to their faces, and scream. I scream too. It’s chaotic, high-pitched, ridiculous, and very, very real.
I’m going to sleep with Owen Kyle.
I’m going to humble the golden boy of Briarwood High.
I don’t admit it out loud, not even to myself, but the truth sparks inside my chest, small but impossible to ignore:
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