That afternoon, we left Randy’s truck at the ramp and drove to Jesuit for the fish fry. The booster tents were already packed when we walked up. The fryers are popping, kids running around with sweet tea cups, parents yelling over each other. Wyatt and I were sunburned from the lake, tired, and honestly feeling pretty good. Randy walked a step behind us, hands shoved in his pockets, trying to look like he belonged. We didn’t make it ten feet before Megan spotted us. Her whole face changed. Not shocked. Not relieved. Pissed.
She elbowed Blaire, and they both marched over like a storm front.
Megan pointed straight at Randy. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Wyatt blinked. “What?”
“You’re with him?” she said, voice sharp enough to cut through the crowd noise.
“After last night?”
Randy froze like a deer in headlights.
Blaire crossed her arms, eyes locked on me. “Seriously, Chris?”
I felt my stomach drop. “What did we do?”
Megan threw her hands up. “You three were trying to beat each other to death last night!”
Wyatt shook his head. “We……”
“Yes, you were,” Megan snapped. “People were screaming. Randy was bleeding. Wyatt, you tackled him into a truck.”
Randy muttered, “It wasn’t that bad.”
Both girls turned on him at the same time.
“Shut up, Randy,” Megan and Blaire screeched.
Randy, shut up.
Wyatt rubbed the back of his neck. “We worked it out.”
“That’s the problem,” Megan said. “You worked it out with him.”
Blaire nodded, eyes still on me. “You went fishing with him.”
I shrugged. “Yeah.”
“Why?” she demanded.
I didn’t have a good answer. “Because… we said we would.”
Blaire stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “Chris, he punched you.”
“And you punched him,” Megan added, pointing at Wyatt. “And now you’re all… buddies?”
Wyatt shrugged. “We’re not buddies.”
Randy nodded. “Yeah… wait. What?.”
Wyatt shot him a look. “Dude.”
Randy shut up again.
Megan threw her hands up. “This is insane. You boys are insane.”
Blaire shook her head, her voice shaky. “You scared the hell out of us last night. And then you disappear at dawn to go fishing with the guy who started it?”
Wyatt opened his mouth, then closed it. I’m pretty sure he wanted to tell the girls they started it. But he didn’t.
Randy tried to help. “We caught a six‑pounder.”
Both girls glared at him.
He looked at the ground. “I’ll… shut up.”
The five of us stood there in the middle of the fish fry while Megan and Blaire stared at us like we were the dumbest creatures on earth.
And honestly?
They weren’t wrong. I felt something drop in my stomach.
Wyatt frowned. “Wait… you’re mad we’re not fighting anymore?”
“No,” Megan snapped.
“We’re mad you bonded over it.”
That landed like a slap.
Randy blinked. “Bonded?”
“Yes, bonded,” Megan said. “You three nearly killed each other, and now you’re out there catching fish like it’s some kind of team‑building exercise.”
Blaire stepped closer to me. “You didn’t check on us. You didn’t say anything. You just… left. And then you show up with him like everything’s fine.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Because she was right. Wyatt looked at Megan, confused in that slow, dawning way only teenage boys can be. “You were worried about us?”
Megan stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Of course, we were worried about you. Dummy”
Randy muttered, “Huh.”
Wyatt turned to me. “Dude… .”
“Yeah,” I said.
“They’re mad, we're cool now.”
“Yep.”
Randy scratched his head and playfully punched my shoulder.
Both girls snapped, “Stop it. Randy!!”
We shut up immediately. They weren’t angry about the punches. They were angry about the aftermath, the way we shrugged it off, the way we came back acting like nothing mattered except the fish we caught.
Wyatt exhaled. “So…. does this mean we’re not going to the movies later?”
Megan huffed and stormed off, Blaire in tow.
“Dude. Sorry….” Randy muttered.
Wyatt just shook his head.
“She’ll be alright….get some grub. I’ll give her some space.” Wyatt assured us.
Blaire came out of the bathroom a minute later, eyes red, jaw tight, arms wrapped around herself like she was holding something that wanted out.
I walked toward her slowly, carefully. “Blaire…”
She snapped her head up. “Don’t.”
I stopped dead. “What do you want me to do?” I asked.
She wiped her face with the back of her hand, angry at the tears. “You don’t get to walk over here and act calm.”
“huhh….”
“You are,” she said, stepping closer. “You go quiet and pretend nothing’s wrong.”
I felt my chest tighten. The truth was worse.
“What are you talking about?” I snapped. “Because from where I was standing, you were fine. You were with Randy.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So?”
“Maybe it matters that you were with him and didn’t say a damn thing to me,” I said, heat rising in my face.
She blinked, thrown. “Why would I need to tell you?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“You didn’t check on me,” she said.
“And you didn’t check on me either,” I shot back.
“That’s not fair.”
“Are you acting like I’m supposed to read your mind?” I said.
Her jaw tightened. “I was scared.”
“So was I,” I said. “But I didn’t get to show it because I was too busy getting swung at.”
She stepped closer, eyes sharp. “You still went fishing with him.”
Anger flashed and then broke into something else.
“And if you didn’t want me with him this morning,” I added, “maybe you should’ve told me about last night.”
“You can’t do that,” she said, voice jumping. “No. You don’t get to act like that. You’re not my boyfriend.”
Something twisted in my chest.
“Blaire….”
“Don’t.” She shook her head hard. “Don’t look at me like that. I like you, okay? I….”
She stopped. Eyes wide, as if she’d stepped off a cliff she didn’t mean to be on. Her hands went to her hair, pulling it back, letting it fall, pulling it back again.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she muttered. “God. I shouldn’t have…”
“Blaire?”
“No,” she said, louder, almost pleading. “Don’t. I can’t…”
She backed up a step, then another.
“You don’t get to be jealous,” she said, but it came out shaky. “You don’t get to look at me like that when I can’t even finish a sentence without…”
She bit her lip hard, and then the tears came. Quiet. Angry. Like she hated them.
I stepped toward her before I even thought about it.
“Hey,” I said softly. “Don’t shut down on me.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, tears slipping anyway.
“I’m not trying to control you,” I said. “I’m not saying you owe me anything. I’m trying to understand. And yeah, maybe I got pissed. But don’t act like I don’t care.”
She let out a shaky breath.
“I’m not mad you were out with Randy,” I said, then corrected myself because it hit too close to lie. “Okay. Maybe I was. But not because I think I own you.”
Her shoulders trembled.
“I wasn’t sure you felt anything,” I said. “Not like that. Not enough to get this upset. So when you say you like me and then stop… yeah, it messes with me.”
She finally looked up. Scared.
“I’m not pushing you,” I said.
Her lip trembled. She wiped her face with the heel of her hand.
“I’m done,” she whispered. “I’m done talking before I say something I can’t take back.”
She turned away, wiping at her face like she hated every tear.
I stepped after her, hands half‑raised. “Blaire… I’m not trying to corner you. I’m not trying to make you say anything you don’t want to.”
She stopped. Shoulders tight. Breath unsteady.
“You want the reason?” she said, voice barely holding. “Fine.”
She turned, eyes wet and furious at herself.
“I didn’t tell you about Randy because I didn’t want you to think I picked him.”
My chest tightened. God, I didn’t deserve her.
“I didn’t want you to think I wanted him,” she said, tears spilling again. “Because I didn’t. I don’t.”
“Blaire….”
“No,” she said, softer now. “You asked why. That’s why. Because it felt like admitting something. Something I wasn’t ready to say out loud.”
She took a breath that shook all the way through her.
“I didn’t want you to think I didn’t care,” she whispered. “I didn’t want you to think I didn’t… choose you.”
The last two words broke something open in both of us.
I froze. Heat rose in my face. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to care,” she said.
“I…I do care.”
“Then act like it,” she said, voice cracking.
I didn’t have an answer.
She turned and walked toward Megan, wiping her face like she hated every tear.
I saw Wyatt hesitate for half a second, then jogged after them, calling Megan’s name like he thought this was fixable.
“Megan…Meg…hold up,” he said, catching her near the raffle table.
She spun around so fast he almost ran into her.
“What?” she snapped.
Wyatt froze, hands half‑raised like he was approaching a wild animal. “I… look, I didn’t mean…”
“No,” she said, cutting him off. “You don’t get to ‘look’ me right now.”
Wyatt blinked. “I’m trying to talk.”
“And I’m trying not to scream,” she said. “So maybe give me a minute.”
Wyatt opened his mouth again.
She shut him down with a single look.
“Wyatt. Stop.”
He stopped. She shook her head, furious and hurt all at once. “You are unbelievable. You scare everyone half to death, you tell me you love me, and then you go fishing with the guy. And now you want to talk? No. Not right now.”
Then she walked away, leaving Wyatt standing there as if someone had unplugged him.
He walked back toward us slowly, shoulders slumped, face blank.
Randy muttered, “Damn.”
Wyatt didn’t answer. He stared at the ground like it might offer instructions.
I said, “You okay?”
He let out a breath. “No.”
Randy shoved his hands in his pockets. “She’ll cool off.”
Wyatt shook his head. “She’s not mad about the fight.”
“Nope,” I said.
“She’s mad we’re cool now.”
Randy frowned. “That’s… confusing.”
Wyatt and I both turned and stared at him.
He held up his hands. “What? It is.”
Wyatt rubbed his face. “They think we don’t care.”
Randy blinked. “But you do?”
“Yeah,” Wyatt said. “But we didn’t act like it.”
I kicked at the gravel. Wyatt nodded. “We are idiots.”
Randy shrugged. “Speak for yourselves.”
We both glared at him.
He sighed. “Fine. I’m an idiot, too.”
We stood there and tried to piece together the emotional wreckage we’d walked into. Trying to find the pieces that mattered.
Wyatt finally said, “So what do we do?”
I shrugged. “Hell if I know.”
Randy looked between us. “We could… apologize?”
Wyatt snorted. “Yeah, that’ll go great.”
Randy kicked a rock. “Then what?”
I looked toward the bathroom, where Blaire had disappeared again. “We give them space.”
Wyatt nodded. “Yeah.”
Randy sighed. “And then?”
Wyatt shrugged. “Hope they don’t kill us.”
Wyatt let out a long breath. “… that sucked.”
Randy nodded. “Yeah. That was… intense.”
Wyatt looked around at the crowd, the fryers, the noise. “We should go.”
“Yeah,” I said.
Randy didn’t argue.
We walked back toward the wagon in silence, three boys who’d spent the morning feeling invincible, now leaving a fish fry like we’d been hit by a truck.
Wyatt finally said, “Dude… I don’t understand girls at all.”
Randy shook his head. “Not even a little.”
That night, the house was quiet. Mom had gone to bed hours ago. The only light in my room came from the lamp on my desk, buzzing faintly like it was tired too. I stared at the phone for a long time before picking it up.
My stomach felt tight. My knuckles still ached from the fight. My head still replayed Blaire’s voice, Start paying attention.
I dialed her number from memory. It rang twice. Three times. Then a click. She didn’t say hello. She didn’t say anything. Just breathed.
“Blaire,” I said quietly.
A beat. “What?”
Not a question. A warning.
I swallowed. “I… wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Silence.
“For what?” she said flatly.
“For… everything,” I said. “For last night. For today. For not…”
“Stop,” she cut in. “Don’t give me the blanket version.”
I closed my eyes. “Okay.”
Another breath. Hers, not mine. Tight. Controlled.
“Then say what you’re actually sorry for,” she said.
Silence again, but different this time. Waiting.
“I’m sorry I didn’t check on you,” I said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think about how scared you were. I should’ve. I didn’t. And that’s on me.”
She sighed, barely audible.
I kept going. “And I’m sorry I acted like everything was fine today. Like the fight didn’t matter. Like you didn’t matter.”
That one hung in the air. For a long moment, she didn’t speak.
Then, quietly: “You hurt my feelings.”
The words were small. Honest. And they hit harder than anything she’d yelled earlier.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“But you still did.”
I didn’t argue.
She sniffed once, trying to hide it. “You acted like I was crazy for being scared.”
“I didn’t think …” The words were out before I could stop them.
Her voice sharpened. “Don’t say that.”
I exhaled. “Blaire… what are we?”
I could hear her shifting the phone, the faint rub of her sleeve as she wiped her face again. She wasn’t rushing to fill the space for me this time.
“Chris…” Her voice cracked.
“So… go to homecoming with me.” It came out small, but I was desperate to change the topic.
Another pause. Longer. I could feel her deciding.
“Really? You’re gonna ask me that…. Now ... .Gawd! You’re so…” she finally sighed and let the silence sit.
“Chris… I don’t want to fight.”
“I don’t either,” I whispered, and the silence filled the line.
“Goodnight, Blaire,” I said.
“Goodnight, Chris.” She hung up first.
Monday at school was louder than usual. Lockers slammed, sneakers squeaked, and the hall buzzed with chaos. I saw Blaire at her locker. Her eyes flicked up, then down. She shut the door, hesitating, then gave me a small smile.
“Blaire… I’m …” I whispered.
“Shh. Stop,” she said, her voice firm. She fixed my collar, her fingers steady as she looked at me. “ Chris. I choose us.” A quick kiss on the cheek. She held my gaze as she tried to hide the blush of her cheeks, checking for uncertainty.
“Oh… I’m wearing a red dress for homecoming,” she said as she turned away, like she was offering me a choice.
I paused, my mouth open, jogging to catch up.
She slid her fingers into mine, and I smiled.
And we walked to class like always.