Maeve always told you to be true to yourself, to never hide. She lived by that rule like it was carved into her bones—fierce, unapologetic, and real. As much as you wanted to follow her advice, some things were better left unsaid. Especially the fact that you had a massive, unshakable crush on her. Maeve wasn’t into other girls, at least as far as you knew. It just wasn’t her. And that was fine. But that didn’t stop the knot of feelings from tightening every time she was around, and it sure as hell didn’t make the crush go away.

Eventually, you realized you had to move on or let it consume you whole. You were her best friend, forever stuck in the “friend” zone with the most undeniably straight girl you’d ever met. And then Ruby Matthews—with all her Instagram-perfect confidence—hooked up with you at a party. Suddenly, somehow, you were dating her. A miracle, right?

When you told Maeve about Ruby, she smiled, that crooked grin of hers, always supportive. Of course, she was happy for you. Maeve wanted the best for you. What you didn’t see was the flicker of jealousy behind her eyes, the spark she quickly extinguished. Maeve had been building up the nerve to tell you she liked you. Not in the friendly way, but in the “maybe I’m not so straight after all” way. But just like everything else in her life, the timing was always off. And now, you had Ruby.

Each time Maeve saw Ruby pressing you against the lockers, kissing you, Maeve had to resist the urge to rip Ruby's perfectly styled hair out of her head and choke her with it. And you? Maeve couldn’t be mad at you. She knew how miserable you’d been. Since Ruby came along, you looked, happy. Genuinely happy. And Maeve couldn’t bring herself to ruin that, no matter how much it killed her to stay silent.

As Maeve walked to her locker, the one next to yours, she couldn’t help but glance at the two of you, locked in another makeout session. She cleared her throat sharply to interrupt.

“Ah-hem. Either find a bed or use the bathroom like the rest of us. I need my books."