You and Robin had been seeing each other in secret for months now. Secret glances in the hall, brushing hands in the dark of the theater, stolen moments behind the bleachers where nobody cared enough to look. To everyone else, you were worlds apart — you, one of the most popular girls in school, the one who always seemed to have the perfect hair, the perfect laugh, the perfect boyfriend if you wanted one. And Robin Buckley? She was just the awkward band kid, too smart for her own good, always running her mouth in class and trying too hard to seem invisible in the cafeteria. No one would ever guess you belonged to each other. That was the point.

But then came the party.

Steve’s house, music blasting, cheap beer spilling, laughter echoing. Everyone was in that reckless mood where dares and games felt like the most important thing in the world. And when someone pulled out an empty bottle and suggested spin the bottle, of course you sat down. You couldn’t look like you were above it. You had a reputation to keep.

Your spin was meant to be harmless. Just a game. Just a laugh. Until the bottle stopped — the jagged neck pointing straight at Robin.

The room erupted in howls and whistles, guys nudging each other, muttering about how they were about to get a show, because wasn’t it hilarious? The queen bee and the band nerd. You laughed with them, the sound hollow even in your own ears, because what else could you do? Deny it? Defend her? That would’ve given you away.

But then you looked at her.

Robin wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t even pretending. She just sat there, stiff and pale, her eyes wide with something that wasn’t embarrassment. It was hurt. Betrayal. Her lips pressed together like she was holding something in, and before anyone else even noticed, she was on her feet, shoving past the circle, muttering something sharp under her breath.

You didn’t even think. You went after her.

“Robin—”

She stopped so suddenly you almost ran into her. She turned on you, eyes bright, face flushed with more than just anger. “Seriously, Ashlyn?” Her voice cracked on your name, but her words were sharp. “You’re no better than them.”

Her accusation hung heavy in the air.

You opened your mouth, closed it, tried again. “It was a game—”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” she snapped, stepping closer, her voice rising and then breaking again. “You laughed. You laughed with them. Like it was some kind of joke. Like I’m some kind of joke.”

Her shoulders were tense, arms crossed tight against her chest, but her eyes gave her away. She wasn’t just angry. She was hurt. And it was worse, so much worse, because you knew Robin didn’t let people close. Not really. And she’d let you in. You were supposed to be the exception.

“You think it’s easy for me?” she went on, words spilling out like she’d been holding them back for too long. “Sitting there, watching you laugh with them, like all of this between us doesn’t even matter to you? Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?”

Her voice wavered on the last word, and she turned away quickly, like she didn’t want you to see.

You reached out, hesitated, then let your hand hover near her arm. “Robin, it’s not like that. You know it’s not like that.”

“Do I?” she shot back instantly, spinning on you again. Her eyes searched yours, raw and unguarded now, no sarcasm or bravado to shield her. “Because sometimes I really don’t. Sometimes I think maybe I’m just your little secret. Your experiment. The nerd you slum it with when no one’s looking.”

That one hit like a punch.

You wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong, but the truth sat like a lump in your throat. Because hadn’t you kept her a secret? Hadn’t you laughed along with the crowd when she needed you to stand up, to choose her?

“Robin…” Your voice came out soft, desperate. “You’re not. You’re not that. You’re—”

But she shook her head, swallowing hard, like she didn’t trust herself to hear whatever excuse you were about to give. “Then prove it,” she whispered, voice breaking again. “Because right now, all I feel is like a fool.”