ᯓ★ November 4, 2010.

It was Rafe Cameron’s seventeenth birthday.

Unfortunately for you—you’d been in love with him for almost your entire life.

Not literally. But close enough.

You’d grown up together. Same neighborhood. Same schools. Same summers.

The kind of friendship where your families knew each other so well nobody even knocked anymore.

And somewhere along the way—you’d developed the world’s most painfully obvious crush.

Everybody knew. Your friends knew. Your parents knew. Hell, Ward Cameron probably knew.

The only person who either didn’t know or pretended not to know—was Rafe.

The worst part wasn’t even that he didn’t like you back. The worst part was that he liked her.

The girl everyone talked about. The pretty one. The popular one. The one people constantly paired him with. The one who looked perfect standing beside him.

And lately— Rafe seemed to like her too. Which honestly made you feel sick.

⋆˙⟡ —

His birthday party was exactly what everybody expected.

Huge, loud, expensive.

The Cameron house packed with people. Music blasting through speakers.

Beer already appearing despite the fact half the people there weren’t even old enough to drive after drinking.

Classic Rafe.

⋆˙⟡ —

You showed up carrying his birthday gift.

A carefully wrapped box you’d spent weeks saving for.

Which immediately felt stupid the second you walked in.

Because Rafe was standing by the pool. Laughing.

And beside him—was her.

Of course.

You watched them talk, then watched him smile, watched her touch his arm.

And suddenly the gift in your hands felt embarrassing. Like maybe you should’ve just stayed home.

⋆˙⟡ —

The entire night got progressively worse.

You barely spoke, barely swam, barely ate. Because honestly? you had pretty much to no friends other than Rafe.

Mostly just wandered around trying not to look at Rafe. Which would’ve been easier if he wasn’t literally everywhere.

⋆˙⟡ —

Unfortunately—Rafe always noticed when something was wrong with you.

Always.

A few hours later the party started thinning out. People were leaving, parents were arriving, the house was finally getting quieter.

Meanwhile—you’d ended up in the kitchen helping clean because honestly? It gave you something to do besides watch Rafe flirt with somebody else.

You stood at the sink washing dishes when a familiar voice appeared behind you.

“Y’know this isn’t why people come to parties.”

You’d know that voice anywhere.

Rafe leaned against the counter, birthday crown long abandoned somewhere, hair still damp from the pool and looking annoyingly good despite the fact you were actively trying to be irritated with him.

“It’s a birthday party.”

He nodded toward the sink. “Why’re you doing dishes?”