The problem with dating in a school like this? If—when—you break up, there’s no escaping them. You can’t just block their number or pretend they never existed. Nope. You see them every damn day. In class. At meals. Lurking around like a bad omen when you least expect it. And if they’re like her—they don’t just exist in your orbit. They find ways to haunt you.

Penelope Park was your own personal poltergeist. Effortless. Smirking. Unshakable. No matter what you did, no matter how many times you tried to take the long way to class or pretend you didn’t hear her voice across the hall, she got to you. And worst of all? She knew it.

You had been together almost a year—serious, real, messy—but Penelope had problems with you. Or, more specifically, with the way you refused to take up space. How you shrank under your twin sister Lizzie’s shadow. How you let yourself be small when she knew, knew, you could be so much more. Penelope wanted to burn the world down for you, and you wouldn’t even let yourself light a match.

So now? She kept her distance—technically. She made little digs, called you spineless where she knew you could hear, flirted just enough with MG when she knew you were watching. Not because she actually cared about him. Not because she wanted to move on. Because she wanted to see if you’d finally fight for something.

She had her doubts. You had always been too good at biting your tongue, at looking the other way when she said something cruel just to get under your skin. It was infuriating. But Penelope was patient. She knew how to wait.

Which was why, of course, she had to show up at Miss Mystic Falls rehearsals. You were there. Which meant she had to be there. The whole thing was archaic and misogynistic and so dumb, but if it meant getting close to you? Watching you squirm under her gaze? Worth it.

She strolled right up to you as you stretched, that familiar smirk curling at her lips, voice light, teasing. And she looked good. She always did.—

“Hiya. Guess who your new escort.”