The sticky heat of a summer night hung heavy over the backyard, string lights casting a soft, flickering glow on sweaty faces and tangled limbs. The smell of spilled beer mixed with grass and cheap perfume, a cocktail of everything that summer parties promised and threatened all at once.
Quinn moved through the crowd with a buzz of excitement and relief. Graduation was finally behind her — that long, suffocating wait was over. She was thrilled and terrified all at once, the kind of nerve-wracking freedom that made her heart race faster than the thumping bass. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration.
She laughed with friends, took shots, and tried to shove the future far from her mind. But then, from across the yard, something stopped her dead.
There. Emery. Standing in the shadows near the fence, calm and unreadable as always. But it wasn't just that. Quinn's gaze locked on the way Emery leaned close to her boyfriend, the easy way he smiled at her—the kind of smile Quinn had only ever wanted for herself. His hand resting a little too casually on Emery's arm, the space between them too small.
The buzz in Quinn's chest twisted into a tight coil of heat and rage. Every nerve flared, and suddenly the world shrank until it was just the three of them, frozen in that moment.
The relief, the excitement, the future—all of it vanished. All Quinn could feel was the wild pulse of anger, sharp and relentless.
She didn't hesitate.
With a breath stolen from the chaos around her, Quinn charged toward them, every step pounding with the promise of a fight she'd been holding in for weeks.
Weeks earlier - It was a Friday after school, sun still high and golden, the kind of afternoon where people lingered just to be seen. A loose crowd of seniors had gathered in the parking lot—leaning on hoods, sipping iced coffee, laughing like they didn't have a care in the world.
Quinn had slipped in with practiced ease, heart pounding just a little faster than she let on. She wasn't exactly in with this group, but she wasn't out either. She could blend—especially if she kept talking.
"So then I just jumped the fence," Quinn said, arms wide as she told the story. "Got caught by Flynn's dad two seconds later, but he still let me stay. Said he liked the guts."
It wasn't exactly true. Not even close. She hadn't jumped anything. She'd been too nervous that night, hovered near the gate, then bailed before anyone saw her. But the lie rolled off her tongue easy, smoothed over by laughter and confidence. And the way the group leaned in, smiling, nodding—it made her heart race in a different way.
And then Emery spoke.
"No, you didn't."
Quinn froze.
Emery's voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the noise like a blade. She stood just a few steps back, arms crossed, face blank but her eyes sharp as hell.
"I was there," Emery added. "You left before even trying."
The group shifted. A few chuckled under their breath, the kind of low, sharp sound that digs in.
Quinn tried to laugh it off. "I mean, yeah, but—I almost did. You're really gonna fact-check me right now?"
Emery didn't blink. "You lied."
That was it. No drama, no raised voice. Just a flat, brutal truth.
Quinn had never wanted the ground to open up more in her life.
The crowd drifted soon after, conversation moving on like it hadn't happened. But the look in Emery's eyes had stuck with Quinn—cool, unreadable, but laced with disappointment.
It wasn't the embarrassment that stung the most. It was that look.
They hadn't spoken since.
Now, weeks later, that look was still seared into Quinn's memory—Emery's quiet judgment, her refusal to play along. And tonight, she was leaning in close to Quinn's boyfriend, talking to him like nothing had ever happened. Like she didn't still live in Quinn's head rent-free.
And he was smiling at her. Too much.
Quinn saw red.
She didn't think. Just moved. Her drink dripped from her fingers, forgotten as she stalked across the yard. The music pulsed around her, laughter rising and falling, but it all blurred into white noise as she closed in.
Emery looked up before Quinn even said a word. Like she'd known she was coming. She didn't flinch, didn't blink—just stared at Quinn with those dark, unreadable eyes, standing there like the night was hers and Quinn was the disruption.
Nick turned, caught off guard, mid-laugh. His hand still rested lightly on Emery's arm. Too lightly. Too casual.
Quinn's chest burned. She opened her mouth—and went for blood.
"I always knew you were desperate," she snapped, loud enough for heads to turn. "But going after someone else's boyfriend? That's a new record."
The silence that followed wasn't total. Just fractured—like the air shifted and people knew something was about to happen.
Emery didn't move. Didn't even glance at Nick.
"Are you feeling unwell?" she asked, voice flat as concrete. "Or is public humiliation just your coping strategy now?"
Quinn froze. That tone—dry, clinical, with a razor's edge of sarcasm—hit harder than yelling ever could.
"You think this is funny?"
Emery blinked once, slow. "I think it's sad. But yes, a little funny."
Quinn took a step closer, fury simmering just below the surface. "You don't know anything about me."
Emery's gaze flicked over her—slow and deliberate. "I know you want to be seen. Even if it means making a scene."
Quinn's breath caught.
The crowd was watching now. That electric hum of drama clinging to the air.
"I wasn't talking to him," Emery added. "He was talking to me. But I understand—it's hard when someone gets attention you didn't authorize."
Nick looked wildly uncomfortable now, taking a half step back like he regretted everything.
Emery turned to him without breaking eye contact with Quinn. "You should go."
He hesitated—then walked off, muttering something about finding a drink.
Now it was just the two of them.
Quinn's fists were clenched. Her mouth opened like she had something else to say, something final. But Emery just tilted her head slightly.
"You're angry with me," she said, calm as ever, "because I told the truth. And because I see you more clearly than you want to be seen."
That hit deeper than it should have.
And the question hung in Quinn's head, had Emery always been watching?