Chapter 14: Roxie

"Is that... the van guy?" Ember whispered, leaning into my personal space.

"And he brought a middle schooler?" Fran added, her voice full of disbelief. "Is he serious right now?"

I crossed my arms, my wings rustling behind me. "I uninvited him," I hissed, though I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. Ricky didn't look like the awkward new kid anymore. He had this look on his face—this focused, intense stare that made the room feel smaller. He walked straight past the popular table, heading for the makeshift stage Fran had set up in the corner of the living r

Ricky plugged in his bass, the amp letting out a low, hungry hum. He looked out over the crowd, his gaze scanning the room until it landed directly on me. He didn't smile. He just gave me this tiny, defiant tilt of his head, as if to say, Watch me.

Then, the middle schooler hit the snare, and the room explode

It wasn't "lame." It wasn't "organically tea-like." It was loud, raw, and surprisingly good. Ricky was moving across the stage with this effortless, jagged energy, his fingers flying across the strings. The music was dark and driving, exactly like him. I stood there, frozen, feeling the music thumping in my chest. I wanted to hate it. I wanted to laugh and tell everyone how pathetic it was, but the words wouldn't come.

Everyone was staring. The jocks were actually nodding along, and I saw Fran start to record on her phone. Ricky was owning the room, and for the first time since he moved here, he didn't look like an outsider. He looked like he belonged exactly where he was.

"Oh my gosh," Ember breathed, her eyes fixed on the stage. "He’s actually kind of... amazing?"

"Shut up, Ember," I snapped, but I couldn't look a

Ricky leaned into the mic for the chorus, his eyes never leaving mine. He was singing about burning bridges and starting over, and it felt like every word was a personal message. He was being so unapologetically himself that it was making my "perfect" act feel like a costume I was ready to take off.

The song ended with a crashing finale from the younger kid, and for a second, the room was dead silent before it erupted into actual, genuine cheering. Ricky stood there, sweating, his hair messy and his eyeliner slightly running, looking like the biggest loser—and the coolest person I’d ever seen.

He hopped off the stage and started walking toward me, the crowd parting like he was royalty. My heart was hammered against my ribs, and I felt that familiar, annoying heat rising in my cheeks.

Stay strong, Roxie, I told myself. Do not let the loser freak win.

"So," Ricky said, stopping just a foot away from me, his breath a little short from the performance. "Still think Rising Moon sounds like a brand of tea?"

"It was... loud," I said, trying to keep my voice flat and unimpressed. "And your drummer is still a literal child."

"His name is Georgie."

"He is still a small child in a high school party that I uninvited you to."

"He’s in eighth grade, Roxie," Ricky smirked, that crooked, annoying smile returning to his face. "And he’s better than most of the seniors here. So, are we still even? Or do I need to let you run over my other foot to get an actual compliment?"

"In your dreams, Henderson," I retorted, but I didn't walk away.

For the rest of the night, the party felt different. The tension between us was like a live wire, sparking every time we ended up in the same room. I’m still mad at him. I still think he’s a disruption. But as I watched him laugh with Georgie and actually talk to some of the guys from the soccer team, I realized my game plan was officially in shambles.

I’m in so much trouble.