Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Jack," I hissed as the fourth rose was passed out in our English class. And it was only first period. The group of five leadership students had come in, recited a poem that I could've sworn rhymed the words finnicky and you picked me, then proceeded to hand out the roses while our teacher stood at the front of the room, arms crossed, waiting impatiently.

My best friend turned in his seat. "What?"

"Remember when I got sent home to change last week because a strip of my stomach was exposed?"

"Yeah."

"This is more distracting than that ever was."

"True. But your exposed stomach didn't raise any money for the school so the hypocrisy will live on."

"You're right. Maybe that's the key to changing dress code rules—somehow monetizing tank tops and three-inch inseams."

"You should raise your hand and suggest that."

"I should." I looked toward the front of the room and started to raise my hand.

"Don't, Scarlett." He pulled my arm down by the sleeve. "I'm less bitter about the dress code and more bitter that I have to listen to that poem six times today," he said quietly as the leadership group left, minus six roses.

"Of course you're not bitter about the dress code. You're a guy."

The girl next to me, rose smashed up against her nose as she took a large inhale, said, "You're both actually bitter because you'll never get one."

I rolled my eyes. She didn't know us at all. The last thing we wanted was a school-bought rose. Even if someone did have a crush on me, I wouldn't want them to give their hard-earned money to the school so that a stranger could hand me a rose in class.

Valentine's Day was a stupid holiday as far as I was concerned. If someone had to be reminded to show their love for you, did they really love you in the first place?

"Are we going tonight?" Tessa asked at the locker next to mine. She wasn't talking to me. She was talking to her boyfriend, Brady, who was helping her shove the oversized teddy bear he'd brought her today inside. It wasn't fitting and every time they tried, her shoulder would bump into me. I was in the process of trading my math book for my history book because even though half the school thought learning ceased on this day, teachers still continued teaching. Or attempting to.

"Do you want to go?" Brady asked.

"It was fun last year."

She was talking about the party that Micah and Cassidy—king and queen of the sophomore class—had thrown every year since they'd gotten together three Valentine's Days ago. They weren't the literal king and queen of their class—as in, they'd never been crowned at prom or anything—but everyone considered them couple goals. And they must've taken the title seriously because they threw a we are so in love and you should be too party that was attended by a lot of the student body.

I had never gone.

I shut my locker, having made a successful book transfer, and walked toward fourth period. Jack and I met in the hall halfway there. We had three classes together, history being one of them.

"You know what really needs its own special day?" I said. Jack was used to my antics; used to me pulling him into my thought process mid process. We'd been friends since the third grade when we'd both ended up in the same church parking lot on our bikes for a Pokémon raid. We didn't play Pokémon anymore (well, rarely) but our friendship stuck. We liked the same things—anime and board games and discovering terrible bands that we could love-hate.

"What needs its own special day?" he asked now. "By the way, that poem is even more terrible than I realized. They rhymed fries with your eyes."

"That's the only line I like. It makes me hungry though."

He smiled his lopsided smile. Jack was stringy, his limbs too long for his thin frame, his hair too short for his oversized glasses. "I don't know how the leadership students read it with a straight face. I couldn't even read a good poem in front of the class. Not even to someone I liked," he said.

"I would die to see you reading a poem in front of the class to some girl."

He shuddered at the thought of it.

"Wasn't it Elizabeth Bennett who said that one poor sonnet could kill love stone dead?"

"She's smart," he said.

"Well, Jane Austen was," I said.

"Same thing," he replied.

I agreed.

"So what needs its own day?" he asked, steering us back on track.

"Oh! Singleness."

"Singleness?"

"Yes, couples get celebrated all the time. They buy each other cute gifts for every arbitrary milestone. ‘We just hit six months, let's have a dinner date. We know what color each other's eyes are, here's a basket of treats. We both said the words ‘bless you' at the same exact time, we're so connected; let's make an Instagram post about it.'"

"I don't think anyone has actually done that last one."

"They've done the less hyperbolized version of it, and you know it."

He laughed. "So you want to take back love? Turn it into hate?"

"No, not love. Just the day that's been chosen to collectively celebrate it. Like I said, love gets celebrated enough. We need a day to celebrate singleness. Because let's be real, there's just as much to celebrate on this side. I don't have to spend money on flowers. I don't have to keep track of pesky milestones. I didn't have to text anyone when I woke up!"

"You texted me when you woke up today," he said.

"But I didn't have to."

"True. You'd make a good ambassador for independence."

"You're right, I'm the most independent." When you're born seven years after your older two siblings, after your parents thought they were done, you're afforded a lot of freedom. "So are you with me?"

"I'm so with you."

"Good, invite all your single friends. My house. Tonight. Seven. We're having a party."

His eyebrows popped up. "You're throwing a party on the same day as the love-fest party?"

"It's not in direct competition."

"Same night, same time. Isn't that the definition of direct competition?"

"No, not at all."

"You just want to make Micah mad."

"I don't!" But I did.

Micah had been our friend up until he hit the sixth grade, when we suddenly became too nerdy for him. We liked all the same things he liked. At least, we did until he decided those things weren't cool enough. I could still picture his snide little face as he'd marched up to us on the playground that day.

"Want to work on the Death Star today?" Jack had asked. They'd been building Lego Star Wars together forever.

Some other kid had laughed, and Micah had narrowed his eyes at Jack and said, "Aren't you too old to like Legos, nerd?"

Anger had rushed through my body, and I'd jumped up from the bench where I'd been reading and shoved Micah to the ground. He fell hard, landing on the cement path that surrounded the playground. That's when I'd heard a sharp whistle from the yard duty teacher. She'd sent me to the office immediately, where I was suspended for two days. Worth it. While I was on suspension, Jack told me that Micah said he was too good to be our friend. That he wasn't going to hang out with us anymore. I didn't care about Micah, but knowing Jack did made me want to push him all over again.

The memory still filled me with a white-hot rage.

Jack was more forgiving than me, though, and said things like, let it go. He's just insecure. But today wasn't about that.

"He doesn't pay attention to what we do anymore. This party won't even be on his radar," I said. "This is a different kind of party. For the people who understand the beauty of alone time. The freedom of self-love. There will be food. There will be decorations. There will be a game of pin the crown on the single princess. And you will be helping me with all this preparation, too, by the way."

"Of course I will. And I raise your pin the crown on the princess with a game of seven minutes in the closet alone."

"Ooh, I like it."

We reached history class, slipping inside just before the late bell rang. His comments about the other party and how popular it was were slowly sinking in. "Do you think anyone will come?"

"Even if it's just us, that will be enough," he said and I playfully punched his arm.