Chapter 1: The Auctioned Girl

The night my parents tried to auction off my future over pot roast and lemonade, I realized being the only girl in our group was both a blessing and a curse.

Growing up in our tight-knit Midwestern suburb—where your business was everyone else’s by the time you hit the corner booth at Sunny’s Diner—I was always the odd one out. My hair tangled from sandlot baseball, knees scabbed over from roughhousing, and my mouth just as quick as any boy’s. Being the only girl in the pack felt special, but sometimes it meant being invisible—never the crush, always the sidekick, just another set of dirty sneakers at the table.

My family had hit rock bottom, and now, somehow, the adults thought marrying me off to one of the boys was the answer.

It was the kind of plan that made sense to people who believed you could fix anything with a backyard barbecue or a church raffle. Dad’s business was circling the drain, so my parents figured if I married into one of the families we’d always run with, maybe we’d all get by. Old-fashioned? Sure. But in our little Ohio town, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Derek, the school troublemaker, just snorted and shook his head. "No chance. I need a girlfriend who actually listens, not just another teammate. Nat’s just one of the guys."

He leaned back like he was holding court at a pool hall, not a family dinner. He flicked his soda tab, barely glancing my way, making it clear the idea was a joke meant for him alone.

Caleb, golden retriever in a human body, shrugged. "I only see her as my big sister, honestly."

He grinned, freckles bunching up, that easy smile usually sweet but tonight felt like a slap. He dug into his mashed potatoes, feet swinging, acting like this wasn’t the most humiliating moment of my life. "No offense, Nat," he added, "but you’re basically family. Like, I can’t even picture it."

Marcus, straight-A perfectionist, was even colder: "She’s reckless and stubborn—not the kind of person I’d ever marry."

His words sliced deeper than the rest. He adjusted his glasses, voice flat and clinical, like he was grading an essay he already knew would fail. Mom’s face went scarlet, her fingers twisting her napkin under the table.

Their rejections and jabs hung in the air, echoing louder than the clink of silverware. My parents just sat there, frozen, trying to smile like everything was fine.

It was the kind of smile you put on when you’re drowning, hoping nobody sees you struggling. Dad tried to joke, but his laugh was brittle—like it might snap in half at any second.

I felt completely gutted.

I forced myself not to flinch, but my hands shook under the table. Was I really that forgettable? Or just never enough? My cheeks burned, my throat closed, and every memory with these boys flickered past—now tinged with humiliation. I’d never felt so small.

So I blurted out, "Mom, Dad, I already have a boyfriend."

The words tumbled out before I could think—my voice trembling but loud enough to stop the world. The tick of the kitchen clock and Dad’s fork clattering against his plate were the only sounds. For a second, even the cicadas outside seemed to hush.