Chapter 4: After the Storm

It was a game to him, and I was the only one not playing.

He became my deskmate. At first, the whole class watched like it was the latest episode of *Riverdale*, even starting a betting pool.

I heard whispers about odds and side bets. Someone even asked my favorite color, like it might help them predict the outcome.

I stayed focused, solving problems, highlighting textbooks, tuning him out like white noise.

Sometimes I forgot he was even there. My world was test scores and deadlines, not passing notes and daydreams.

Later, everyone just assumed we were a couple. The math teacher would call us up to the board together, and the class would make kissy noises, and Graham would look at me with a faint, knowing smile.

He’d stand just a little too close, letting the rumors swirl. I pretended not to notice, keeping my eyes on the chalkboard.

As if he were hopelessly in love.

He played the part perfectly—wistful sighs, lingering glances, even the occasional note tucked into my calculus book. It was all for show.

Of course, whenever we solved problems together, he never beat me.

He’d joke that I must have a cheat code, but I knew he was secretly impressed.

My old deskmate rolled her eyes and said I was “a total blockhead.” She told me:

“Come on, Lauren, that’s Graham Whitaker! I know he’s a player, but who wouldn’t want to date him? Not for happily-ever-after—just to say you did!”

She said it with a dreamy sigh, like dating Graham was a bucket-list item. I just rolled my eyes.

I spread her nearly failing physics quiz in front of her and said, “Maybe focus on not bombing physics first. You missed the same questions I told you about.”

She groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “You’re hopeless, Lauren. Such a nerd. Poor Graham.”

I didn’t see what was so pitiful about Graham. His interest in me was just a whim—nothing real, just a conquest.

To me, he was a bored prince looking for a new distraction. I wasn’t about to be anyone’s entertainment.

My relationship with Graham eased up when my mom slipped, broke her leg, and landed in the hospital.

Life got real, fast. Suddenly, I was juggling homework, hospital visits, and running errands at home.

I took a week off.

It was the first time I’d missed more than a day. The guidance counselor called to check in, and my teachers sent home a mountain of assignments.

Graham found me at the local farmers’ market, selling fish.

It was a crisp Saturday morning, the air salty with the scent of fresh cod and apple cider, and the Red Sox game playing faintly from someone’s truck radio. I wore old jeans and a Sox cap, sleeves rolled up, hands cold from the ice.

Everyone in town knew my family’s situation, so as soon as I set up, the fish sold out. Mrs. Rivera, balancing a black bass and a carton of clam chowder, patted my shoulder and said, “Lauren, when I finish this chowder, come get a bowl for your mom at the hospital. Finals are coming, don’t let this slow you down.”