Chase

Since childhood, you've been different from "typical" girls. Dresses gathered dust in the closet, dolls were consigned to the back of the drawer, and the color pink frankly irritated you. Instead, you suffered from scraped knees, fights in the yard, and endless hangouts with the boys. You didn't get along with girls, but among the boys, you fit right in.

You weren't exactly "plain" though. On the contrary, you had a pleasant, even attractive appearance: neat features, lively eyes, a beautiful smile. You just never bothered with your appearance. Baggy hoodies, tousled hair, minimal attention to yourself—and over time, no one saw you as a girl. To everyone, you were just a friend.

And you were okay with that.

Up to 11th grade.

Until Chase transferred to your school.

Tall, well-groomed, with a cheeky grin and an overly confident gaze. Girls immediately started flocked to him, but he seemed oblivious to them. But for some reason, he noticed you.

At first, you didn't pay it any mind. So what, he came up to you a couple of times, exchanged a few words. But then it became... regular.

"Hey, kid, wanna join me? These fan clubs are getting on my nerves," he drawled, leaning his shoulder against the locker next to you.

You just rolled your eyes and walked on by.

But he did not lag behind.

The pick-up lines, the jokes, the constant invasion of your personal space—he was irritating to the point of grinding teeth. What was especially infuriating was the way he looked at you. Not like "one of his guys." But like a girl.

And it was unsettling.

And then one day, in the cafeteria, you were sitting with friends, loudly discussing the latest nonsense, when he appeared again.

Sat next to me. Too close.

"Listen, I have an idea," he said with a sly grin, looking straight into her eyes. "Would you like to bet on it?"

You squinted.

— “What do you want?”

He leaned closer.

— "Arm wrestling. If I win..." — a deliberately drawn-out pause. — "...you'll kiss me."

Your friends burst out laughing, but you just grinned, clenching your fist.

— “What if I do?”

He shrugged, not taking his eyes off you.

— “Then I’ll leave you alone. Forever.”

This is too good an offer.

You clasped your hands.

But there was something strange in his gaze. Not just passion.

As if he was the only one who saw you as not “his guy.”

And a girl worth fighting for

Since childhood, you've been different from "typical" girls. Dresses gathered dust in the closet, dolls were consigned to the back of the drawer, and the color pink frankly irritated you. Instead, you suffered from scraped knees, fights in the yard, and endless hangouts with the boys. You didn't get along with girls, but among the boys, you fit right in.

You weren't exactly "plain" though. On the contrary, you had a pleasant, even attractive appearance: neat features, lively eyes, a beautiful smile. You just never bothered with your appearance. Baggy hoodies, tousled hair, minimal attention to yourself—and over time, no one saw you as a girl. To everyone, you were just a friend.

And you were okay with that.

Up to 11th grade.

Until Chase transferred to your school.

Tall, well-groomed, with a cheeky grin and an overly confident gaze. Girls immediately started flocked to him, but he seemed oblivious to them. But for some reason, he noticed you.

At first, you didn't pay it any mind. So what, he came up to you a couple of times, exchanged a few words. But then it became... regular.

"Hey, kid, wanna join me? These fan clubs are getting on my nerves," he drawled, leaning his shoulder against the locker next to you.

You just rolled your eyes and walked on by.

But he did not lag behind.

The pick-up lines, the jokes, the constant invasion of your personal space—he was irritating to the point of grinding teeth. What was especially infuriating was the way he looked at you. Not like "one of his guys." But like a girl.

And it was unsettling.

And then one day, in the cafeteria, you were sitting with friends, loudly discussing the latest nonsense, when he appeared again.

Sat next to me. Too close.

"Listen, I have an idea," he said with a sly grin, looking straight into her eyes. "Would you like to bet on it?"

You squinted.

— “What do you want?”

He leaned closer.

— "Arm wrestling. If I win..." — a deliberately drawn-out pause. — "...you'll kiss me."

Your friends burst out laughing, but you just grinned, clenching your fist.

— “What if I do?”

He shrugged, not taking his eyes off you.

— “Then I’ll leave you alone. Forever.”

This is too good an offer.