Marcus didn’t glance at Stacey. Not even a flick of his eyes.
She reached for his sleeve when he passed, fingertips grazing the edge of his jacket. “Marcus, hey—”
He brushed her off with a sharp jerk of his arm, like she wasn’t even there.
He didn’t speak to her. Didn’t even acknowledge the desperate tone in her voice.
He walked straight to me.
My legs were frozen, but my heart pounded so fast I could barely hear anything over it.
He stopped a step away and looked right at me.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low, even.
I didn’t trust my voice. I just nodded.
He glanced back once, then met my eyes again. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
I followed him.
In the car, neither of us spoke. His jaw was tight, the tendons in his neck visible as he gripped the wheel. I sat rigid in the passenger seat, holding my breath every time we stopped at a light.
We didn’t go anywhere fancy. Just McDonald’s.
He pulled into the parking lot like it was a normal day and parked without asking. I appreciated it, honestly—no big gesture. No pressure.
Inside, we got in line. My hands were sweaty. I didn’t even read the menu; I already knew what I’d say.
“Salad. And a bottle of water,” I told the cashier, voice flat.
Marcus glanced sideways at me, then ordered a burger, large fries, and a Coke without blinking.
We found a booth near the window. I sat across from him, tucking my arms close to my body. The air inside the restaurant was dry and smelled like grease and syrup. I hated how the plastic seat squeaked under me. I hated the way my thighs pressed together, spreading wider than I wanted.
He dug into his fries immediately. I peeled the lid off my salad slowly, picking at a piece of lettuce with the plastic fork.
Marcus chewed, then said, “You don’t eat like this.”
I looked up, startled.
“What?”
He gestured vaguely at my food. “You don’t. Not even when you were upset. I’ve seen you eat pizza. Donuts. Stuff with flavor.”
I shrugged, trying to play it off. “I’m just not that hungry.”
He stared at me, unblinking.
“You don’t have to change for me.”
The words landed with a dull thud. Not soft. Not comforting. He didn’t say it like he was trying to be sweet. He said it like it annoyed him.
I looked away. “I’m not.”
“You are,” he said. “It’s weird. Just be normal.”
That stung more than it should have.
“I didn’t realize trying to be better was weird,” I muttered, stabbing another piece of lettuce.
He sighed, leaned back in the booth. “That’s not what I meant.”
The silence stretched.
Outside, cars pulled into the drive-thru. A couple kids banged on the plastic playplace walls. The world kept moving, loud and oblivious.
Inside, it was just us.
After a while, Marcus spoke again, his voice softer this time.
“My dad’s been on my ass since Friday.”
I glanced up. “The game?”
“Yeah. He thinks if I don’t drop thirty points, I’m blowing my whole future. He literally said that. ‘Blow your future.’ Like I’m a grenade.”
I didn’t respond. Just listened.
“He talks about the NBA like it’s the only thing that matters. Like I’m not allowed to care about anything else.”
“You don’t agree?”
“I don’t know,” he said, pushing his empty fries tray aside. “I used to think he was right. But lately...”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Instead, he looked up. “Think I could meet your dad sometime?”
The fork froze in my hand.
“What?”
“Nothing formal,” he added quickly, raising both palms. “Just—it’d be cool. He’s a legend, right?”
My heart sank a little. Was that the real reason why he talked to me?
I nodded slowly. “Sure.”
“You’re serious?”
“He’ll be at your game.”
Marcus smiled. Big. Like he’d just won something.
I tried to smile back, but my stomach churned.
After, he drove me home. The sun had dipped low behind the houses, casting everything in soft gold. As we pulled into my driveway, I hesitated before getting out.
He shifted in his seat, leaning just a little closer. His arm brushed mine, and I felt it straight through the fabric of my sleeve like a jolt.
“I’m really glad you came today,” he said, voice lower now. “Stacey—she’s messed up. I’m not letting her near you again.”
His words lit something in my chest, something warm and dangerous and aching. I nodded, but I couldn’t speak. My throat was tight. I wasn’t tired anymore. I was wired. My pulse was skipping.
He looked at me for a long second. Then he leaned in.
Like he’d been thinking about it the whole drive.
His hand came up and cupped the side of my face. Not rough. Just enough to make me stop breathing.
And then he kissed me.
It wasn’t brief.
It was slow and full, his mouth pressing into mine like he wanted to remember it. His lips were warm, soft but firm, moving against mine in a way that made my whole body feel like it was turning to liquid. His thumb brushed my cheek, and my fingers curled into the seatbelt across my chest to keep from reaching for him.
By the time he pulled back, I was shaking.
I opened the car door, my legs unsteady.
And as I walked up to the front steps, I could feel him still watching me. Every step, every sway of my hips, every inch of my body that I’d once wanted to hide—I felt it under his eyes.
I didn’t look back. But I wanted to.
God, I wanted to.
Standing there on the porch, hand on the doorknob, I whispered to myself:
“I’m going to get better. I’m going to be good enough.”
Even if it meant becoming someone else entirely.