Betty
I nodded, still breathless, my legs moving on their own as I made my way down the bleachers with my dad beside me. I could still feel Marcus’s arms around me, his breath against my neck, the way he looked at me like I was the only person who existed in the entire gym.
My dad didn’t say anything as we crossed the court, weaving through the crowd of excited players and chaotic fans. His face was calm, but I knew him well enough to read the shift—the slight tilt of his chin, the way his hands stayed loose at his sides. He was watching Marcus closely, measuring everything. He was always like this when sizing up recruits, but now it was different. He wasn’t looking for talent. He was looking at a boy who had just kissed his daughter in front of two hundred people.
Marcus spotted us right away. He excused himself from a group of teammates and met us halfway, still sweaty and breathless from the win. His curls were damp, his jersey clung to his chest, and yet he didn’t fidget or look away.
“Mr. Branson,” he said, voice steady. “Thank you for coming.”
“You played a hell of a game,” my dad replied. His tone wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t warm either. It was neutral—professional. “And I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Marcus nodded. “I’ve heard a lot about you too, sir.”
They shook hands, and I stood there, trying not to die inside from nerves.
“Betty speaks highly of you,” Marcus added, glancing at me.
I blinked. That… felt true. And also felt terrifying.
“Good to know,” Dad said.
Then, with a small glance in my direction, he added, “Let’s take a walk.”
Marcus nodded, following my dad a few steps away from the crowd. I stayed rooted where I was, fingers clenched around the strap of my bag, heart pounding. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I watched everything. Marcus stood tall, serious. He nodded a lot. His hands were in his pockets, but his eyes never left my dad’s face. Every so often, he glanced over at me.
Finally, they returned.
My dad clapped a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “He seems like a good one,” he said to me.
Then to Marcus: “I’ll make a few calls next week. Let’s see what doors we can open.”
Marcus looked stunned. Just for a second. His mouth opened, then closed. He swallowed.
“Thank you, sir,” he said quietly. “I won’t let you down.”
Then he turned to me, and everything in his expression shifted—softer, more personal.
“And I’d never hurt her,” he said. “Ever. I swear I’ll protect her.”
I didn’t say anything at first. My throat was tight, and my hands were shaking a little. But when I met his eyes, something in me clicked into place. I nodded, the tiniest bit, and smiled.
“I believe you.”
—
By the time we got to Marcus’s house that night, the party was already in full swing.
Music was thumping through the walls like a heartbeat. Cars were lined down the street. People crowded the front yard, drinks in hand, voices loud. I’d never been to a party like this, let alone one hosted by the boy I was now apparently dating in public.
Inside, it was even crazier. The air was thick with soda, pizza, and cheap perfume. Someone had spilled something sticky on the floor already. The kitchen table was buried under empty plates and red cups. The living room was full of dancing bodies and laughter.
But Marcus?
Marcus only had eyes for me.
He grabbed my hand the moment I stepped through the door, tugged me into the living room, and introduced me to everyone. Not like I was some side chick. Like I mattered. Like I belonged.
“This is Betty,” he told his teammates. “My girlfriend.”
That word hit me in the chest like a spark.
Girlfriend.
I tried not to trip over my own feet.
Kate danced with me while “Blank Space” came on and we screamed every word like we were at a concert.
Vel spun me around during a fast song and shouted “Okay, Branson!” while people laughed and clapped. For once, I didn’t feel like a background character. I was part of the story.
I was just Betty. And I was having fun.
Really, actually, stupidly fun.
Until the music dipped.Until the crowd shifted.
And Stacey walked in.
Dressed in black from head to toe, eyes lined in thick black eyeliner, lips red, her hair perfect.
She waited until the last beat of the song faded, then stepped into the center of the living room like it was her runway.
“Truth or dare?” she said, voice loud and clear. “Let’s play.”
Marcus stiffened beside me.
“Don’t start,” he said flatly.
She smiled—sweet and sharp all at once.
“I’m just trying to have a little fun.”