Amy’s POV
The air inside the McDonald’s felt oddly cool after the warm night air. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly above us, and the smell of fries and deep-fried everything clung to the air like a second skin. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until we stepped inside. My body still felt like it had been hit by a truck, but now that the tears had stopped—at least for now—there was this weird emptiness in my stomach that wasn’t just from heartbreak.
James stood beside me at the counter, watching with a raised eyebrow as I placed my order.
“One vanilla ice cream cone,” I said, then paused, “and a medium fries.”
He blinked at me, clearly surprised. “You’re getting fries with vanilla ice cream?”
I turned my head to look at him and gave him a small, tired smile. “Don’t judge me. It’s comfort food.”
He crossed his arms, tilting his head with exaggerated judgment. “You’re weird.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, not even hiding the sarcasm in my voice. “You literally picked me off the road like I was roadkill.”
He held up a hand in surrender, laughing a little. “Touché.”
We found a booth tucked away in the corner, far from the noisy families and teenagers taking selfies in the booths near the front. I sat across from him, the red leather seat creaking beneath me, and placed my tray down between us. The cone was already starting to melt slightly, and I dipped one of the fries into the vanilla swirl before taking a bite. The salty-sweet combo immediately settled something deep in my chest. Not happiness exactly, but something close to comfort. James watched me with a mix of amusement and curiosity.
For a few minutes, we just ate in silence. I focused on chewing, on the feel of the cold ice cream against my tongue, on the heat from the fries. It helped me stay grounded. Helped me not fall apart again.
Then James leaned back in his seat and looked at me—not in a creepy way, but in the kind of way that made you feel like someone was actually listening, actually seeing you.
“You wanna talk about it?” he asked.
I stared down at the cone for a few seconds, unsure if I could say the words out loud without breaking. But the thing was—I was already broken. There was nothing left to protect. So I took a shaky breath and began.
“I went to surprise him tonight,” I said softly, “with my new uniform. I thought it’d be cute. We’d take pictures or something. Laugh. Maybe kiss a little.”
James didn’t interrupt. He just nodded slowly, letting me talk.
“His mom thought I was already there. Because she saw the uniform. And blonde hair,” I said, my voice faltering.
His eyes darkened, but he still stayed quiet.
“I went upstairs. I opened the door. And Camilla was on him. Like… on him.” The words felt sharp, but saying them made something inside me feel a little lighter. “And the worst part? She didn’t even care. She looked at me and said, ‘Finally, we don’t have to pretend anymore.’”
I laughed bitterly, even though nothing was funny. “Like I was the one faking everything. Like I was the outsider.”
James picked up a fry and tossed it into his mouth, chewing slowly. “So the quarterback and the cheer captain,” he said after a second. “Wow. That’s cliché as hell.”
I let out a dry laugh. “Yeah. They deserve each other.”
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. “He’s still an idiot. Any guy who fumbles with someone like you should be benched for life.”
The words hit me unexpectedly hard, not because they were smooth or charming, but because he said them so simply, like they were obvious. I felt my face heat up, and for the first time that day, I blushed. I looked down at my tray, trying to hide it.
“I don’t even know what to do now,” I admitted quietly. “Just… exist? Cry more? Disappear?”
James tilted his head, and for a second, his face softened in a way I hadn’t seen before. “Or,” he said slowly, “how about reinvent yourself instead?”
I lifted my eyes to meet his, confused. “Reinvent?”
He leaned back with a small smirk, tapping the edge of the table.
“Yeah,” he said. “And you’re gonna start… with me.”