Page 139 of Picture Perfect

For a moment, we're both silent, sharing something fragile and new. Then, impulsively, I reach out and grab his hand, squeezing it tight. Chess doesn't flinch or tease; he squeezes back, understanding the unspoken words between us.

"Let's do this," I say, more to myself than to him. But the way he nods tells me he's with me, every step of the way.

The engine roars to life, and the world outside becomes a blur as Chess hits the gas. The bass from the speakers vibrates through the car, wrapping around me like a second skin. I throw my head back, laughing at the sheer audacity of the volume. We're in our own bubble, hurtling towards liberty with every mile.

"Come on, Addy! Sing!" Chess shouts over the music, his voice filled with that infectious enthusiasm he always has.

I don't hesitate. My voice joins his, loud and maybe a little off-key, but it doesn't matter. It's the feeling that counts—the freedom of singing without fear, without worrying about being judged or shamed. The words come easy, a song I've known by heart but never felt until now.

"Free falling," I belt out, hands drumming against my thighs.

"Free falling," Chess echoes, grinning from ear to ear.

Every note is a declaration, an anthem for the person I am becoming. For so long, I've been a chameleon, changing colors to blend into the expectations around me. But as we sing, something shifts inside me. It's like I'm shedding layers, revealing the true hues of my spirit. And it feels fucking amazing.

As the school comes into view, Chess lowers the volume, but the echo of our voices lingers, a reminder of the small yet significant rebellion we've just shared.

"Ready?" he asks, parking the car.

"More than ever," I reply, stepping out into the fresh morning air.

Saint, Dre, and Gen are there, a trio of anticipation. Their smiles are so genuine, so full of delight when they see me, it warms me more than the sweater ever could. Gen's eyes sparkle as she rushes over, her excitement palpable.

"Look at you, girl! You're slaying that outfit!"

"Thanks, Gen," I say, my cheeks flushing with pleasure.

Before I can respond further, Saint closes the distance between us, his presence enveloping me. His arms wrap around me, lifting me off the ground, and I can't help but laugh, caught up in the whirlwind of his affection.

"Missed you," he murmurs against my hair before setting me down to kiss me, soft and sweet—a contrast to his usual tough exterior.

"Missed you too," I whisper back, my heart skipping a beat. And, I realize I mean it. This isn't just some charade to get me out of the Winthrop's house. It's becoming real.

He pulls back slightly to look at me, his dark curls framing earnest eyes. "How do you feel in your new clothes?"

"Like I can conquer the world," I admit, a smile playing at my lips.

"Good," Saint says, his voice low and approving. "That's exactly how you should always feel."

Their acceptance is a balm to all the wounds I've collected over the years. Standing here, with them, I think I might just be ready to trust; to believe in this strange, beautiful thing we're building together.

Saint's hands linger on my waist for a moment longer than necessary after the kiss, and I can feel the heat of his touch even through the fabric of my new sweater. As he finally sets me down, Dre and Chess instinctively shuffle closer, their bodies forming a protective barrier at my back. The air around us is charged with an unspoken bond, as if their presence alone could shield me from the world.

"Looking fierce, Addy," Dre says, a smirk playing on his lips, his ice blue eyes glinting with a hint of pride. He tugs a strand of my hair, his eyes dancing with promise.

Chess gives a low chuckle, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yeah, you're killing it."

Their words are simple, but they resonate deep within me. I've never felt this sense of safety before, not with anyone, let alone a group of boys who've seen the darkest parts of life. Yet here I am, flanked by their strength and sincerity, feeling like I belong.

"Thanks, guys," I reply, the smile on my face a reflection of the joy bubbling inside me.

We turn together towards the looming entrance of the school, the morning sun casting long shadows on the concrete. It's then that I feel a pair of eyes boring into me. Looking up, I catch Wesley's gaze across the courtyard. His expression is twisted in disgust, the lines of privilege and disdain etched onto his features like a permanent marker. A familiar shiver threatens to creep up my spine, but I quash it immediately.

"Let's not worry about him," Chess murmurs, noticing the silent exchange. There's a fierceness to his tone that tells me he'd stand against a thousand Wesleys if he had to.

"Who?" Dre asks nonchalantly, though I know he's seen it too.

"Wesley," I say, keeping my voice steady. "But he doesn't matter."

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