Page 7 of The Dating Coach
But I'd do it, because that's what I always did. The nice guy, the good friend, the one who never rocked the boat or took what he wanted.
I thought about Gemma, about the way she'd challenged me, dismissed me, intrigued me all in the span of ten minutes. I couldn't pursue Hailey – that ship had sailed and crashed into the reef of bro code. But Gemma was different. Complicated and defensive and brilliant, but not off-limits.
I felt something like anticipation. Next week’s tutoring session suddenly seemed less like proving a point and more like an opportunity. I just had to figure out how to pursue someone who'd already decided I wasn't worth her time.
Chapter 5: Gemma
I knew something was catastrophically wrong the second I saw Mia huddled on my doorstep. My baby sister sat with her knees drawn to her chest, a battered duffel bag at her feet, her face streaked with tears that had carved tracks through her makeup. The porch light cast harsh shadows across her features, making her look younger than her seventeen years and utterly broken.
“Mia?” I dropped my bag, my exhaustion from swim practice evaporating as I rushed to her. “Honey, what happened?”
She looked up at me with eyes so full of pain it physically hurt to see. "They know," she whispered, her voice raw from crying. "They found my journal. They know everything."
My blood turned to ice. I fumbled for my keys, hands shaking as I unlocked the door. "Come inside. It's okay, you're safe now."
But we both knew that was a lie. Nothing about this was okay, and safe was a concept that had just exploded in our faces.
Karen appeared in the hallway as we stumbled inside, taking one look at Mia's devastated face before switching into crisis mode. "Oh, honey. Come here. Hot chocolate or something stronger?"
"I'm seventeen," Mia said automatically, then let out a broken laugh. "Though after today, I think I've aged about ten years."
"Hot chocolate with extra marshmallows it is," Karen decided, guiding Mia to the couch while shooting me a look thatpromised we'd talk later. "And maybe some of those cookies I definitely didn't steal from the dining hall."
I sat beside Mia, pulling her against me as she started crying again. Her whole body shook with the force of her sobs, and I held her tighter, wishing I could shield her from a world that saw her existence as something to be fixed or condemned.
"Tell me what happened," I said when her tears finally slowed to hiccups.
"I was stupid," she said, voice muffled against my shoulder. "I left my journal on my desk when I went to school. Mom was cleaning and..." She pulled back, eyes red and swollen. "She read everything. About Sophia. About how I feel when she smiles at me. About the kiss at Pam's sleepover last month."
My heart broke for her. I remembered being seventeen and confused about my own attraction to both guys and girls, but I'd been better at hiding it. I'd learned early that our parents' love came with conditions, that their God apparently had very specific requirements for worthiness.
"What did they say?" I asked, though I could guess.
"Dad quoted Leviticus and Romans. Mom cried and asked where she went wrong as a mother." Mia's voice went flat, reciting trauma like a grocery list. "They called Pastor Williams. He wants to send me to this place – Restoration House. It's a conversion therapy camp disguised as a 'troubled teen ministry.'"
"Fuck," I breathed, then caught myself. "Sorry."
"You think I haven't been saying worse?" Mia attempted a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "When I refused to go, Dad said I had two choices: attend the camp or leave his house. So, I left."
Karen returned with hot chocolate and a plate of definitely-stolen cookies, her face carefully neutral as she processed what she'd overheard. "Your parents are assholes," she announced, handing Mia the mug. "No offense."
"None taken," Mia said. "I've been calling them worse in my head all day."
"You can stay here," I said immediately, even as my mind raced through the implications. "We'll figure it out."
"Gemma, I can't ask you to—"
"You're not asking. I'm telling." I used my stern big-sister voice, the one that had gotten her through scraped knees and middle school bullies. "You're staying here where you're safe and loved, and that's final."
"But I'm still a minor," Mia protested. "If they report me as a runaway—"
"Then we'll deal with it," Karen interrupted. "My cousin's a lawyer. Well, almost a lawyer. She's in her last year of law school. But she knows people who know people."
The three of us sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the situation settling over us like a heavy blanket.
"I brought some clothes," Mia said, gesturing to her duffel bag. "And my laptop. They took my phone – said I was using it to 'engage in sinful communications.'"
"We'll get you a new one," I promised, already calculating how much I had in savings. "A prepaid one they can't track."
