Page 103 of Left on Base

“I’m not letting you back out.”

I yank the hem again. “The pink is too much.”

“Not possible. Pink is never too much.”

“Why am I doing this?”

“Because you need to make him jealous. Jaxon will never know how he feels or what it’s like to lose you if you don’t try.”

I hear her, but do I really want Jaxon to think he’s lost me? Do I want him jealous and obsessed? What if it backfires? What if he... lets me go?

What if I go on this date and it doesn’t even matter to him?

Let me tell you a story while Callie digs for another pair of heels, rummaging through our closet like she’s searching for Narnia. I went to high school with a girl named Astro Aimes. Not a joke. Her parents were hippies and their home was part Halloween store, part Whole Foods. All black everything, purple curtains, and enough crystals to start a jewelry shop. The place reeked of lavender and patchouli so strong it clung to your clothes. I went once. Never again.

She was obsessed with this guy in our chemistry class named Tollen. Yeah, Tollen. Like someone looked at their baby and thought, “He needs a name that sounds like a toll booth.”

Tollen was... different. Not in a quirky indie movie way. More like a “future true crime doc” way. He wore chains. Not as jewelry. Actual handcuffs. Try being his lab partner when he can’t hold a beaker because he’s cosplaying Houdini. I did all the work while he stared at the clock with ice-blue eyes that made you feel like you were falling into the void. Every day—EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.—at 9:40 a.m. sharp, he’d stand up, chains rattling, and storm out like the bell had personally insulted him.

The school tried to ban the chains, but—Seattle being Seattle—he got it approved as a religious thing. Apparently there’s a whole “escaped from Azkaban” religion. Whatever.

So Astro, obsessed, decides to cast a love spell. An obsession spell. Because apparently dating apps weren’t dramatic enough.

Wanna guess how that turned out?

Oh, he got obsessed all right. Started handcuffing himself to her desk. Set her friend’s car on fire. Stole her panties. Carved her name into his chest. During class. With a razor blade. While the teacher explained covalent bonds.

I haven’t checked, but I’m betting he’s in a psych ward or started a niche metal band. Astro probably changed her name and moved to Montana.

Moral of the story? Don’t trust a guy who brings his own restraints to school.

Be careful what you wish for.

Speaking of terrifying things… Callie’s waving shoes at me that look like medieval torture devices. But you know what scares me more than shattering my ankle in those?

What if I actually like Nathan? Unlikely, but life’s full of surprises. What if he’s funny and sweet and doesn’t handcuffhimself to furniture? What if I start falling out of love with Jaxon?

That thought drops my stomach.

Losing Jaxon? That’s scarier than any horror story. Scarier than Tollen’s stare. Scarier than these heels Callie wants me to wear.

But maybe what’s even scarier? I’m more afraid of moving on than staying stuck. Like a batter who keeps swinging at high fastballs, even though everyone knows she’ll miss. Especially her mom.

“You got this,” Callie says, giving me a final once-over. “Text me if you need an emergency extraction. I’ll call and pretend to be your mom. Or a hospital. Or the CDC.”

“The fuck? Why the CDC?”

She stuffs dollar bills in my bra, which are smooshing my boobs like hot pink pancakes in this dress. The bills feel like little judges. “Yeah. Maybe you got monkeypox.”

“That’s not even a thing anymore.”

“Nathan doesn’t know that. Soccer players aren’t exactly reading medical journals.”

I look at the bills. “Are you seriously stuffing singles in my bra? What am I, a stripper at a sad bachelor party?”

“Emergency fund,” she says, adjusting another bill. “In case you need to get home.”

“I have a credit card, you know.”

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