Page 105 of Rules, Roses, and Rivals
I didn’t even have time to breathe before it happened again.
That afternoon, in the art wing stairwell—quiet, echoey, usually where people went to cry or hide from pep rally sign-ups—Archie found me.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned a shoulder against the rail and looked at me like he was still figuring out how to begin.
Then, after a long pause: “I won’t do glitter. Or drones. Or a six-piece jazz band.”
I blinked. “Okay…”
“But if you’d rather skip the whole circus and go with someone who won’t make you slow dance toJason Mraz, I’m your guy.”
My heart stuttered.
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
He gave me a smile. That easy, infuriating,Archiesmile. The kind that said he wasn’t asking for an answer right then. Just planting the idea like a seed in soil.
“You know where to find me,” he said. “If the roses aren’t a declaration you’re already spoken for.”
A beat of silence.
“Frankie?”
My heart beat so hard I worried it was about to punch its way out of my ribs.
“To be one hundred percent clear, this is me, once again, asking you out on a date. If you want to skip that dance and go play mini-golf, we can do that too. I just want the time with you.” He stared at me so long, it was like he was trying to make sure I got the message in my soul.
I did.
“You have time and I’m patient.” A whisper of a promise and a wink that was just all my Archie.
Then he was gone.
Just like that.
I had to sit on the steps for a few minutes after. Because apparently my heart had learned how to sprint without asking permission.
When we got to lunch, the courtyard had become a full-on stage.
Not metaphorically. Someone literally set up a platform.
Rachel and I hadn’t even gotten our trays when a guy in a rented tuxedo climbed onto the stage with a mic and a giant sign that said,RACHEL, BE MY QUEEN OF HEARTS?
A cheer went up. The band struck a few clumsy notes. A tiara descended from the ceiling on fishing wire.
Rachel just stood there, unmoving.
She stared at him for so long the cheering faded into awkward silence. The guy shifted from foot to foot, his grin faltering.
I could feel secondhand embarrassment building like a wave.
Then Coop, who’d been watching from a nearby table, stood and walked over casually.
“Hey, man,” he said, clapping the tuxedo guy on the shoulder. “Loved the performance. If you wanna live, I’d clear the stage.”
Rachel still hadn’t said a word.
The guy took one more look at her, wilted slightly, then turned and fled, tiara bouncing behind him like a sad punctuation mark.
