The headlock heir and his napkin wife

Chapter 2: The Rejection Olympics & The Note In His Pocket

POV: POPPY CARTER

Word count: 1710

The hallway bell rang three times before anyone moved, the noise of lockers slamming and sneakers squeaking slowly seeping back into my ears after the cold shock of that note. Asher was already shoving the Tupperware of chocolate cake at Jax, his grin so bright and fake I almost believed he'd forgotten the ten words tucked in his jeans pocket.

"Tonight, my place, seven," he said, like his hands weren't shaking just a little when he wiped cake crumbs off his hoodie. "We design the certificates first, then practice lines. Pops, you're in charge of telling us if we're being too mean."

"Too late for that," Sloane snorted, slinging her backpack over one shoulder. She plucked the poem about her "Atlantic eyes" out of her locker pile, ripped it neatly in half, and dropped it in the trash can next to a freshman's math homework. "Also if either of you make that poor poetry kid cry I'm hiding all your game socks in the cafeteria deep fryer. Don't test me."

Jax gasped, clutching his chest like she'd shot him. "You wouldn't dare. My lucky socks are the only reason we won the last playoff game."

"Watch me." She winked, then nodded at me. "Sleepover at my place tomorrow? We're watching that terrible rom-com you love and making fun of all the dumb boy lines."

I nodded, tucking my diary tighter in my bag, my eyes still darting to Asher's pocket every three seconds. He was laughing at something Jax said, shoving him back so hard Jax stumbled into a group of sophomores, but I saw the way his jaw kept tightening, the way he kept patting his pocket like he was scared the note would vanish or multiply or scream out loud for everyone to hear. That was Asher's worst habit-when something scary happened, he stuffed it down so deep even he pretended it wasn't there, put on his loudest himbo act, and decided he'd fix it alone, no help allowed.

I'd learned that when we were twelve and he'd crashed his dad's old golf cart into the Hale mansion rose garden. He'd hidden the dented cart in the boathouse for three days, told everyone it was stolen, and tried to plant new rose bushes at two in the morning wearing his dinosaur pajamas. I'd found him covered in thorns, sniffling because he'd ruined his mom's favorite flowers, and helped him fix it. He'd never told anyone else I'd helped.

I wanted to ask him about the note. Wanted to yank it out of his pocket, read it again, call the police, call his dad, call someone. But I knew if I pushed he'd just laugh it off, call it a stupid prank, and stop telling me things entirely. So I said nothing. Just followed them out to the school parking lot, the late afternoon sun warm on my back, the crinkle of my diary pages against my hip a quiet, steady weight.

The first official round of the Rejection Olympics started at lunch the next day.

Jax had stayed up till one in the morning designing the certificates on Asher's laptop, printing them out on fancy cardstock he'd stolen from his mom's home office. They were color-coded: gold for Platinum Friend Zone, silver for I'm Already In Love With Someone Else, and a truly terrible neon orange for Sorry You're Shorter Than My Bicep. He was currently holding up the orange one to a tiny freshman who'd asked him to the spring dance, his voice booming so loud the whole cafeteria turned to stare.

"NO HARD FEELINGS KID!" he yelled, patting the freshman so hard on the shoulder the boy nearly dropped his tray. "YOU'RE A GREAT GUY! YOU JUST REMIND ME OF MY LITTLE COUSIN AND THAT'S WEIRD! KEEP YOUR HEAD UP! ALSO EAT MORE PROTEIN YOU'LL GROW!"

The freshman took the certificate, red as a tomato, and practically ran back to his table. Asher cackled so hard he snort-laughed chocolate milk out his nose, banging his fist on the table. "That's seven points for me! You only have five so far, Reed! Sucks to suck!"

"Cheater!" Jax squawked, pointing a finger at him. "You got three of those by being too nice! You told that sophomore from math class 'you're amazing I just don't like you like that' and she hugged you! That's not a rejection! That's a friendship proposal! I DOCK YOU TWO POINTS!"

"Rules don't say I can't be nice!" Asher protested, then immediately winced when a lanky junior from the soccer team walked up to our table, holding a tiny stuffed bear and a shaky smile.

"Hey Poppy," the kid said, ignoring the three boys staring at him like he'd grown a second head. "I know we don't talk much but I think you're really cool and I was wondering if-"

My brain short-circuited. This always happened. I was terrible at saying no to people, terrible at watching their faces fall, terrible at anything that wasn't smiling and nodding and accidentally making them think I was saying yes. I opened my mouth, ready to stammer out some nice, soft lie that would somehow make this worse, when Asher's arm suddenly slung easy and heavy around my shoulders, pulling me tight into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Sorry man," he said, his voice lazy and warm, that stupid perfect smirk on his face. "She's already got a standing date to help me not fail chemistry for the next three months. Maybe next time, yeah?"

The kid's face fell. He mumbled an apology, stuffed the bear back in his backpack, and hurried away. I stared up at Asher, my heart hammering so hard I was scared he could feel it through his hoodie, my cheeks burning so hot I was sure I was glowing red. His arm was still around me, warm and solid, and for half a second I let myself pretend-pretend he meant it, pretend I wasn't just the friend he asked to help him practice rejection lines, pretend one day he'd look at me the way he used to look at Sloane.

Then he pulled his arm away, high-fiving Jax like he'd just won a championship. "SEE? That's two more points! I rescued Pops from an awkward confession AND rejected a guy by proxy! That counts DOUBLE JAX YOU CAN'T SAY IT DOESN'T-"

I pressed my hand to my chest under the table, trying to slow my stupid, traitorous heart down, and stared at my half-eaten sandwich. One day, I told myself. One day I'll tell him. Probably. Maybe. When he stops being an idiot.

Sloane kicked me under the table, her eyes glinting like she'd read every single thought in my head. She mouthed IDIOT at me, nodding at Asher's back, and I threw a french fry at her face.

By the time I walked home that afternoon, my backpack was full of shy letters I'd have to write nice rejection notes for later, my throat hurt from laughing at Jax and Asher's certificate drama, and that cold twist in my stomach about the note hadn't gone away. I let myself in the front door, dropped my bag by the stairs, and found my little sister Lila sitting at the kitchen table covered in glitter glue, working on a middle school art project.

She looked up the second the door clicked shut, her thirteen-year-old radar for my bad mood pinging instantly. She put her glue stick down, wiping glitter off her cheek, and raised one eyebrow.

"Okay," she said, like she was a doctor diagnosing a broken arm. "Spill. You've got that 'Asher did something stupid and you're in love with him and also something scary happened' face. Is it the backflip thing again? Did he try to do a skateboard trick off the roof? Did Jax put him in another headlock during math class?"

I dropped into the chair across from her, burying my face in my hands for a full ten seconds before I told her everything. All of it. The backflip faceplant, the headlock, the perfect grades reveal that had shocked the whole school, the Rejection Olympics bet, the way Asher had stepped in to help me with that junior at lunch, and finally-quietly, like saying it out loud would make it real-the note.

When I finished, Lila sat silent for a whole minute. Then she groaned so loud the cat ran out of the room.

"HE IS THE DUMBEST BOY ALIVE," she yelled, throwing her glitter-covered hands in the air. "THE ACTUAL DUMBEST. YOU HAVE BEEN IN LOVE WITH HIM SINCE YOU WERE FIVE AND HE PUSHED THAT KID OFF THE SWING FOR YOU AND HE STILL THINKS YOU JUST BRING HIM GATORADE OUT OF THE GOODNESS OF YOUR HEART? I SWEAR TO GOD I'M GOING TO SHAKE HIM UNTIL HIS BRAIN STARTS WORKING-"

"Lila!" I hissed, kicking her shin under the table. "Lower your voice! Mom's upstairs! And don't you dare say anything to him. Promise me. He'll just get all weird and avoid me and then I'll have to move to another country and change my name."

She huffed, crossing her arms, but nodded. "Fine. I promise. But if he doesn't figure it out before graduation I'm taping all your diary pages to the school gym wall. I'm not watching you waste your whole teenage years pining over a boy who thinks 'subtle' is a type of pasta." She paused, her voice softening, all the sass draining out of it when she saw how tight I was twisting my bracelet around my wrist. "The note though... that's not a prank, Poppy. Not a stupid senior prank. You have to tell someone. Tell Dad. Tell Asher's dad. Make Asher tell someone. He can't fix a death threat by hiding it in his jeans pocket and pretending it's not there."

"I know," I whispered, staring at the tablecloth. "I know. But he won't listen. He never does. He thinks he has to be strong all the time 'cause he's the Hale heir or whatever."

"Then you be strong for both of you," Lila said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. She pushed a half-eaten cookie across the table at me, the one with the pink sprinkles she knew I loved. "Now go write in your diary and mope. I'll clean up the glitter. And for the record? If anyone tries to hurt him or you or any of them? I've got a baseball bat under my bed. Don't tell Mom."

I laughed, wet and wobbly, and picked up the cookie. "I won't."

I locked my bedroom door an hour later, the house quiet except for the hum of the AC and the distant sound of Lila's terrible pop music playing downstairs. I pulled my pink glitter diary out of my backpack, flipped to the next empty page, and took the tiny white rose I'd plucked from our front garden on the walk home out of my pocket. I pressed it carefully between the pages, then picked up my pen, my handwriting small and neat across the lined paper.

Rose #473, I wrote. Today Asher put his arm around me in the cafeteria. My heart almost beat out of my chest. He still doesn't know. Jax made rejection certificates. Sloane kicked me under the table and called me an idiot. She's right.

I paused, the pen hovering over the paper, then wrote the next part slow, like writing it softer would make it less scary.

There was a note in Asher's locker. It said his dad should've sold the company, that he's next. He hid it in his pocket and didn't tell anyone but me. I'm scared. Not just for him. For all of us. It feels like something bad is coming and we're all just laughing about cheese puffs and rejection certificates like nothing's wrong.

I closed the diary, tucking it back in the secret space under my mattress where no one but me ever looked, and was just about to change into pajamas when my phone buzzed once on my nightstand.

It was a text from Asher, sent at 11:47 PM.

hey pops don't tell anyone about the note ok? i'll handle it. also bring extra lemon gatorade tomorrow practice ran late i'm actually dying thx

I stared at the screen for a long time, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I wanted to text him back you don't have to handle it alone. I wanted to text him I'm scared. I wanted to text him a hundred other things I'd never say out loud.

Instead I typed:

ok. goodnight. extra cold in the morning promise.

I hit send, then got up to lock my window like I did every night. I pulled the curtain aside to slide the lock shut-and froze.

Parked two houses down, half-hidden behind a big oak tree, was a big black SUV with dark tinted windows. The engine was off, no lights on, but I could just make out the faint glow of a cigarette being lit through the driver's side glass.

The same SUV, I realized with a cold, creeping dread, that had been parked across the street from the school all afternoon.

I fumbled with the lock, sliding it shut so hard my fingers ached, and stumbled back from the window, my heart hammering so hard I could hear it in my ears. I yanked the curtain closed, leaned my back against the wall, and slid down to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees.

Lila was right. Something bad was coming.

And it was already closer than any of us thought.

End of Chapter 2