During the dinner party, my mom and her "frenemy" were trading passive-aggressive barbs at the table. Meanwhile, in the coat closet, her son and I were locked in a different kind of battle. He was breathless, pinned against the wall by my kiss, begging for mercy: "Stop... my mom is going to catch us..." "God, you guys are so high-maintenance." I took off my flannel shirt and tied it around his waist. "There. That hides it." 1 My mom has a best friend named Diane Cole. After they both got married, the besties turned into "frenemies." Diane has to compare everything with my mother. Since both families are well-off, they don't care about jewelry or cars. They care about whose kid is winning life. Liam Cole is Diane’s son. Growing up, he was the introverted, stable, naturally gifted genius. I, on the other hand, was the loud, rebellious art student with a questionable GPA. Influenced by our mothers, Liam and I couldn't stand each other. At every gathering, I played games on my phone. He ate silently or reviewed flashcards. The conversation between Mom and Diane always followed the same script: "My Liam got the highest AP scores in the state again. Next month he’s representing the school at the National Math Olympiad..." "Well, my Harper took first place in the National Contemporary Dance Finals." As we got older, the competition shifted gears: "Sigh, Liam received another love letter last month. Thank god he’s so disciplined. Aside from his studies, he never gets too close to girls." My mom laughed. "Diane, don't suffocate the boy. It's perfectly normal to have crushes at their age..." Diane didn't agree. "Aren't you worried about Harper getting distracted by boys?" I finished my round of Mobile Legends, looked up, and grinned. "Diane, what era are we living in? Honestly, dating at my age is considered a late start." "Oh? But Harper is so pretty, surely she hasn't started seeing someone already?" Just as Diane finished her sentence, Liam’s chopsticks—clack—hit the floor. My mom seized the opportunity. "Oh, tons of boys at school are chasing Harper. All art students. Pianists, drummers, jazz dancers... they all look like movie stars." Diane scoffed. "So what if they look like stars? My Liam is handsome too." My mom looked at Liam, opened her mouth, but couldn't refute it. Diane was right. Liam was the face of our high school. He didn't just win medals; he looked like an ice prince. Even the instructors in my dance studio talked about him. They praised his proportions, his aura, his features. They said if he ever joined a dance class, he’d be a star. Sure, the Art Department had plenty of hot guys. But they were trendy—dyed hair, ripped jeans, bending the dress code every chance they got. Liam, with his dark hair and crisp white shirts, was a breath of fresh air. His stock only went up, never down. Every time he walked past the arts wing, heads turned. Diane put a shrimp on my plate. "Harper, listen to me. Don't date yet. I hear those artsy boys are players. They sleep around. Don't waste your time on future unemployed actors..." Diane had stepped right on a landmine. I was a fangirl. I snapped back immediately. "Excuse me, Diane? Who says actors are players? My boyfriend is incredibly talented and successful! He got a perfect score on his SATs." Liam’s face changed. His hand jerked, knocking over his water glass. He scrambled up, trying to stop the water spreading across the table, but it soaked his shirt and pants. Diane handed him napkins. "Good lord, why are you so clumsy today?" "Sorry. Diane, Margo... and..." Liam’s gaze landed on me. "Harper. Take your time eating. I’m going home to change." I smirked at him. He ducked his head, grabbed his jacket, and practically ran out the door. Late that night, I got a text from Liam. Liam: [Can you teach me how to date?] I froze. I checked the profile pic and the handle three times. It was definitely Liam Cole. I typed a slow: [?] Liam: [If your boyfriend would mind, pretend I didn't ask. Sorry.] I sat up straight, firing back three devil emojis. Me: [My boyfriend says he doesn't mind.] I glanced at my iPad lock screen featuring Timothée Chalamet. Yeah, my "boyfriend" definitely didn't mind. Hilarious. Liam actually believed my lie at dinner? In reality, I only liked three things: Chasing celebrities, binge-watching shows, and reading romance novels. I had zero energy for real dating. But being Liam Cole’s dating coach? That sounded fun. I tore open a bag of chips, ready for the tea. Me: [Dude, where’d you go? Don't leave me hanging.] Liam: [No. Just thinking.] Me: [About what?] Liam: [The person I like has a boyfriend. But the internet says as long as they aren't married, I still have a 50% chance. I... want to try.] My chip fell on the floor. I sent a voice memo: "Holy crap, Liam. You’re trying to be a homewrecker for love?" The nerd, Liam Cole, starting his villain arc? I’d sooner believe he was hacked. But he sent a voice memo back: "It's only wrecking a home if they're in love. If he isn't as good as me, if he doesn't know her like I do, why can't I steal her?" It was late, so I used the speech-to-text feature. Reading the "her," I paused. Me: [Bestie, I have to ask.] Liam: [Anything.] Me: [Is the person you like a guy or a girl?] Liam: [...A girl. Harper, is your misunderstanding of me really that deep?] I sent a sticker of a cartoon character awkwardly twiddling its thumbs. Don't blame me. Like his mom said, he never talks to girls. Brittany, the school’s prom queen and a total sweetheart, chased him for two years. He was an iceberg. She cried so hard her mascara ran. "It’s not just me! The cheer captain, the valedictorian—he rejected everyone. He only talks to guys. If he’s not gay, I’ll eat my ballet shoes." Scary. Every girl who chased Liam ended up crying, convinced he just wasn't into women. Liam sent two more messages. Liam: [I don't have many girls in my contacts. You're the only one I could think of. Will you help me?] It was rare for Liam to beg. Even rarer that he was begging me. I had to say yes. I don't support homewrecking, but since the homewrecker is Liam... I figured I should help him minimize the damage. Me: [Send me her MBTI personality type ASAP. I’ll help you conquer her in a month!] Liam: [She’s an ENFP. bubbly, bright, confident, cute. She’s so pretty she looks intimidating.] I rolled around on my bed, laughing. Me: [Oh my god. Liam, you are down bad. Have you heard that introverts are just toys for extroverts? You’re doomed to be her puppy.] Liam, the king of concise texts, suddenly sent a sticker of a blushing dog covering its eyes with its ears. Liam: [Okay. Teach me. How do I become her puppy?] Uh. Why did the ice prince suddenly sound so... submissive? My smile froze. This contrast gave me a weird feeling I didn't know how to handle. My screen went dark. The room was pitch black. I thumped my chest. My heart felt a little tight. I picked up the phone for the last message. Me: [It's late. I need to sleep. It’s the weekend tomorrow. I’ll teach you when I wake up.] Liam switched back to his default factory settings. Liam: [Okay. Goodnight.] I stared at the screen. It was that switch in attitude! It made my mood swing up and down with it. I had insomnia until 3 AM, then sat up in bed, realizing something. "Genius! If Liam uses this hot-and-cold tactic on that girl—switching between eager puppy and cool detachment—she’ll lose her mind wondering about him." I texted the idea to Liam. He didn't reply. Probably asleep. 2 The next day, while I was using concealer to hide my dark circles, Liam texted. Liam: [Your advice worked. She texted me spontaneously at 3 AM.] My hand paused. 3 AM? Oh. That was when I texted him. He didn't reply to me... so he was chatting with his goddess? Liam: [As a thank you, let me treat you to lunch today?] I thought about it and declined. Me: [Nah. If your crush sees us, it might ruin the progress you just made. I’ll just be your cyber-wingman.] Liam: [Okay. The strategist makes a good point.] I stretched, ready to order an iced Americano and rot in my room all day. My mom poked her head in. Full glam, new perfume, dressed like she was going to the Hamptons. "Baby, Diane just called. She invited us to lunch at her new beach house. Are you free?" "I am, but I don't want to—" "I'll buy you breakfast. Get changed. No rush." Mom blew me a kiss. "My Harper looks so pretty today!" Looking at her bright smile, I swallowed my refusal. "Fine. Your baby chooses to spoil you today. I'll go." "Love you!" Mom hummed a tune as she went downstairs. I patted my face. "Diane, seriously? How many times a month do you need to see my mom? Are you enemies or soulmates?" We arrived at Diane's new oceanfront property just in time for lunch. The sun was blazing. She had set up a long table in the garden. It was piled high with expensive seafood—my mom’s weakness. Mom swallowed, whispering viciously, "She just loves to show off! Look at that seafood... it looks so fresh." "You made it! I was rushing so I didn't prepare much, just steamed some catches." Diane walked out holding a massive lobster. "Oof, this is heavy. Margo, come help me in the kitchen? I have a few dishes left." Diane waved at my mom. My mom grumbled about "didn't you hire a caterer?" but immediately trotted off with Diane. I found a swing chair in the garden and sat down, closing my eyes. The sun was brutal. "Didn't sleep well?" "..." I opened my eyes. A hand was hovering over my forehead, blocking the glare. Liam stood backlit against the sun, his white shirt smelling like ocean breeze and laundry detergent. "No, I slept fine. You're the one who probably didn't sleep," I smiled. "How's it going with her?" "Feels like we're talking past each other," he said, pulling a patio umbrella over to shade me. "Just talking won't work." I looked at the shadow on the grass. "But given her situation, meeting up often might be..." "Scandalous?" Liam sat down next to me. "I know I look pathetic. But my feelings for her... day after day..." He looked quietly into my eyes. "They're getting out of control." "Then be direct. Go all in." "How?" Liam chuckled at my intensity. "You're an ENFP too. What kind of guys do you like?" My brain immediately summoned Timothée Chalamet. "Handsome, sincere, hardworking, tall, and he has to have a killer smile..." "Does your boyfriend meet all those criteria?" "Obviously!" I blurted it out, eyes crinkling with a smile. "That's good." Liam’s voice sounded a bit hoarse. He looked down, the sea breeze messing up his bangs. I looked at his perfect profile and paused. "You're great too." Liam curled his lip. "Who is better? Me or your boyfriend?" "..." I thought about it. Liam was rich, smart, classy, and objectively good-looking. But I stuck to my guns. "My boyfriend is still better." The smile vanished from Liam's face. "Why did you stop smiling?" I asked. "Born this way. Besides, I look ugly when I smile." Me: "?" 3 For the next month, Liam seemed to have given up his villain arc. At school, he was back to his "no girls allowed" policy, only interested in textbooks. It was like the guy who wanted to be a homewrecker that night never existed. But one night, I got a notification. It was a screenshot of his mock exam scores and early acceptance letters to Ivy League schools. A second later, he unsent it. Liam: [Sorry, wrong chat.] Me: [I saw it. Congrats, genius.] Diane loved to brag about his grades, but Liam usually hated it. Self-promotion was out of character. I sent a smirk emoji. Me: [Wrong chat? Hehe. Meant to send that to your goddess?] Liam: [Yeah. She seems to care about that stuff.] Me: [Oh, look at you, Liam. Peacocking?] Liam: [Is it obvious?] Me: [Very.] Liam: [Do you think she'll find it annoying?] Me: [If she hates show-offs, yes. But if she’s shallow and only likes pretty faces and abs...] I was typing the second paragraph when Liam dropped three selfies in the chat. My finger slipped, and I frantically hit save. By the time I got to the third one, Liam unsent all of them. Dammit! Why did he have to delete them so fast? I wanted to analyze the collarbone under the white shirt. I wanted to see the lean muscle definition. Liam’s "delete" button made it all vanish like a dream. Liam: [If I... occasionally send her normal selfies, would that be okay?] I rolled my eyes. Liam called those "normal"? Me: [You can send them. Condition: Don't unsend them after five seconds. Give the girl some time to appreciate the art, okay?] Liam: [Okay. snicker.jpg] Why was he laughing? I stared at the sticker of the snickering dog, feeling frustrated. Me: [Resend that third "normal" selfie.] Liam: [No. I'm shy.] Liam: [It's just abs. Doesn't your boyfriend have them? smile.jpg] Me: ... Well played, Liam. Another sleepless night for me. 4 The next day, I went to school looking like a zombie. My homeroom teacher intercepted me in the hall. "Have you decided on a college list?" "Yeah." "Harper, I know for art students the GPA requirements are lower, but..." She hesitated. I knew what she meant. My math scores were tragic. "Your portfolio is strong. You have two months left. Let's pull up those academic scores." She patted my shoulder. "Good luck." Walking out of the office, I yawned so wide I almost dislocated my jaw. I ran right into Liam. I covered my mouth with the back of my hand. He nodded politely. As he passed, I grabbed the hem of his shirt. "Morning, Liam." "Morning. Something wrong?" He stopped. Even with the hallway crowded, he didn't shake off my hand. I gave him my brightest, most dazzling smile. "It's early. Want to grab breakfast?" "You haven't eaten?" He paused, then turned toward the stairs. "Let's go." I hurried to catch up, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with him. We’d known each other forever, but this was the first time we’d walked together openly at school. I followed the gaze of other students and looked at Liam. I was wearing a high ponytail, which brushed right against his ear level. "Liam, are you 6'1?" I asked randomly. "6'2." "I'm 5'7." "Okay. And?" He looked down, locking eyes with me. I blurted out, "How tall is your goddess? I heard a 15cm height difference is perfect for kissing without tiptoeing." Liam’s lip quirked. "I can bend down." The morning sun turned the tips of our ears red. He was backlit, glowing. The unattainable male lead from all those campus novels suddenly had a face. Some loudmouth from the Art Department shouted, "Holy crap, is that Harper with Liam Cole? Are you guys dating?" I waved my hands frantically. "No, I—" "No, I'm just accompanying Harper to breakfast," Liam answered calmly. The art kids winked at me. "Got it. Nice work, Harper." Liam gestured across the street. "Pumpkin porridge and potstickers?" At the shop, we sat across from each other. I scanned the QR code to pay before he could. "You're my wingman," Liam said. "I should treat you." I grinned. "I need a favor." Liam dropped his spoon. Soy milk splashed onto the table. "What do you need?" He grabbed a napkin. "Liam, can you tutor me in math?" "Tutor?" His hand froze. "Sure. When?" "Tonight? I'll tell my mom to talk to yours. Come over for dinner." I grabbed his hand and shook it. "Return the favor." Liam’s hand tightened around the napkin. "Are you and your boyfriend long-distance? Can't he help you?" "Huh? If you don't want to, I'll hire a college student..." "Study hall. After school." "You won't come to my house?" "No. Study hall." "No way." I slumped. "I need food to function..." Liam watched my dramatic sigh, barely suppressing a smile. "Fine. I'll come to your house." I was secretly thrilled. He suddenly leaned in. "How's the grip?" "What grip?" I followed his gaze down. I was still holding his hand. Pale, long fingers, clean nails. Literally speaking... the grip was nice. I let go, patting his hand to cover my awkwardness. "It's okay." "Just okay?" Liam’s eyes darkened. "Then tell me, how should a hand be held to pass the test?" Nerd behavior. Even now, he was "studying." Since he agreed to fix my math grade, I figured I’d teach him how to handle women. I laughed and interlaced my fingers with his, locking them tight. "This is the standard way." Liam’s face exploded in red. I felt a weird satisfaction seeing him flustered. He took a few breaths. "That hurts." "..." I let go. "I have a strong grip. Maybe your goddess is more delicate. Just practice." His hand was red where I’d squeezed it. I frowned, afraid to look at his face. I was nervous, so I had squeezed too hard. "Is this how you hold your boyfriend's hand?" Liam asked, flexing his fingers. I pouted. "So what if I do?" "Harper," Liam said seriously. "Maybe you should practice too. That didn't feel like holding hands. It felt like an interrogation technique." "...Fine." I grabbed his hand again. Looking at our locked hands on the table, Liam’s mouth curved into a barely visible smile.
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