Chloe and Mia’s plan was straight-up mean. Everyone on campus knew Emma didn’t drink or party—she was the “good girl” who kept to herself. So, they figured they’d get her drunk at the barbecue and make a fool of her, just to knock her down a peg. They thought it’d be hilarious to see the straight-A student stumble. But Emma had no clue. She pictured a chill day by Lake Michigan—good vibes, burgers sizzling, maybe some new friends.
When they pulled up to Mia’s family’s lakehouse on Sheridan Road in Evanston, Emma’s stomach dropped. This wasn’t a cozy cookout. The place was packed with rich kids—guys in designer polos and girls in crop tops, blasting hip-hop and chugging beers. Coolers overflowed with White Claw and cheap vodka. Emma felt like an outsider in her thrift-store jeans and plain tee. Chloe and Mia were in their element, giggling about Insta-worthy outfits and summer hookups, slipping vodka into Emma’s Sprite when she wasn’t looking.
After a few sips, Emma’s head started spinning. The world tilted, and her legs wobbled. “I don’t feel good,” she mumbled, trying to stand. Next thing she knew, she tripped over a cooler and face-planted in the grass. Laughter erupted—loud, cruel, and relentless.
“Look at Miss Perfect!” Mia howled, recording it on her phone. “Thought she was too good for our lit party, huh?”
Emma’s cheeks burned with shame. She struggled to get up, grass stains on her knees, tears stinging her eyes. The crowd kept cackling—except for one guy. A tall, athletic senior with kind eyes pushed through, offering his hand. “Hey, you okay?” he asked softly. But Mia’s voice cut through. “Oh, please, she’s fine. Just can’t handle a real party!”
Humiliated, Emma brushed him off and staggered away, her heart pounding. “Screw you guys!” she shouted, her voice cracking. “Some friends you are!” She stumbled toward the road, no idea where she was. Evanston was miles from her dorm, and she didn’t have cash for a bus. Her scraped knee throbbed, and she cursed herself. Why’d I trust them? I knew they were fake.
Headlights flashed behind her. A beat-up Honda slowed, and the same guy from the party leaned out. “Emma, wait up! I’ll drive you back to UIC campus. I’m Jake, senior, business major. You don’t need to walk alone.”
She froze, sizing him up. He seemed genuine, but she was done trusting people. “I’m fine,” she snapped, but her voice wavered. It was dark, and she was exhausted. Jake’s eyes softened. “Come on, I promise I’m not a creep. You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
Something in his tone made her pause. She glanced at his warm, steady gaze, and her gut told her to take the chance. Wiping her tears, she climbed into the passenger seat, muttering, “Fine, whatever. Let’s just go.”
Jake kept his eyes on the road, his voice calm as he drove Emma back to the UIC campus. “Don’t let those jerks get to you,” he said, glancing her way. “Chloe and Mia? They’re just loudmouths who think money makes them special. Without their parents’ credit cards, they’re nothing. You, though? You’ve got something real—grit, brains. I heard you’re killing it in class. That’s rare.”
Emma stared out the window, her scraped knee still stinging. She wanted to stay mad, but Jake’s words hit deep. “Yeah, well, I’m just a foster kid,” she muttered. “No rich parents to bail me out. I’m not like you or them. Why do you even care?”
Jake chuckled softly, unfazed. “You think I’m some spoiled frat bro? Nah. I’m on a scholarship, too. Working two jobs to stay afloat. And I care because you’re different. You don’t fake it to fit in. That’s why I noticed you.” He paused, then added with a grin, “Plus, you’ve got dope guts, yelling at those clowns back there.”
Emma’s guard softened, but she snapped, “Don’t play me, Jake. I’m not some charity case for you to feel good about.” Her voice shook, but inside, her heart was racing. His confidence, his easy smile—it was messing with her head.
Jake just shook his head. “No games, Emma. I mean it.” Then, out of nowhere, he leaned over and brushed a quick, warm kiss on her cheek.
Emma froze. Her face burned, her pulse hammering like a drum. No one had ever made her feel like that—like she was seen, wanted. For a second, she forgot the pain, the embarrassment, everything.
Back at the dorm, she couldn’t shake Jake from her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his strong jaw, smelled his cedar cologne, felt that kiss. It drove her nuts. Get it together, Emma, she scolded herself. He’s just a nice guy who felt sorry for you. He’s probably forgotten you already. But her heart wouldn’t listen. She’d catch herself daydreaming in class, her notes a mess of doodles instead of numbers.
A week later, Jake found her outside the Student Center East, his backpack slung over one shoulder. “Hey, Emma,” he said, a shy edge to his voice. “Wanna grab coffee at the Starbucks on Halsted Street? Like, a real date. Just us.”
Her stomach flipped. Every instinct screamed to say no—she didn’t do dates, didn’t trust guys like him. But his eyes, all warm and hopeful, melted her defenses. “Okay,” she blurted, then cringed at how eager she sounded. “I mean, sure, whatever.”
That night, Emma stood in front of her cracked dorm mirror, trying on three different outfits. She settled on a denim skirt and a cute blouse she’d snagged at Thrift City, fussing with her hair until it fell just right. Her hands shook as she put on lip gloss. It’s just coffee, she told herself. But deep down, she knew this was bigger—her first real date, and with Jake, of all people.