At a family dinner, my mom and her "frenemy" were trading passive-aggressive barbs across the table. Meanwhile, in the private room next door, the frenemy's son and I were engaged in a different kind of battle. I kissed him until his voice went hoarse, begging for mercy. "Stop... my mom will hear us..." "You guys are so much drama," I whispered. I took off my jacket and tied it around his waist. "Here. That'll hide it." 1 My mom has a frenemy named Donna. After they both got married, their friendship turned into a cold war. Donna had to win at everything. Since both families were well-off, they didn't care about jewelry or cars. They competed through their children. Luke is Donna’s son. He’s been calm, stable, and a natural-born genius since he was a toddler. I, on the other hand, am lively, rebellious, and an art student who barely passes math. Influenced by our mothers, Luke and I couldn't stand each other. At every gathering, I played video games. He ate quietly and studied flashcards. My mom and Donna’s conversations always went like this: "My Luke got first place in the grade again. He's representing the school in the State Math Olympiad next month..." "Well, my baby got first place in the National Dance Finals." As we grew up, their competition shifted. "Sigh, Luke got another love letter last month. Fortunately, he's disciplined. He never talks to girls. He only cares about Yale." My mom laughed, swirling her wine. "Donna, don't be a helicopter parent. It's normal to have a crush at this age..." Donna narrowed her eyes. "Aren't you afraid Lulu will get distracted?" I looked up from my phone. "Auntie, what era is this? Dating in high school is practically a requirement." "Oh? Our Lulu is so pretty, don't tell me she's already seeing someone?" Just as Donna said that, Luke's chopsticks hit his plate with a loud clatter. My mom didn't miss a beat. "Oh, tons of boys chase Lulu. Musicians, drummers, dancers... they all look like K-pop idols." Donna snorted. "So what if they look like idols? My Luke is handsome too." My mom looked at Luke. She opened her mouth but couldn't refute it. Donna was right. Luke was the "face" of our high school. He wasn't just a nerd. He was cold, tall, and devastatingly handsome. Even the dance teachers asked why he wasn't in the performing arts program. He was a clean stream in a muddy river of teenage boys with bad haircuts and baggy jeans. Every time he walked past the art wing, girls practically fainted. Donna peeled a shrimp and put it on my plate. "Lulu, listen to Auntie. Don't date those art boys. They're players. You need to focus." Donna had stepped on a landmine. I was a fangirl. I took this personally. "Sorry, Auntie," I retorted. "Who says handsome guys are players? My boyfriend is incredibly disciplined. He scored a 1580 on his SATs." Luke’s face went pale. His hand jerked, knocking over his water glass. Ice water flooded the table, soaking his pristine white shirt and slacks. He shot up, trying to stop the flow. "Oh my god, Luke, what's wrong with you today?" Donna fussed, grabbing napkins. "Sorry. Auntie, Mom..." Luke’s dark eyes locked onto mine for a second. "Lulu... enjoy your meal. I need to go change." I smirked at him. He lowered his head, grabbed his jacket, and practically ran out of the restaurant. That night, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Luke. Luke: [Can you teach me how to date?] I stared at the screen. I checked the contact info three times. It was definitely him. Me: [?] Luke: [If your boyfriend minds, pretend I didn't ask. Sorry.] I sat up, eyes wide. Me: [My boyfriend says he doesn't mind.] I glanced at the poster of Timothée Chalamet on my wall. Yeah, Timmy doesn't mind. I couldn't believe Luke actually bought my lie at dinner. But hey, if the Ice Prince wanted love advice, I was ready to serve. I grabbed a bag of chips and got comfortable. Me: [Hello? Don't leave me hanging. Spill the tea.] Luke: [Thinking.] Me: [Thinking about what?] Luke: [The person I like has a boyfriend. But I read online that as long as they aren't married, I still have a 50% chance. I... want to try.] My chip fell out of my mouth. Me: [Voice Message] "Damn, Luke. You want to be a homewrecker?" The model student was going rogue. I respected it. Luke: [Voice Message] "If he's not as good as me, and doesn't know her like I do... why can't I steal her?" His voice was low and raspy through the speaker. I shivered. Me: [Question. Is the person you like... a girl?] Luke: [...Yes. Lulu, do you really think I'm gay?] I sent a sweating emoji. You can't blame me. He never talks to girls. The school beauty, Grace, chased him for two years. She baked him cookies, wrote him letters, everything. He ignored her so hard she cried in the bathroom for a week. Luke: [I don't have many female friends. You're the only one I can ask. Will you help me?] He was begging. Well, the "boyfriend" in the scenario was just an obstacle. And since the protagonist was Luke... honestly, the other guy didn't stand a chance. Me: [Send me her MBTI. I'll help you secure the bag in one month.] Luke: [She's an ENFP. Lively, confident, cute. She's very beautiful. So beautiful she's intimidating.] I kicked my legs in the air, laughing. Me: [Omg. Luke, you're down bad. You know introverts are just toys for extroverts, right? You're destined to be her puppy.] Luke, the guy who replies with "Yes" or "No", sent a sticker. It was a blushing puppy covering its eyes. Luke: [Teach me. How do I become her puppy?] My smile froze. Why was the Ice Prince suddenly acting so... submissive? My heart did a weird little flip. Me: [It's late. I need beauty sleep. Class starts tomorrow.] Luke: [Okay. Goodnight.] Back to the cold robot. This contrast... it was deadly. I lay in the dark, clutching my phone. "If he uses this hot-and-cold tactic on that girl," I whispered to the ceiling, "she's doomed." 2 The next morning, I was applying concealer to my dark circles when Luke texted. Luke: [Your advice worked. She texted me at 2 AM.] My hand slipped. 2 AM? That was when I texted him. He ignored me to talk to her? Luke: [To thank you, dinner is on me tonight?] I thought about it. Me: [Pass. If your crush sees us, she might misunderstand. I'll be your remote consultant.] Luke: [Makes sense.] I was about to order an iced coffee and rot in bed when Mom burst in. "Lulu! Get dressed. Donna invited us to her new beach house for brunch." "Mom, no..." "I'll buy you that purse you wanted." "Deal." We arrived at Donna's massive villa. She had set up a long table in the garden, piled high with seafood. "Just a simple lunch," Donna bragged, holding a lobster the size of a toddler. "Helen, come help me in the kitchen." My mom rolled her eyes but followed her in. I found a swing chair in the garden and closed my eyes. The sun was blazing. Suddenly, a shadow fell over me. "Didn't sleep well?" I opened my eyes. A hand was hovering over my face, blocking the sun. Luke stood there, backlit by the morning light. He smelled like sea salt and clean laundry. "I slept fine," I lied. "How's the girl?" "We're... talking past each other." He moved the patio umbrella to shade me. "Just talking isn't enough," I said. "You need to make a move. But I guess since she's taken, you can't really be seen together." "Is that how it is?" He sat down next to me. "I know I'm pathetic," he murmured, looking at the ocean. "But my feelings... they're getting out of control." "Then just go for it," I said. "What kind of guys do ENFPs like?" I thought of my celebrity crush. "Handsome. Sincere. Tall. Nice smile." "Does your boyfriend have all that?" "Of course!" I beamed. "That's good." Luke's voice was quiet. The wind messed up his hair. He looked really good today. "You're not bad yourself," I offered. He smirked. "Better than him?" I hesitated. Luke was Ivy League material, rich, and looked like a model. "He's still better," I said loyally to my fictional boyfriend. Luke's smile vanished. "Why the long face?" "Born with it," he said flatly. 3 For the next month, Luke was a ghost. He went back to his "studies only" mode. I thought he gave up. Then, one night, he sent me a photo. It was his transcript. Perfect scores. And an early acceptance letter to Stanford. He unsent it immediately. Luke: [Sorry. Wrong chat.] Me: [Too late. Congrats, nerd.] Luke: [Think she'll like it?] Me: [Oh, peacocking? Nice.] Luke: [Is it obvious?] Me: [Very. If she likes smart guys, you're golden. If she likes abs...] Ping. Three photos came through. Selfies. In the mirror. Shirt lifted. I scrambled to save them. Click. Click. Before I could get the third one—the one with the V-line—he unsent everything. Me: [HEY! I wasn't done inspecting!] Luke: [I'm shy.] Luke: [Besides, doesn't your boyfriend have abs?] I screamed into my pillow. Touché, Luke. Touché. 4 The next day, I ran into him in the hallway. He nodded politely and kept walking. I grabbed his sleeve. "Morning, Luke." He stopped. Students were staring. "Morning. Need something?" "I haven't had breakfast. Come with me?" He hesitated, then turned around. "Okay." We walked to the cafeteria. It was the first time we'd ever been seen together at school. I noticed my ponytail was level with his ear. "You're 6'2, right?" I asked. "Yeah." "I'm 5'7." "And?" He looked down at me. "How tall is she?" I blurted out. "You know, the perfect height difference for kissing is 15cm." Luke's lips quirked. "I can bend down." The morning sun hit his profile. He looked like the cover of a romance manga. "Whoa, is that Luke sitting with Lulu?" someone whispered. "Are they dating?" "No," Luke said loudly, cutting through the gossip. "Just getting breakfast." He bought me a pumpkin porridge and paid before I could get my wallet out. "Consultant fee," he said. "Fair enough." I took a bite. "I need a favor." "Shoot." "Tutor me in math. My grades are tanking." His spoon clattered against the bowl. "Math?" "Yeah. Come over tonight? I'll tell Mom." "Can't your boyfriend teach you?" I choked. "He's... busy. Come on, please?" "Fine. Library. After school." "No, my house. I need snacks to study." He sighed, fighting a smile. "Fine. Your house." He leaned across the table. "Can I test something?" "What?" He grabbed my hand. His fingers were long and cool. "Is this... how you hold hands?" he asked, his ears turning pink. "Not quite." I interlaced our fingers and squeezed. "Like this." He winced. "Ouch." "Sorry. I have a strong grip." "Do you squeeze your boyfriend's hand this hard?" "Shut up," I said, but I didn't let go.
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