08 invitation

Luna’s POV

I jolt awake, chest heaving, sweat clinging to my skin. My hand trembles, gripping my sleep shirt as the dream lingers—Tyler’s smile, Rory’s stunned expression, the library where I introduced them. Why now? The memory stings, a cruel reminder of my blindness. I should’ve seen Rory’s feelings for him, the way her eyes lit up. I was so caught up in Tyler’s charm, I missed it all. Tears blur my vision, lips quivering. I’m such an idiot.

The pain of losing her, of my mistake, cuts deeper each time I relive it. I wipe my eyes, forcing myself to breathe. Another day at Royal Heights awaits, another chance to face the whispers and glares. I can’t let this break me.

Max’s POV

Lunch break can’t come fast enough. Sitting in class, I’m hyper-aware of Luna Klein’s hair in front of me—brown, fluffy, begging to be touched. Fuck. Her vanilla shampoo wafts back, and it’s driving me nuts. I shouldn’t be thinking about wrapping a strand around my finger, not when she’s made it clear she wants nothing to do with me.

Last night, I stared at my phone, debating whether to call her about our English assignment. Then her email landed—pages of polished work, complete with points we’d discussed, evidence, and a solid conclusion. It was damn near perfect. I had nitpicks, sure, but she poured her soul into it. Criticizing it felt like kicking a kid who’d stayed up all night studying. So, I let it slide.

I stand, ready to bolt for lunch, when a girl approaches—long brunette hair, swaying hips, dark eyes scanning me like I’m on display. I don’t know her name. “Hi, Max,” she purrs, flipping her hair. “I’m having a birthday party this weekend. Will you come?” She hands me an invitation card, old-school style. I raise an eyebrow. Who uses paper invites anymore? Must be some exclusive deal.

The card’s sleek, listing the venue, time, theme, dress code. Rory. Her name’s on it. I don’t have plans—well, except taking Mom for sushi, but that can wait. “Who else is invited?” I ask, smirking as her cheeks flush.

“The whole class,” Rory says, tucking hair behind her ear, batting her lashes. “Plus some close friends.”

Whole class? My eyes flick to Luna, who’s heading for the door, shoulders hunched. Curiosity spikes. Is she invited? “Hey, Luna,” I call, the words out before I think. She freezes, back stiff. “You coming to Rory’s party?”

She turns slowly, like it pains her. Rory scoffs, and I catch a flash of hurt in Luna’s eyes. “I… don’t think I’ll be there, Max,” she says, voice small, before slipping out the door.

I frown, regretting the question. I wanted to know if she still socializes, but her reaction raises more questions. Is she skipping it by choice, or was she never invited? The hurt in her eyes, Rory’s scoff—it’s not just shyness. Something’s off.

“Max?” Rory’s voice pulls me back. She’s waiting for my answer, but my gaze lingers on the empty doorway where Luna disappeared. I clutch the invite, mind racing. What’s the deal with Luna Klein, and why can’t I shake the feeling there’s more to her story?

Luna’s POV

Max’s question about Rory’s party hits like a punch. Am I going? The idea’s laughable. Rory hasn’t spoken to me in a year, and her new bestie, Mikaela, would rather I vanish. That hallway moment—Mikaela’s “Loony Luna” taunt, Rory’s laughter with her and Nadine—still burns. I’m not invited, and even if I were, I wouldn’t go. Crowds, stares, whispers? No thanks.

I hurry out, heart heavy. Max doesn’t know the history, but his question stung, exposing the gap between me and everyone else. He’s already one of them, joking, laughing, fitting in. I can’t drag him into my mess. Keeping our assignment talks to email is safer—for both of us.

In the hallway, I check my phone again. Still no driver. I’m not helpless, but driving’s a mental hurdle I can’t clear. The thought of a stray cat, a wrong turn, a crash—it paralyzes me. I’d rather be mocked as a spoiled brat than risk someone’s life.

Aiden’s surprise yesterday was a lifeline. His laughter, the ice cream, his protective “I’d break their necks” vow—it grounded me. But I can’t tell him about the bullying, the “Lunatic” jabs, Rory’s betrayal. He’d go nuclear, and I can’t let him fight my battles. I have to survive this alone.

As I head to the lobby, the crowd’s whispers about some “hot guy” fade. I’m focused on getting out, away from the memories and the pain. Another day, another chance to keep my head down and make it through. But Max’s voice, his number in my phone, lingers—a dangerous spark I’m not sure I can ignore.