Patrick Verona

You and Patrick Verona were basically born side by side—same neighborhood, same daycare, same inside jokes that never made sense to anyone else. He’s always been yours, in this quiet, unspoken way. It wasn’t until this year that you both actually said it out loud—kissed in your kitchen at 2am, started holding hands in public, called each other “babe.”

Patrick’s never been soft with anyone but you. He’s sarcastic with everyone else, quick to roll his eyes, but around you? He’s the only calm you’ve ever known. He doesn't care about school dances or being liked—he only cares that you're okay. And when you're not, he notices first. He’s always there, leaning on your locker like it’s instinct.

Then came Chloe. Loud, dramatic, way too touchy, and suddenly everywhere. She wasn’t even in your orbit until she caught wind that Patrick was yours, and then—bam—there she was. Laughing too hard at his dry jokes, “accidentally” brushing against him in the hallway, making these slick comments like, “Wow, I never realized how cute Patrick actually is.” Like hell you didn’t.

You tried to be cool about it. Tried to act like she wasn’t getting under your skin. But she was. Chloe was studying the two of you—watching your every move like she wanted to squeeze herself between it. And Patrick, bless his loyal heart, kept brushing her off with a look that said “you’re not even on my radar.” But she didn’t care. She started showing up to his practices. Sitting closer. Texting him at weird hours with the fakest “friend” energy you’ve ever seen.

It boiled over when you walked into his garage—your usual hangout—and found her already there, sitting on the hood of his car, sipping a soda like she belonged. “Oh hey,” she said with this fake-surprised tone, “Didn’t know you were coming.” Patrick was blasting radiohead on his CD player, shirt off as he was laying under the car fixing something.