I Kissed My Tutor and My Best Friend Saw Us

The first day of senior year hit like a ton of bricks. Not the bad kind, but the heavy, solid kind that reminds you something real is starting. The hallways of Northwood High were a familiar chaos of slammed lockers and shrieks of reunion, but today it felt different. Final.

I saw them before they saw me, my crew, holding court by the main staircase. Apollo and Brennan were already deep in some debate about the football team’s chances this season, their voices a low rumble in the sea of noise. And then there was Rhett. Leaning against the railing, all cocky smile and perfectly styled hair, looking like he owned the place. He caught my eye and gave me a sharp nod. It wasn’t unfriendly, not exactly. It was a challenge. Everything with Rhett was a challenge. Who could throw a tighter spiral, who could get a better grade on Miller’s history exams, who could talk their way out of a detention faster. We’d been locked in that same orbit since middle school, a rivalry that felt more like a law of physics than a choice.

My gaze slid past him to the girls. Briony and Asia were laughing at something on Briony’s phone, but my eyes landed, as they always did, on Lucinda. She was standing with them, but her attention was already scanning the crowd, looking for me. The moment she found me, her entire face lit up. That was Lucinda. A human sunbeam. We’d been attached at the hip since kindergarten, when I’d pushed a kid for stealing her crayons. Our friendship was the one constant in my life, an easy, worn-in thing that fit better than my favorite hoodie.

She broke away from the group and launched herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist in a flying hug that almost knocked me over. I stumbled back a step, laughing as I gripped her thighs to hold her steady. “Easy, Lu. It’s only been two months.”

“The worst two months of my life,” she mumbled into my neck, her breath warm against my skin. Her familiar scent, something like vanilla and citrus, filled my head. This was us. Always touching, always close. There were no lines between us.

She slid down, her body brushing against mine, and finally turned back to the group, pulling me along by the hand. As we got closer, I saw Hayden standing slightly behind the others, a sketchbook clutched to her chest like a shield. She was always there, on the edge of our loud, boisterous circle. Hayden the artist. Quiet, with dark, watchful eyes and ink stains that were a permanent feature on her fingertips. She gave me a small, shy smile, and I smiled back, but my attention was already pulled away as Apollo clapped me on the shoulder, dragging me into the football debate.

That afternoon, we all piled into the worn-out booths at Gino’s Pizzeria, the air thick with the smell of garlic and melting cheese. It was our spot, the epicenter of our entire high school social life. I slid into a booth, and Lucinda immediately squeezed in beside me, her thigh pressed firmly against mine. It was automatic, the way we gravitated toward each other.

“Okay, senior year pact,” she announced, grabbing a pen and a stack of napkins. “We need a bucket list. Epic stuff only.” Her energy was infectious, and soon everyone was shouting out ideas.

“Road trip to the coast!” Apollo yelled over the music.

“Win state,” Rhett said, his voice low and confident, as if it were already a fact. He was looking at me when he said it. I just smirked and took a long drink of my Coke.

“Get matching terrible tattoos,” Briony suggested, and Asia shuddered dramatically.

Lucinda leaned into me, her head resting on my shoulder as she wrote. “Kiss a stranger,” she murmured, her breath ghosting over my ear. She turned her head, her lips so close to mine I could feel the heat from them. “Or maybe not a stranger.”

I laughed, the sound easy and familiar. I nudged her with my shoulder. “Get your own ideas, Lu.” My arm went around the back of the booth, my fingers playing with the ends of her hair. It was our standard operating procedure, the casual intimacy that had defined us for years. It was comfortable. It was home.

The list grew, a chaotic scrawl of ink on flimsy paper: Skip school for a beach day. Camp out on the football field. Host a legendary party. The suggestions got louder, more ridiculous, until the conversation hit a natural lull.

That’s when Hayden spoke. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the noise. “We should make a time capsule.”

Everyone turned to look at her. She was tracing the rim of her water glass, her gaze fixed on the table. She seemed to feel our eyes on her and looked up, a faint blush on her cheeks.

“I mean,” she continued, a little stronger now, “we could each put something in it that means something to us right now. And write letters to ourselves in ten years. About what we hope for, who we think we’ll be.”

The table was silent for a beat. It was so different from all the other ideas—less about a fleeting thrill and more about… permanence. About us.

My arm, which had been resting behind Lucinda, felt heavy. I found myself looking at Hayden, really looking. I saw the way her dark eyes were lit with a quiet passion for the idea, the way she tucked a strand of inky hair behind her ear, leaving a small smudge of charcoal on her cheek. It wasn't just a suggestion; it was a piece of her, this desire to capture a moment, to hold onto it. It was profound.

“I like that,” I said, my voice sounding more serious than I intended. “I really like that.”

Hayden’s eyes met mine, and she gave me a small, genuine smile that did something strange to my insides. It was a jolt, sharp and unfamiliar. Lucinda shifted beside me, her leg brushing mine, but the contact barely registered. My focus was fixed on the quiet girl across the table who had just revealed a depth I’d never bothered to see before.

A week later, the entire world smelled like cut grass and cheap hot dogs. The stadium lights blazed down, turning the field into a perfect green rectangle against the dark Friday night sky. I had my helmet off, sweat dripping down my temples, the roar of the home crowd a physical force against my eardrums. We were crushing them. It was the first game of the season, and everything felt right.

After the final whistle, the team stormed the field, a chaotic mess of victory and adrenaline. I found Apollo and Brennan, and we were shouting, pounding each other on the shoulder pads. I scanned the stands for our group, and my eyes landed on Lucinda. She was bouncing on her toes, her smile so wide it looked like it hurt. When she saw me looking, she blew me a kiss. I grinned, my chest swelling with the win, with the energy of it all.

Then Rhett, still in his uniform, jogged over to the student section. He didn't go to our friends. He went straight to the announcer's booth. A moment later, his voice, amplified and slightly distorted, boomed across the stadium.

“Hey, Northwood!” The crowd quieted down, curious. My smile faded. What was he doing?

“We got a big win tonight,” Rhett’s voice echoed. “But I’m trying to get another one.” A few people laughed. He was soaking it in, the center of attention. Of course he was. “Lucinda,” he said, and my stomach twisted into a knot. “Homecoming is in a few weeks. Go with me?”

Every single head in the student section swiveled to look at her. A spotlight, one of the smaller ones used for the cheerleaders, swung up and landed on her. She was frozen, her hands flying to her mouth, her eyes wide. The crowd started cheering, a low chant of “Say yes! Say yes!” building around her.

I couldn’t move. It felt like all the air had been punched out of my lungs. A hot, ugly feeling clawed its way up my throat. It was jealousy. It was raw and sharp and I had no idea what to do with it. Lucinda looked from the crowd to Rhett, who was standing there with that confident, unshakeable smirk. She nodded, a huge, beaming smile breaking across her face as she did. The crowd erupted.

Rhett hopped the railing and went right to her. He looped an arm around her waist, pulling her against his side. He was still looking at her, but then his eyes flicked over her head and found mine across the field. His smirk widened. A silent victory lap.

My fists clenched at my sides. This was wrong. Rhett was a player. He went through girls like he went through practice drills. He’d hurt her. That had to be it. I was just being protective, looking out for my best friend. That’s what this sick feeling in my gut was. Protectiveness.

But as I watched him lean down and say something that made her laugh and press her face into his shoulder, I knew it was a lie. This wasn’t just protectiveness. The sight of his hand resting on the curve of her waist, in the spot my own hand had rested a thousand times without a second thought, sent a possessive fire through my veins. It was a sting, deep and personal. It felt like he hadn’t just asked her to a dance. It felt like he was taking something that belonged to me.