Chapter 10: The Dance Invitation

DENZEL'S POV

Rule #10: Always decline politely. Unless he's smiling like that. Then run.

The cafeteria was unusually quiet for a Thursday. Not silent—just lacking its usual chaos. The gossip had shifted elsewhere, probably back to student council drama or the rumors about the twins who might've cheated on their thesis.

Which meant I finally had a peaceful lunch.

Or so I thought.

"Is this seat taken?"

Luke's voice stopped my fork mid-air.

I looked up. There he was, in all his charm and chaos, tray in hand, smile easy and unapologetic.

"It is now, I guess."

He grinned and took the seat across from me like he'd been invited.

"Nice to see you too, Denzel."

I narrowed my eyes. "Do you even go here?"

"No, but Mater Carmeli and Holy Cross are sharing the campus again this week for the inter-acad fellowship," he said, popping a grape into his mouth. "Which means I get to bother you without it being considered stalking."

"Comforting."

"I like to think so."

I returned to my food, pretending to ignore him. But my body had already betrayed me—spine a little straighter, fingers curling tighter around the fork, ears very much tuned to his every word.

"So," Luke began, setting his juice down, "I'm performing at a school event next week. Kind of a big deal. Some joint thing between our schools."

"Let me guess. You're dancing."

"And choreographing. And maybe accidentally stealing hearts."

I looked at him flatly. "Is this where you ask me to join your backup crew?"

He leaned forward. "Tempting. But no. I'm inviting you to come watch."

I blinked. "As in… attend?"

"Yes. Sit in the crowd. Be mildly impressed. Laugh if you must. Maybe cheer if you're feeling rebellious."

"I don't do school events."

"You did a chess tournament."

"That was academic."

"This is emotional."

I stared at him. "You are not a real person."

"Correct. I am an experience."

I shook my head. "I'm busy."

"It's on a Friday."

"I'll be studying."

"You don't even know what time it is."

I hesitated. "Still. No."

"Is it because of me?"

Yes, I wanted to say. You make things complicated. You smile too easily. You look at me like you're memorizing every twitch. And I don't want to know what happens when I start hoping that someone actually sees me.

Instead, I said, "I don't like crowds."

Luke tilted his head. "What if I save you a seat? Far corner. Best view, least interaction."

"I'll think about it."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Don't."

He winked. "Already did."

Before I could deliver a retort sharp enough to match his grin, a shadow fell over our table.

I looked up.

Basti.

He stood a few feet away, water bottle in hand, gaze blank and unreadable.

His gaze flicked between me and Luke, and the silence pressed on my chest—dense, invisible, inescapable.

"Hey," I said, too quietly.

"Sorry," he said, almost absentmindedly. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

"You're not," Luke said easily, but I caught the flicker of amusement behind his words.

Basti gave a small nod, then turned and walked away.

Just like that.

Luke watched him go, then looked back at me. "You two talk?"

"Sometimes."

He didn't say anything.

Neither did I.

The air felt heavier now. Like something had shifted. Like a line had been crossed.

But I didn't move.

And neither did Luke.

—

RHEIZA'S POV

Rule of Observation: The sharpest blade is not envy. It's attention. And right now, Denzel's getting a lot of it.

The thing about being the friend who watches is that you see everything before anyone else does.

Like how Denzel fiddled with the corner of her tray after Luke left.

Like how she didn't notice her milk carton leaking slowly onto her tray.

And definitely how Basti walked away without a word.

"You okay?" I asked.

Denzel blinked at me like she'd forgotten I was there. "Yeah. Why?"

"You've got storm clouds above your eyebrows."

She gave me a weak smile, but I wasn't buying it.

Denzel's not the kind of girl who gets flustered easily. She's composed—silent, sometimes cold—but always calculating. But Luke? Luke makes her tilt. Basti makes her pause.

And today she did both.

"I can't tell if I'm in the middle of something or if I just imagined it," she muttered.

"You're in the middle of something," I said, sipping my tea. "And you didn't imagine it."

She didn't reply.

I watched her tray. Barely touched food. Her shoulders tense.

It's funny how she doesn't realize it. Or maybe she does, and she just doesn't want to deal with it. That's the thing with Denzel. She'd rather solve a twelve-move mate in three minutes than admit to feelings she can't diagram.

Across the cafeteria, Luke and Basti passed by each other. Didn't speak. Didn't nod.

Didn't have to.

The air shifted.

That's when I knew.

This wasn't about chess anymore. Or school. Or harmless flirting.

This was a game none of them were ready to play.

"Do you like him?" I asked.

Denzel looked at me sharply. "Who?"

"Luke."

She hesitated. "I like... parts of him."

"Which parts?"

She rolled her eyes. "Not like that."

"So you're leaning Basti."

She paused.

"I'm not leaning anywhere."

But she was.

And I was watching it happen like someone who knew how this sort of storm brews.

I didn't say it out loud, but I was rooting for her. Not for her to pick one of them, but for her to finally stop pretending she could outrun how badly she wanted to be chosen—and to choose.

And if it meant someone got hurt?

So be it.

That's what happens in every real endgame.