Jessa

By the time we reached my bedroom, Mariah had already shed her backpack and snapped her fingers like a director calling “action.”

“Lose the hoodie,” she ordered. “We are date-prepping.”

I didn’t move. “Is it… actually a date?”

She looked at me like I’d asked if water was wet.

“He literally asked you to go out, alone, after practice. That’s the definition of a date.”

“But what if he just… meant hanging out?” I tugged at my ponytail ...