Chapter 1:

#SmutSpiral

PARKER: "Be there in 15. Can’t wait for the Prin Masterpiece. I’m sure it’s a knockout, you 1-percenter :)"

He never missed a chance to tease me about being in the top one percent of our class, especially since I was also the youngest—eighteen months to be exact—thanks to Grandmother’s little lie on my kindergarten registration. But his playful jab couldn’t stop my racing thoughts. I typed back, face hovering over the screen.

ME: "Are you calling me a nerdy overachiever?"

PARKER: "Nah. Not nerdy. Adorable."

Adorable like a puppy, or like your dream girl? I stared at the text stream. After midnight, it was hard to tell if this was flirty banter or just… banter. A rush of heat surged through my chest, sharp and dangerous, because deep down I knew—it had always been more. Every glance, every touch, every laugh. Always more.

ME: "Whatever. Aren’t you a 2-percenter?"

PARKER: "More like 1.5 percent, but who’s counting?"

ME: "The only difference between you and me is you’re still in denial. BTW, don’t forget the espresso jelly beans—I need all the caffeine I can get."

I glanced at the blue Post-it stuck to my laptop: “Vibing confidence and composure.” Another lie. My mantra had been to fake it until...well, I ran out of energy to keep faking it. I wasn’t composed. I wasn’t confident. But somehow, Parker made me feel like I was.

My neck craned sideways—an ergonomic nightmare.

With only a few hours left before my valedictorian speech, my fingers flew across the laptop keyboard in a frenzy. Genius at work, or madman? Probably both.

I was still gazing at the Post-it when the door swung open. Zara—my best friend besides Parker—breezed in, her silk robe flowing behind her. She was always like that—elegant, effortless. The opposite of me. 

Tonight, though, she looked concerned as she navigated through the sea of papers to reach my bed.

“Prin! When you texted SOS, I didn’t think it was this bad.”

I shrugged, flipping through the pages of my speech without really seeing the words. “Only nine hours until game time.” If only I were a clutch player.

Zara perched on the bed’s edge, eyeing the mess of papers everywhere. “The speech is excellent, but something’s off.”  Her face puckered, like she was squeezing her thoughts the way one presses a lemon to flavor a French tart.

“Just nervous.” An acidic taste hit my tongue when visions of my classmates’ faces staring back at me from the audience surfaced. Doritos. I should’ve skipped that late-night snack instead of indulging my artificial cheese addiction.

My tension spiked as I gazed at the yellow Post-it stuck in my yearbook: “My actions have not caused someone’s death.” 

A lie. 

Zara had thrown herself into editing our high school yearbook, her staff photo tucked away on the back page, hidden beneath layers of French tulle, as if camouflaging her grief. 

Would Zara forgive me if she knew I was the reason her sister died—as if I’d handed her the poisoned apple myself?

Outside, the sound of footsteps hitting the pavement drifted in through my open bedroom window, and I glanced outside. Parker.

Zara’s eyebrow arched, sharp as a razor edge. “So... what’s going on with you two? Finally told him you’re madly in love with him?” Heat crawled up my neck before I could stop it, and I hated how easy she could read me.

My eyes drifted to the spiral notebook teetering on the edge of the bed. Before I could move, Zara snatched it up without hesitation, squinting at the cover.
“What’s this? …PFS?”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. Parker Fantasy Spiral.
It was exactly what it sounded like—a spiral stuffed with my fantasy spiral–every smutty daydream I’d ever had about Parker. Snapshots, movie stubs, even dress cutouts of what I’d wear on our first date.

I hurled a pillow at her, desperate. “Zara, seriously. We’re just friends.”
The words tasted more like self-defense than truth.

She caught the pillow effortlessly, smirking. “Please. You two are like the world’s slowest romance novel. Everyone’s just waiting for the big confession. And this scrapbook?” She fanned the notebook for effect. “It screams you don’t want to be stuck in the friend zone. Plus, I’ve seen the way he looks at you—those dark, dreamy, screw-me stares.”

My pulse stuttered. “We’re just going to the Coronado Bell Tower tomorrow. After graduation. Parker has a secret set of keys.”
I lunged for the notebook, but she yanked it back, grinning.

“That’s basically the city’s makeout runway. Which means…” She snapped the cover shut with triumph. “We need prep time. Makeup, waxing, the works. Don’t worry—I’ve got you.”

“I don’t know, Z. Maybe it’s not meant to be. I feel like I’m bad luck to everyone I touch.”

Death, to be exact. It seemed to follow me, surround me.

“Nonsense. You’ve been nothing but a sister to me.”

If only you knew, Zara. If you knew what happened to your real sister, you’d understand—everything I touch eventually dies.

“We’re doing this, even if I have to handcuff you and drag you into Victoria’s Secret myself. I’ll be your personal shopper. Handcuffs…guess that’s another item for the shopping list.” She grinned. “Kidding—obviously. But half the house already has bets on whether he’s a McDreamy, a McSteamy, or a McScreamy. After tomorrow night, you’ll be the judge.”

Could it really be happening—for Parker and me? After years of almosts and maybes, was it finally our turn? Deep down, I knew tomorrow would change everything.

Before I could roll my eyes, Parker knocked on the door and stepped in, wearing his usual faded crimson Harvard T-shirt, jeans, and that calm smile that made everything feel both lighter—and heavier. “Sorry I’m late. Got caught up with something.” Something or someone?

“Thanks,” I mumbled, smiling as I took the bag of jellybeans. “What’s the excuse this time? Another chem emergency with pheromone girl?”  I teased, thinking of the countless Coronado Prep girls who swooned over him—flirty birds of prey fluttering their eyelash extensions like Morse code for what Zara called a BILF—Boy I’d Like To…

Parker grinned, casually aloof like the world was his. “What can I say? It’s hard being this irresistible.” His eyes flicked to mine, like he was waiting for me to deny it—or admit I already knew it was true. 

Zara rolled her eyes and flashed me a sly smile before heading to the door.
“I’m feeling like I need a skim, low-carb cream cheese break to focus. Be back in a sec.”

Before I could respond, she was gone. She was never subtle.

As the door clicked shut, Parker fixed his gaze on me and leaned against the desk—casual, but too perfect, like a model pretending he wasn’t posing.

Post-it Lie: “I’m grateful for my friendship with Parker S.”
Friendship. That was the lie that kept us safe. That was the lie that kept me from losing him.

He crossed the room, sat down on the bed beside me, and passed me the bag. His fingers brushed mine, lingering too long. My breath caught. Heat surged through me, and I prayed he couldn’t hear the way my heart stuttered.

I tore the bag open, desperate for a distraction. “These look different than usual. Please don’t tell me they’re sugar-free and vegan.”

He rolled his eyes, his breath feathering my cheek, raising goosebumps. “Relax. They’re fully sugared, non-vegan, just the way you like them.”

I grinned, popping one into my mouth. “Thanks. I know your room’s basically a no-junk-food zone. All snacks need an invitation.”

“Who’s gonna supply you when I’m off in Boston?” he asked, half-smiling. But there was something sharp behind it. Something that made my chest ache.

I forced a laugh. “Guess I’ll have to find another sucker willing to share their stash.”

We traded banter—library disasters, cafeteria burger trauma—but the words started to blur when he leaned in closer. My heart galloped. Heat pressed in from every angle.

One more inch. One more second.

Was this it? My love-spiral moment? The kiss I’d dreamed of for years?

His lips parted—

***

Stay tuned for stalkers, slashers, heartbreakers, premonitions, and swindlers in these (un)lucky chapters!

XOXO, Sabina