Cupcake

Crying was a very real possibility.

Hours later, after the final bell rang, I met up with the rest of the court. Ms. Weaver told us we’d be going outside and proceeded to lead us into the forest behind the school. The trees were tall, the overgrown grass came up to my thighs, and the worst part was I kept hearing little things buzzing in the air around me.

I was going to kill Toni.

Best friend or not, she’d put me here.

Outside.

With the bugs.

Don’t get me wrong—I had a lot of respect for Mother Nature, recycled every chance I got, turned off the water when I brushed my teeth, always made sure to put my gum in the trash and not just throw it out the window. But Toni was the reason I was tripping over weeds, breathing in strange forest-y scents, surrounded by unknown insects and creepy crawlies.

“Ah, here we are,” Ms. Weaver said.

Suddenly the trees receded, and we emerged into a clearing. The grass was still tall, but there were wildflowers everywhere, dotting the space with yellow, purple, and pink blossoms like something out of a fairy tale. It was beautiful.

“Wow,” I breathed, taking in the large expanse of blue sky.

Everyone grew quiet, waiting to see what our first task would be. On the event calendar for today, it had just said TRUST in big bold letters. Not that that was mysterious or anything.

“I’m sure a lot of you are wondering why we’re here,” Ms. Weaver began. “I wanted to do something a little unorthodox so we can bond as a group. Homecoming Court is special, and you’re a part of that now! This”—she gestured at the space around us—“is sacred ground.”

“You mean there are dead people here?” one of the freshman nominees asked, looking a little freaked out. “Gross!”

“Cool,” someone else said while Zander shook his head.

“No offense, Ms. Weaver”—the big football player held up his hands—“but I don’t mess around when it comes to the dead.”

“Same here,” Tessandra said and quickly crossed herself.

“Um, no,” Ms. Weaver said slowly. “I only meant this is an important part of Honeycomb history. We’re here, where it all began. Before they built the new stadium, the first ever Homecoming King and Queen were crowned in this very field! It’s full of tradition…not dead bodies.”

I could’ve sworn I heard Zander sigh in relief.

“Remember how you were divided into pairs yesterday? Please go to your prince or princess now.”

Rhys Castle slowly walked over, settling himself at my side, but he didn’t say a word. That was fine. We were one of the only pairs who hadn’t talked on the way over, but whatever. My prince seemed even less eager about all of this than I was. In fact, he looked absolutely miserable to be paired with me. So why did he refuse to switch when he had the chance?

This guy was a mystery, but not one I was interested in solving.

Once everyone was in place, Ms. Weaver went on.

“Good, good,” she said. “In order to get to know one another, I thought we could do a few trust exercises. I—”

Lana raised her hand.

“Yes, Lana,” Ms. Weaver said.

“I didn’t realize we’d be exercising,” she said. “Are we going to be getting sweaty? Because I don’t have the right clothes for that and may need to sit out.”

Ms. Weaver eyed her for a moment then said, “You’ll be fine, Miss Leavengood.”

“But—”

“A little sweat never hurt anyone!” Her voice brooked no argument. “Everyone will be participating, and by the end of this first activity, hopefully we’ll have broken the ice between you and your partner. Ready?”

As she surveyed the group, something flew straight at my head, and unable to help myself, I ducked, biting back a squeal of panic.

“Ariel?” Ms. Weaver said. “Did you have a question?”

“Oh, no,” I said, realizing I was crouched over in a defensive position. But dang, that kamikaze fly or whatever-it-was had come at me out of nowhere. “I was just…tying my shoe. It must’ve come undone on the walk over.”

As I bent down, pretending to fiddle with my shoelaces, Lana rolled her eyes, and everyone in the circle looked back to Ms. Weaver—except Rhys. His eyes seemed to track my movements, but for the life of me, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. I straightened, trying not to notice how his gaze affected me. I felt too warm and unsettled all at once.

“As I was saying, our first awesome exercise is called ‘What’s in a name?’” Ms. Weaver explained. “Turn to your partner, say ‘Hi, my name is,’ fill in the blank, and then tell them the origin of your name. That’s it! We’ll take a few minutes to complete this task. Start whenever you’d like.”

Taking a deep breath, I pivoted to face my partner. Rhys did the same.

“Hi, my name is Ariel,” I said, feeling so embarrassed. “Because my mom loves Disney, I was named after a mermaid who collects forks and talks to fish.” Rhys’s lips twitched at that, but I forged ahead. “Surprisingly, I don’t hate it. I just wish the name fit me better.”

I nodded for him to go.

He crossed his arms. “Hi, my name is Rhys. My parents named me. The end.”

I blinked. Was this guy serious right now?

“And?” I prompted.

He lifted a brow. “And what?”

“Oh, come on.” I smiled. “That can’t be all. You don’t hear that one every day. Rhys isn’t a typical name.”

“Neither is ‘Cupcake.’ Wonder where that comes from.”

I ignored his attempt to put the spotlight back on me. “Is it a family thing? Were you named after your dad or a grandfather or something?”

Rhys lifted a brow. “No, my dad’s name is Glenn, the same as his dad. Pretty sure Glenn the third wouldn’t have fit my personality.”

Nope, I thought, looking him over. This guy was definitely an original.

“So, where did Rhys come from?” I asked.

I thought he would brush it off again, but surprisingly, he sighed.

“My mom used to get these cravings when she was pregnant.” Running a hand down his face, he mumbled, “I can’t believe this. It’s not like we’re superheroes. We don’t need an origin story.”

I bit back a laugh. “You’re not a superhero—noted. Though I think a ton of Honeycomb football fans might disagree.”

Rhys’s intense eyes shot to mine. “I’ve never seen you at a game.”

“There are a lot of people in the stands,” I pointed out. “You might’ve just missed me.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Okay, I thought. This was progress. Rhys had spoken actual words, and he wasn’t scowling at me quite as much as before. Better keep him talking. Plus, I actually hadn’t been to any games, so he had me there—not that I’d admit to it.

“You were saying something about cravings,” I said. All this talk of names was making me think of my father—who I usually tried my best not to think about. I could still hear him calling me “Cupcake” in his derisive tone. Refusing to let the memory get me down, I focused on Rhys.

“My dad told me Mom loved pickles and Reese’s peanut butter cups,” he said. “The combo was one of the only things she’d eat. They’ve never confirmed it, but I think that’s where the name comes from. Either that or she found it in a book. She’s always reading.”

He looked at me, his eyes daring me to laugh, but I didn’t.

“That’s awesome,” I said.

Rhys’s lips did that thing again, just a slight movement, a tilt up on one side. “You think so?”

“Yeah, definitely. I love to read, too. And isn’t it funny how many names come from food? I mean, based on that story, you could’ve been named Pickle.” I shrugged. “With Homecoming and all, you’d now be Prince Pickle. I think Rhys suits you much better.”

Rhys seemed to be choking, and I grew concerned.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he managed. His face was red. “You just surprised me.”

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“Don’t be.” Rhys gave me a real half smile, the first I’d seen from him, and my breath caught. “Prince Pickle, that’s a good one.”

I couldn’t respond, was too taken aback by the bright expression on his usually surly face.

Seriously, Rhys. Who are you?