#g eazy

𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟧 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖺𝗅

𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾， 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾 <𝟥

Tumblr Girl | Martin

ᥫ᭡. A CORTIS Martin oneshot

ᥫ᭡. Fluff oneshot

ᥫ᭡. Actually my original oneshot got ERASED by Tumblr and now I have rewritten my precious oneshot.😭 Tumblr I will NEVER forgive you. As much as I LOVED my first version, I think this version is much better though. The first one was quite short too. Tumblr if you mess with this again istg I'm suing. EVERYBODY will get nuked.

ᥫ᭡. This love story takes place in the year 2008. Martin and Tessa are 18 years old and in their final year of high school. ✨

ᥫ᭡. Thank you guys so much for reading my stories ❤️‍🩹🐇 Please like + follow. Would be highly appreciated. 🍒

ᥫ᭡. Songs

•Tumblr Girls - G-Eazy ft Christoph Andersson

•You're still the one I want - Shania Twain

•My own worst enemy - Lit

•Lovers Rock - TV girl

•The Blonde - TV girl

•Summer's over - Jordana, TV girl

•Just a girl - No doubt

•Teenage Dirtbag - Wheatus

•So into you - Tamia

•Someone to call my lover - Janet Jackson

•Hopelessly devoted - Olivia Newton

•Bleeding love - Leona Lewis

•We fell in love in October - girl in red

•A thousand miles - Vanessa Carlton

•Kiss me - sixpence none the richer

•Cant take my eyes off of you - Lauryn Hill

•Time after time - Cyndi

•Rude! - Hearts2hearts

•Rude - MAGIC!

ᥫ᭡. Tags

@vanishingnana @kittyhooncatalogues @ptolemaea4a @loveliezzzlinaa22

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆

Prologue

cherrybomb-dirt 🍒

Metro-Central High confessional-08

Okay, kittens, let's talk about someone who thinks a whitening strip can scrub away her sins. Sweet little 'V' didn't just borrow her BFF's Daniel Cho replica for the winter formal. She "borrowed" her boyfriend, too. In the photo booth. For a full seven minutes of face-sucking. You're not a friend, sweetie, you're a walking, talking STI-risk. But hey, maybe just ask before you slobber, yeah? XOXO, Gossip Girl wishes she was me. 🌪️💋🍒

The cursor blinked on the pale blue screen, waiting. In the glow of a family desktop computer at 1:47 AM, fingers flew across a keyboard that has seen better days. The 'E' key was slightly sticky from a soda spill three years ago, and the spacebar made a little squeak every time it was pressed.

Another post, another secret, and another piece of someone's life that they thought was safe.

The girl pushed her crooked glasses up her nose for the fifth time that minute. She checked over her shoulder one more time, then, hit

Post.

⏳

May 2008. Senior year was winding down like a cheap watch and everyone could feel it in their bones. The air smelled like cheap cologne, desperation and the faint, sweet rot of spring turning into summer. Lockers slammed with extra emphasis while hallway crushes were reaching their fever pitch because, hello, time was running out.

Prom was in a week.

The announcements crackled over the intercom that Thursday morning. Mr. Hernandez's voice, always too loud, sounded through the intercoms. "Will all seniors please report to the auditorium immediately. This is not a drill. Repeat, all seniors to the auditorium."

A murmur rippled through the halls and people exchanged looks. Not a drill? What did that even mean? Did someone die? Did graduation get moved? Was there a gas leak?

Three hundred and eleven teenagers shuffled into the auditorium like cattle. The lights were too bright. The seats were sticky with something nobody wanted to think about or imagine. And Mr. Hermandez stood on stage at the podium, his tie slightly too tight and his mustache twitching like it had a life of its own.

"Quiet down..." He said, and nobody quieted down. "I said quiet!"

The chatter died down instantly. He held up a stack of papers and in the front row, someone gasped. Those were printouts. Of a blog....

Of the blog.

"It has come to my attention...." Mr. Hernandez said slowly. "...that someone in this grade has been operating a Tumblr page dedicated to spreading malicious, hurtful, and frankly vulgar gossip about their peers."

The auditorium went dead silent.

"This page..." He continued, adjusting his glasses. "...has been brought to my attention by a concerned student who wishes to remain anonymous. And let me be clear: whoever is behind 'cherrybomb-dirt' has exactly twenty-four hours to come forward to my office before I involve the proper authorities regarding defamation and cyber harassment."

A girl in the third row started crying. Nobody knew if she was the Tumblr Girl or just a victim of her posts.

"The dance will go on as scheduled..." Mr. Hernandez finished. "...but know this: I will find out who you are. And you will face harsh consequences."

He walked off the stage and immediately, the whispers exploded like a flock of startled birds.

"Who is she?"

"Is it Amanda? She's always been shady."

"No, it's definitely one of the art kids. They're all like...super weird."

"I heard she knows about what Derek and that girl did in the hot tub."

"Oh my God, shut up, my mom follows my Tumblr."

In the back row, a girl with a messy bun and crooked glasses pulled her hoodie tighter around her shoulders. Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat, her ears and her fingertips.

She kept her face perfectly neutral in the midst of all this disaster.

Breathe, Tessa. Just breathe. She thought.

Nobody looked at her. Nobody ever looked at her.

And that was the whole point.

The following Day ⏳

The boys' basketball team ran their third suicide drill of the night, and Martin Edwards thought his lungs might actually climb out of his throat and walk away without him.

"Again!" Coach yelled, whistle bouncing against his beer belly. "You call that effort? My grandma runs faster than that."

It was 7:45 PM. Practice ended forty-five minutes ago, but Coach was in one of his moods. The team was running laps, doing drills, and then more laps for what felt like an eternity. By the time Coach finally blew the final whistle, Martin was pretty sure his legs were going to detach from his body and file for separation.

"Hit the showers..." Coach grunted. "...and you, Edwards, stay after to mop."

Martin blinked. "Me? Why me?!"

"Because you missed that free throw in the third quarter, and God doesn't forgive lazy shooters."

"That doesn't even make sense-"

"Mop, Edwards. Now."

Martin sighed, running a hand through his blonde, floppy hair. He was tall. Six-foot-three and counting, all elbows and knees. His shoulders were broad but he hadn't quite grown into them yet, so he walked like a newborn giraffe learning to use its legs. Girls didn't look at him twice. Well, girls didn't look at him once, if he was being honest.

He had a nice face, or so his mom said. Strong jaw with green-ish brown eyes that looked almost golden in certain light. He had a habit of talking too fast about things nobody really cared about. Things like the hidden meanings in Radiohead lyrics, or why the 1999 cinematic masterpiece The Mummy was actually a perfect film. So people thought he was weird.

And he owned it.

By the time he finished mopping the gym (poorly), the rest of the team cleared out. The building was quiet now, just the hum of the vending machines and the distant thrum of the HVAC system. He tossed the mop back into the supply closet, grabbed his gym bag and started heading towards the parking lot.

That's when he saw the light.

It was coming from the computer lab at the end of the east hallway. It was a soft, blue-white glow that flickered through the frosted glass window on the door.

Why was someone in there at 8:30 PM. on a Thursday. He thought to himself.

Martin frowned. The computer lab was supposed to be locked after 6 PM. He knew that because he tried to use it to print something out last week and found the doors chained tighter than Fort Knox.

Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back, or whatever that saying was. Martin crept down the hallway, his sneakers squeaking softly on the tiles. The door was slightly ajar and slowly, he pushed it open.

And there she was.

A girl he saw maybe a hundred times in the hallways without ever really seeing. Her messy bun was held together by what looked like two pencils and sheer willpower. Her glasses sat crookedly on her face as she stared at the screen intensley. She wore a faded hoodie from a band he recognized and jeans with a hole in the left knee.

She was hunched over the keyboard, typing furiously, her eyes darting across the screen. Her lips moved slightly as she wrote, mouthing the words to herself. And on the screen....

Martin's breath caught in his throat.

It was Tumblr. A Tumblr page. With a familiar dark red background and a URL he saw countless screenshots of, passed around like Delaney from choir.

cherrybomb-dirt.

The girl's fingers paused as she tilted her head, reading over what she wrote. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Then she hit "Post" and leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly.

Martin's foot scraped against the floor and she quickly whipped around. For a moment, neither of them moved. Somewhere in the distance, a janitor's radio played "Low" by Flo Rida. The girl's eyes, wide, brown and magnified behind those crooked lenses, locked onto his. Her face went pale, then flushed red, then pale again.

"Oh..." She whispered. She looked back at the computer screen. "Oh no."

Martin opened his mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again.

"You're-" He started.

"Don't..." She said, her voice cracking. "Please. Please don't."

He looked at the screen again. The latest post was still there, glowing in all its messy glory:

cherrybomb-dirt 🍒 just posted:

Metro-Central High confessional-08

rumors about the star shooting guard and his "mono" are way off. Let's just say the only thing he's passing is a little something extra he picked up from a very "friendly" encounter after the Lake Oakridge away game. a course of antibiotics should clear it right up. Stay safe, kids. Wrap it up. 🦠🎀

🫢🍒

also: mr. stevens thinks he's sooo slick with the threats but he's got a secret too. remember the "conference" he went to in february? that wasn't a conference. that was couples counseling with his wife because she found his secret myspace page where he's been messaging a "model" from "canada." spoiler: she's not a model and she's not from canada.

prom is in four days. i know things about your dresses. i know things about your dates. i know things about your parents!

see you there. 😘🍒

♡ 489 notes

Martin read the post. Then he read it again. Then he looked back at the girl who looked like she was about to either cry or throw up. Possibly both.

"That's..." He said slowly. "...actually kind of impressive."

She stared at him. "What?"

"The Mr. Stevens thing. I mean, it's...it's terrible. Obviously. You're like, exposing people's private lives. That's bad. Morally bad. But also...the journalism is solid. The sourcing is- are you okay? You look like you're having a seizure."

She was, in fact, hyperventilating into the sleeve of her hoodie.

"I'm not going to tell anyone..." Martin said quickly. "...I mean, I don't even know your name. Wait, no, I do know your name. You're...you're Tessa, right? Tessa something. We had English together back in grade 8. You did that presentation on gothic literature and the whole class booed you. I thought you were pretty brave."

Tessa stopped hyperventilating. She blinked at him. "You...remember that?"

"Yeah..." Martin shrugged. "...learnt quite a bit from your presentation to be honest."

A beat of silence.

Then, very quietly, Tessa laughed. It was a small, surprised sound, like she didn't expect Martin Edwards to remember the most embarrassing moment of her life.

"Please don't tell anyone..." She said again, softer this time. "...I know it's wrong but...people...they're so mean to me, you know? They don't even see me. And I hear things. I just...I can't help writing them down. It's like the words want to be free."

Martin leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. His brain was doing a thousand calculations per second. This girl...this Tumblr Girl...had all the secrets. All of them. And she was standing right in front of him, looking like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck.

And then, because Martin Edwards was both a genius and an idiot, an idea formed in his head. A terrible, wonderful and morally bankrupt idea.

"I won't tell..." He started. "...on one condition."

Tessa's eyes narrowed. "What condition?"

"Pretend you're my girlfriend. And go to prom with me."

She stared at him like he just suggested they rob a bank together. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Just for one night. We show up together, we take some pictures, we dance a little. That's it. And then I never tell a soul about your little...hobby."

"Why?" Tessa demanded. "Why would you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend? You don't even know me."

Martin hesitated. He thought about the girl who sat two rows ahead of him in calculus. The one with the blonde hair, perfect smile and the boyfriend who was a senior at their rival school. The one who never once looked in his direction. The one he was crushing on since freshman year.

"Because..." He admitted. "...if I show up to prom with someone who looks like they might have some kind of social life, maybe the right person will finally notice me."

Tessa's expression shifted. Something flickered behind her eyes. Was it understanding, perhaps? Or pity. It was hard to tell.

"You're using me." She said quietly.

"And you're using the entire school for content..." He shot back. "...so I think we're even."

She chewed on her bottom lip, thinking. The pimple patch on her chin caught the light again and Martin tried not to stare at it.

"Fine..." She said finally. "...but you have to be convincing. None of that awkward arm-around-the-shoulder stuff. If we're doing this, we're doing this."

Martin grinned. "Deal."

They shook on it. Her hand was small and warm in his. Neither of them let go for a second too long.

The next morning, Martin found Tessa at her locker. It was a dented, sad-looking thing in the C-wing that everyone walked right past without noticing. She was wearing the same hoodie, the same jeans and the same crooked glasses. Her hair was somehow messier than it was the night before, if that was possible.

"Good morning, girlfriend." He said, leaning against the locker next to hers.

Tessa jumped. "You can't just....people are watching-"

"Exactly." Martin smiled, and for the first time, he noticed the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she was annoyed. It was...kind of cute. "We're supposed to be convincing, remember?"

He slung an arm around her shoulders and she stiffened like a board, then slowly and awkwardly, relaxed. "Fine..." She muttered. "...if anyone asks, we met at a coffee shop. A cute one. With exposed brick."

"Noted."

As they walked to first period together, people stared. Not because they were a couple, most people didn't even register Tessa's existence, but because Martin Edwards, the weird tall kid who talked too much about The Mummy, was touching someone. Voluntarily.

It was a slow-motion train wreck of teenage awkwardness, and Martin loved every second of it.

That afternoon, he showed up at her house.

"How did you find out where I live?" Tessa demanded from behind the screen door.

"You're in the yearbook. The student directory. Page forty-seven."

"That's creepy."

"That's resourceful."

She let him in. Her house was small and cozy, always filled with the smell of something baking. Family photos lined the hallway walls: Tessa as a gap-toothed kid, Tessa in a school play, Tessa with her arms around a girl who looked like an older, taller, more put-together version of herself.

"My sister..." Tessa said, following his gaze. "...Gretchen. She's a third year in college. She thinks I'm a lost cause. But she loves me."

"I think you're a complex project..." Gretchen called from the kitchen, not bothering to look up from her magazine. "...there's a difference."

Martin grinned. "I like her."

"Everyone likes her..." Tessa muttered.

She led Martin upstairs to her bedroom, which looked exactly like what he expected. Band posters of The Killers, Fall out boy and Panic! at the Disco were on every corner of the wall. A desk buried under textbooks and crumpled papers and a bed that looked like it hasn't been made in years. There were piles of laundry everywhere, empty soda cans and a lava lamp that bubbled pink goo in the corner.

"So..." Martin started, collapsing onto her desk chair. "...how do you get the gossip? Like, actually?"

Tessa sat on the edge of her bed, pulling her knees to her chest. "I listen. People forget I exist. They talk in the hallways, in the bathrooms, in the parking lot. They think I'm invisible. So I just...absorb. And then I write."

"And you don't feel bad?"

She was quiet for a moment. "Sometimes. But then I remember that Marcie T. called me 'Pizza Face' in front of the entire lunchroom last year, and I stop feeling bad pretty fast."

Martin nodded slowly. "Fair."

And that was how it started. Over the next couple of days, they fell into a strange, unexpected rhythm. Martin would pick Tessa up for school (she lived four blocks away, but he insisted). They would eat lunch together in the corner of the cafeteria, their heads bent close to each other while whispering about the gossip she gathered. She'd show him the drafts of her Tumblr posts, and he would help her make them meaner.

"Say 'allegedly' more..." He suggested. "...It makes it sound more official."

"You're a terrible influence."

"Thank you."

One afternoon, she came over to his house. His room was the opposite of hers. It was neat, almost obsessively so. Records lined the walls, a wooden guitar sat in the corner and a keyboard was tucked under the window, covered in dust but clearly loved.

"You play?" Tessa asked, pointing at the guitar.

Martin rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling shy. "Uh, yeah. I make music. It's stupid."

"Play something."

"Nahh."

"Please?"

He groaned, but grabbed his guitar and sat down anyway. His fingers found the strings and after a moment, a melody emerged. Then he started singing and Tessa's heart did something strange in her chest.

His voice was raspy, not quite on key, but honest. Like he meant every word, even when the words were silly.

"This is a song I just made up...." He said. "...about a girl who writes secrets and has very strong opinions about gothic literature."

"Martin, no-"

"Tessa, Tessa, she's got a messy bun~ She knows all the things that everybody's done~ She wears her glasses crooked and she doesn't even care~ And when she walks into the room, I'm like, 'Hey, that's my nightmare~"

She threw a pillow at him, laughing so hard she snorted. "That's awful Martin!"

"It's a masterpiece!"

"It's bad!"

But she was smiling. Really smiling. And Martin realized, with a jolt, that he has never seen her smile like that before. Wide and unguarded, like she forgot to be invisible.

Like she was just herself.

The following night, Martin climbed back through her bedroom window at 11 PM with a bag of fruit snacks and a plan.

"How did you even get up here?" Tessa whispered, watching him tumble onto her floor.

"Your neighbor's fence and that tree in your backyard. It was easier than I thought. You should really lock your windows."

"I should call the police."

"But you won't."

She sighed, but she was smiling again. He joined her on the bed, tearing open the fruit snacks with his teeth. For an hour, they talked about a heck of a lot. The teachers they hated, the movies they loved, the future they were both terrified of.

"Where do you want to go after graduation?" Tessa asked, picking at a loose thread on her comforter.

"I don't know..." Martin admitted. "....somewhere far away. Somewhere where nobody knows my name."

"Same..." She said softly. "New York, maybe. Or Portland. Somewhere weird."

"Somewhere you can be weird without people staring?"

"Exactly."

Their eyes met. The lava lamp bubbled in the backrgound and the room began to feel smaller suddenly. And warmer.

"We should sleep..." Tessa said quickly, looking away. "...big day tomorrow."

"Prom." Martin agreed.

"Prom."

He left the way he came. Through the window, down the tree and over the fence. But when he got home and climbed into his own bed, he couldn't stop thinking about the way she looked at him.

🍒The following day 🍒

Prom was held at the Luminary Hotel, a fancy venue on the other side of town that smelled like old money. The theme was "A Night Under the Stars," which meant the decorating committee hot-glued approximately ten thousand plastic stars to everything that didn't move.

But none of that mattered.

Because when Tessa walked down her staircase that night, Martin forgot how to breathe. She was wearing a dress the color of a sunset. It was pink and whimsical with layers of tulle that floated around her like she was made of clouds. Her hair, usually a disaster, was curled into soft waves that framed her face perfectly. Her makeup, done by her sister Gretchen who apparently had hidden talents, was light and glowing, accentuating her cheekbones and the soft curve of her jaw.

Her glasses were gone. "Contacts." Gretchen explained proudly. "She can see and everything."

"Close your mouth, Martin..." Gretchen said from the top of the stairs. "...you're drooling."

He closed his mouth, opened it, then closed it again.

Tessa looked up at him through her lashes and for the first time, she looked almost...nervous. "Is it too much? I feel like it's too much. Gretchen picked it out. I wanted to wear something simpler, but she said-"

"You look..." Martin began, and his voice came out rough. "...like a goddess."

Tessa's cheeks felt hotter than her in that dress. "That's....you don't have to-"

"I'm not being nice. I'm being honest."

Her mom appeared from the kitchen with a camera in her hand, tears already streaming down her face. "Oh, my baby~ My darling baby~" She pulled Tessa into a hug, careful not to smudge the makeup. "You look beautiful. I'm so proud of you."

"Mom, it's just prom-"

"It's not just prom. It's you. Stepping out of your shell. Finally letting people see how gorgeous you are."

Martin watched the exchange, his chest tight. He thought about the popular girl, Iris, with her perfect hair, perfect boyfriend and perfect life. He was so sure she was the answer. So sure that if he could just get her attention, everything would fall into place.

But standing here, watching Tessa glow under her mother's praise, he couldn't remember why Iris even mattered.

They took pictures on the front porch. Tessa's dad, a quiet man with a kind face, showed up from the living room and shook Martin's hand like he was evaluating a used car.

"Take care of her..." He said. "...or I'll find you."

"Dad!"

"I'm just saying."

They drove to the hotel in Martin's beat-up Alfa Romeo, the windows down while "So into you" by Tamia played on the radio. Tessa sang along, off-key and laughing, and Martin couldn't stop looking at her.

"What?" She said, catching his stare.

"Nothing. Just...you're different tonight." Martin softy said.

"Different good or different bad?" Tessa frowned.

"Different good."

She smiled, and turned back to the window.

The moment they walked into the ballroom, the room went quiet.

Not metaphorically. Literally.

People stopped mid-sentence. A girl dropped her clutch and someone's date choked on his punch.

"Who is that?" Someone whispered, not quietly enough.

"Is that...Tessa? Tessa Johnson?"

"No fucking way."

Martin felt a swell of pride so fierce it almost knocked him over. He offered Tessa his arm and she took it, her fingers trembling slightly against his sleeve.

"You've got this." He murmured.

"I don't have anything..." She whispered back. "...I'm wearing a dress and someone else's face."

"It's still you. Just...less messier." Martin grinned.

They walked through the crowd like they owned the place. People parted for them. Actually parted. Iris was standing by the punch bowl and for a split second, she looked almost jealous.

Martin should have felt triumphant. Instead, he felt...nothing.

The two of them danced together. Fast songs, slow songs, songs that nobody knew the words to but everybody sang anyway. Tessa let loose in a way Martin never saw before. She was throwing her arms up, spinning in circles and laughing until her sides hurt. Her dress twirled around her like a flower blooming in fast-forward.

When the song "Bleeding Love" by Leona Lewis came on, Martin pulled her closer.

"Is this okay?" He asked, his hands on her waist.

She nodded, her arms looping around his neck. "It's okay."

They swayed together, not quite in time with the music, but close enough. Her forehead rested against his chest. He could smell her shampoo. It was something fruity, like strawberries. He could feel her heartbeat, fast and light, matching his own.

"Martin..." She said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad it was you. The person who found out. I'm glad it was you."

He pulled back just enough to look at her face. The fairy lights strung across the ceiling reflected in her eyes, making them look like they were full of stars.

"Me too." He said.

He leaned in. Her lips were half-open, her breath warm against his mouth. He could feel the moment stretching, pulling taut like a rubber band about to snap. Just a little closer, and-

"EVERYBODY LISTEN UP! "

The voice came from the stage. It was Iris, a microphone in her hand and her face twisted into something ugly and triumphant.

"I have something to say..." Iris announced, "...and you're all gonna wanna hear it."

The music cut, the dancers stopped and every head turned toward the stage.

"There's someone in this room..." Iris continued. "...who has been making all of our lives miserable. Posting our secrets. Spreading our pain like it's entertainment. And I know who it is."

Tessa's hand tightened on Martin's arm. Her face turned pale.

"Someone told me tonight..." Iris said, her eyes scanning the crowd. "...that the girl behind 'cherrybomb-dirt' is standing in this very ballroom. And her name is-"

No. Martin thought. No, no, no!

"Tessa Johnson."

The name landed like a bomb.

People turned and heads swiveled. And there, in the middle of the dance floor, glowing pink under the fairy lights, stood Tessa.

"I didn't...." She started, but her voice broke. "I-"

"Is it true?" Someone shouted.

"Did you write about my parents?"

"My disease?"

"My life?"

Tessa looked up at Martin, and the betrayal in her eyes cut deeper than any knife. "You told her..." She whispered. "...you told her."

"I didn't." He said desperately. "I swear, Tessa, I didn't-"

But she was already running. Her heels clicked against the floor, then slapped as she kicked them off, bolting for the doors in her bare feet. The crowd parted again, but this time it wasn't from admiration. It was from disgust.

Martin tried to follow her, but a hand grabbed his arm. His best friend, Eom Seonghyeon, a junior who wasn't even supposed to be at prom, pulled him back.

"Let her go, man." Seonghyeon said. "She's not worth it."

Martin stared at him. "You."

Seonghyeon's face flickered. "Look, I heard you talking on the phone. About the Tumblr thing. And Iris has been nice to me, okay? She said if I gave her something good, she'd-"

Martin's fist connected with Seonghyeon's jaw before he could finish the sentence and chaos erupted. Someone screamed. Someone else started filming on their camcorder. A teacher lunged for Martin, but he was already running, shoving through the crowd, bursting through the double doors into the cool night air.

"Tessa!"

The parking lot was empty. Her sister's car was already pulling away, taillights disappearing around the corner. Martin stood there, breathing hard, his knuckles throbbing and his heart a shattered mess in his chest.

⏳

He called her house forty times yet no one answered.

He called her cell phone and everytime, he received a voice mail from her.

Hey, it's Tessa! Leave a message. Or don't. Whatever.

"I'm sorry..." He said into the phone after the fifth beep. "...I'm so sorry Tessa. It wasn't me. It was Seonghyeon. He heard me talking to my mom about..about everything. I never would have...please, Tessa, just pick up-"

Nothing.

By the time he reached her house, it was midnight. The lights were off in her room, but he could see a faint glow from behind her curtains. She was awake. She just wasn't answering.

He threw rocks at her window. Pebbles at first, then bigger ones. The first one bounced off the glass. The second hit the frame. The third one...

The curtain moved, just a sliver, but it remained closed.

"Tessa!" He called up. "Please! Just give me five minutes!"

No response.

Martin looked at his car. He looked at the trunk. And then, because he was an idiot and a romantic and possibly the dumbest person alive, he had an idea.

He popped the trunk and pulled out the beat-up boombox he kept in there for some reason, then, climbed onto the roof of his Alfa Romeo.

The metal groaned under his weight. He wobbled dangerously and nearly slipped, then caught his balance.

"TESSA JOHNSON!" He shouted. "I'M SORRY! I'M AN IDIOT! AND I'M GOING TO PROVE IT BY MAKING A COMPLETE FOOL OF MYSELF!"

He set the boombox on the roof beside him and hit play.

The opening notes of "You're Still the One" by Shania Twain filled the quiet suburban street. And Martin Edwards, six-foot-three, lanky, disaster of a human being, started to sing.

"LOOks LikE wE mAde it...."

His voice cracked on the first line.

"LOok hOw faR wE've coMe, mY BabY~"

He was off-key. Terribly, magnificently off-key. His voice was raspy from yelling, soft on some lines and too loud in others. He didn't hit most of the notes. He didn't even come close.

But he sang like his life depended on it.

"We mIghTa tOOk tHe loNg way~"

He threw his arms out for emphasis, almost falling off the car, but he kept going.

"We kNeW we'D geT thEre sOmeday~"

The curtain flew open.

Tessa stood at her window, her face blotchy from crying and her mascara smeared down her cheeks like dark rivers. Her hair escaped its waves and returned to its natural state of chaos. She was wearing an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants, and she looked like the most beautiful thing Martin has ever seen.

"You're still the one I run to~"

"What are you doing?" She yelled down at him.

"SERANADING YOU!"

"The one that I belong to~"

"You're going to wake up the whole neighborhood!"

"You're still the one I want for life~~"

"Martin!"

He stopped singing. The music on the boombox kept playing, filling the silence he left behind. He stood on the roof of his car, his arms out, hair a mess and face flushed bright red, breathing hard.

"I didn't tell anyone..." He said, his voice raw. "It was Eom Seonghyeon. He overheard me on the phone with my mom. I never would have....I swear, Tessa. I would never do that to you."

She stared at him as the music played on.

"I know what I asked you to do was wrong..." He continued. "...pretending to be my girlfriend just so I could impress some girl who doesn't even know I exist. That was stupid. That was cruel. But somewhere along the way, I stopped pretending."

He swallowed hard.

"I stopped pretending, Tessa. And I don't want Iris. I never wanted Iris. I want you. With your messy hair and your crooked glasses and your pimple patches. I want the girl who writes down secrets because she's too scared to share her own. I want the girl who thinks gothic literature is the best thing on earth and who sings along to Britney Spears like she's at a concert."

His voice broke.

"I want you. The real you. Not the prom version. Not the Tumblr Girl. Just you, Tessa."

The boombox clicked and the song ended.

Silence.

Then the front door suddenly flew open. Gretchen stood in the doorway, her face a thundercloud of fury. "YOU!" She screamed, pointing at Martin. "YOU ABSOLUTE PIECE OF TRASH! You break my sister's heart, you humiliate her in front of the entire school, and then you show up here with a boombox like you're in some kind of movie?!"

"Technically, it's a Sony-"

"I don't CARE what brand it is! Get off my property before I-"

"Gretchen stop." Tessa said, her voice soft but firm.

She was standing behind her sister now, barefoot on the porch, her arms wrapped around herself. Her eyes were red, her face was a mess, but she wasn't crying anymore.

"Gretchen." She said again. "Go inside."

"But-"

"Please."

Gretchen looked at her sister, then at Martim, then back at her sister. She muttered something under her breath that and possibly a word that would make a sailor blush. Then she turned and stomped back inside, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the windows.

Tessa walked down the porch steps, across the lawn and towards the boy standing on top of a car like an idiot.

"I'm still mad at you." She said.

"I know."

"You ruined my mascara."

"It looks good that way. Very...gothic."

She laughed. A small, broken sound. "You're such a idiot."

"I know that too."

She stopped in front of him. He climbed down from the car, nearly tripping over his own feet, and stood face to face with her. She was so much shorter than him that he had to look down to meet her eyes.

"I'm sorry..." He said again. "...for all of it. For blackmailing you. For dragging you into this. For not protecting you from Seonghyeon. For-"

"Martin."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and kiss me already."

He blinked. "What? Really?"

"Really."

He leaned down as she stood on her tiptoes. And their lips met in the middle.

It wasn't perfect. His nose bumped her cheek. She let out a little surprised squeak. Their teeth almost clacked together. But then they found the rhythm. It was soft and slow. His hand cupped the back of her head, tangling in her messy hair. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

Martin's lips were firmer than she imagined. The first press was just pressure, a testing of warmth. Then he tilted his head, and the world tilted with him.

The kiss deepened, like they've been practicing for this moment without even realizing it. Martin didn't rush. His palm cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her cheekbone, lingering there as if memorizing the angle of her face. Her hands fisted the front of his shirt now, not to push him away, but to anchor herself.

His other hand found her hip, thumb pressing into the bone just as his tongue swept against hers. She tasted like coffee and a sweet treat. And in that moment he realised how much he truly wanted to kiss her all along.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless.

"That was..." Tessa whispered. "...not bad."

"Not bad?" Martin grinned. "I'll take it."

"I might need more practice."

"Me too."

He kissed her again. Shorter this time, but sweeter. When he pulled back, she was smiling. A real smile, wide and unguarded, the kind that made her eyes crinkle at the corners.

From the upstairs window, Gretchen's voice drifted down, "IF YOU TWO ARE DONE BEING DISGUSTING, IT'S PAST MIDNIGHT AND I HAVE CLASS IN THE MORNING!"

They both looked up. Gretchen was watching from behind the curtain, shaking her head but smiling either way.

"Go home, Martin." Tessa said.

"Come with me."

"To your house?"

"Anywhere. I don't care. Just...stay with me."

She looked at him for a long moment. Then she grabbed his hand, laced their fingers together, and pulled him towards the front door.

"Fine..." She said. "...but you leave in the morning. Through the window."

"Yes ma'am."

Martin scooped her up bridal style. She weighed almost nothing, and carried her inside, past a grumbling Gretchen up the stairs and through to her bedroom where they'd fall asleep almost immediately, exhausted from the long night~

Epilogue

The next morning, Tessa woke up to a new post on her Tumblr.

Not from her.

From him.

martin edwards-makes-noise🤟🏼just posted:

my girlfriend is the girl who writes cherrybomb-dirt. and before you come for her, consider this: every single thing she wrote was true. every secret. every scandal and every messy, ugly and beautiful piece of gossip.

you did those things. you said those things and you chose to be the people you are.

she just wrote them down.

maybe be mad at yourselves first for a while.

also she's the prettiest girl in the entire world and she's dating me, so who's really winning here? 😼

♡ 12,403 notes

Tessa read the post three times. Then she put down her phone, rolled over, and punched Martin in the arm.

"You did not."

"I absolutely did."

"Twelve thousand notes?!"

"I know." He grinned, pulling her closer. "We're famous."

"We're dead."

"Tomato, tomahto."

She buried her face in his chest, laughing so hard her shoulders shook. And when he kissed the top of her head, soft and warm and full of something that felt suspiciously like forever, she decided that maybe, just maybe, being seen wasn't so scary after all.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆

STOP I'M ACTUALLY SOBBING RN 😭😭😭 I enjoyed writing this soooooo much :(❤️‍🩹 I'm a little sad it's over.

Also, somebody tell Martin Jonathan Woo-Ju Edwards Park personally that I fucking love him. Tell him I said so.

🌩🌩🌩🌩🌩

Faded, I'm drunk off the brown

Stayed up all night on the town

Act like tomorrow just doesn't exist

Time isn't real, ain't shit on my wrists

Let go of everything, then you have bliss

Then she told me this