#never ending

She wasn’t the kind of girl who stayed quiet. That’s what made her different. She didn’t shrink in his presence, didn’t roll her eyes and walk away like the others. No, Ciera bit back. She called him out, cracked jokes sharper than his, and had this cool, calm fire behind her eyes that made Jon both irritated and intrigued.

“Nice shoes, Fatu,” she’d say, wrinkling her nose at his ragged Nikes. “Did you wrestle a raccoon for those?”

“And win,” Jon smirked, “unlike you and that math test last week.”

“Please. I had a B.”

“Yeah. B for Barely passed.”

She scoffed, bumping him with her shoulder as they walked past each other in the hallway. And he always looked back, always turned around just to catch her watching him too. It was quick, like a flash of something they didn’t know how to name yet, and then it was gone.

They weren’t close, not outside the teasing. Ciera hung out with the honors kids, neat handwriting and highlighters in every color. Jon was always getting detention with his boys, scribbling over his notebooks and flipping through WWE magazines during silent reading. But somehow, their paths kept crossing. The teachers liked pairing opposites—said it would balance the energy. So of course, Jon and Ciera always ended up as lab partners, book report duos, or sharing the back row during assemblies.

That’s where the real moments happened.

There was one afternoon, stuck in the library after school waiting for a storm to pass. Most kids had left already, but Jon’s ride was late, and Ciera had stayed behind to organize books for extra credit. It was quiet, except for the rain hammering the windows.

“You scared?” he asked, flopped across two chairs like he owned the place.

Ciera looked up from the shelf she was organizing. “Of what? Thunder?”

Jon shrugged, half-smiling. “Most girls are.”

“Well, I’m not most girls,” she replied, brushing a braid behind her ear.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “I know.”

She didn’t respond right away, but she felt it—the shift in his tone. Not loud, not teasing. Just… real. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was thick with something unspoken.

He sat up straighter, kicking one foot. “You ever think people don’t really see you? Like they got this idea of who you are, and it’s just… wrong.”

Ciera tilted her head, surprised by his seriousness. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

“I bet they think you’re all smart and perfect and quiet.”

She snorted. “Perfect? Please. I mess up all the time. I just don’t advertise it like you.”

He grinned. “Hey, I like attention.”

“I noticed.”

That made him laugh, and for once, it wasn’t too loud or obnoxious. Just soft, natural.

They sat there in the library until the rain slowed and the janitor came by to kick them out. No teasing, no name-calling. Just Jon and Ciera, talking like they weren’t sworn hallway enemies.

After that, something changed.

The teasing didn’t stop—it never did. But there was a knowing smile behind it now, like they were in on some secret. Like the insults were just a cover for something sweeter neither of them wanted to admit. Jon still tugged her backpack strap as she walked by, still called her “Teacher’s Pet” in front of his friends. But he also passed her extra pencils when she forgot hers. He stood a little too close in group projects. And sometimes, when she laughed, he looked like he’d won a championship.

Ciera noticed, even if she pretended she didn’t. She liked the way he made everything louder, more alive. She liked the way he never backed down, even when she challenged him. And sometimes, when he wasn’t looking, she stared a little too long at the curve of his smirk, the way his lashes curled just so.

One day in gym class, Jon “accidentally” bumped into her during dodgeball and knocked her to the floor.

“Oh my God, are you dead?” he asked dramatically, standing over her.

Ciera groaned, propping herself up on her elbows. “Barely.”

He offered his hand. “Want help?”

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Just being nice.”

“Since when are you nice?”

He smirked. “Since you started falling for me.”

She rolled her eyes but took his hand anyway. His palm was warm and rough from climbing fences and playing too hard. When he pulled her up, their faces were a little too close, breath mixing for just a second. Long enough to feel something stir in her stomach.

She shoved him lightly. “You wish, Fatu.”

But she didn’t let go of his hand right away.

By eighth grade, everything was different and yet the same. The crush still hovered between them, never acknowledged out loud, but always present in the glances, the smirks, the silent moments they shared when the world wasn’t watching.

One Friday after school, Ciera sat alone on the bleachers, waiting for her ride. The sun was setting, the sky streaked in gold and lavender. Jon wandered over from the football field, sweaty and out of breath.

“Hey,” he said, dropping his bag beside her.

“Hey,” she replied, watching the horizon.

They didn’t talk much. Just sat in silence, their shoulders barely touching. After a long moment, Jon leaned back on his elbows.

“You going to that dance next week?”

Ciera hesitated. “Maybe. If my mom lets me.”

“You should go.”

She turned to him. “You asking?”

His lips curved. “I’m just saying… you should go.”

Ciera studied him for a moment, then looked away, smiling to herself. “I’ll think about it.”

⸻⸻

Ciera stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the straps of her dress for the fourth time. It was a soft lavender color that caught the light just enough to make her skin glow, her mom had said. It wasn’t fancy, just something simple they found on sale at the mall last weekend. Still, her stomach flipped every time she looked at herself.

“Girl, you look cute,” Sadé said from the bed, filing her nails like the dance was just another boring Friday.

Ciera turned, fidgeting with her curls. “Do I look like I’m trying too hard?”

“No,” Sadé answered without looking up. “You look like you’re about to remind all them boys what they’ve been missing.”

Ciera laughed. “What boys? Nobody even asked me.”

Sadé rolled her eyes. “That’s ’cause middle school boys are idiots. They’re scared of girls that actually have personality.”

Ciera shrugged, but her mind drifted—again—to Jon.

She tried not to think about him. Tried to pretend his words hadn’t stuck with her all week. “You should go.” That’s what he’d said last Friday, slouched beside her on the bleachers, sweat glistening on his forehead. He hadn’t said it like he wanted her there… but he hadn’t said it like he didn’t, either.

And when she’d asked if he was asking, he didn’t say no.

That small, stupid moment replayed on a loop in her head.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, where the butterflies refused to settle. “It’s not a big deal,” she muttered.

“What’s not a big deal?” Sadé asked.

“Nothing.” Ciera forced a smile. “I just don’t want to get my hopes up. I’m going alone. Nobody asked me, and that’s that.”

Sadé closed her nail file and stood. “Well, I’m sticking with you all night. No ditching, no sneaking off. Just us, dancing, snacks, and making fun of whoever tries to breakdance.”

“Promise?” Ciera asked.

“Promise,” Sadé said, sealing it with a pinky swear.

The dance was already in full swing when they arrived at the gym. Purple and silver streamers hung from the rafters, a disco ball spun weakly in the center, and the DJ played a mix of throwbacks and current pop songs that made kids scream and shuffle to the beat. The lights were low enough to make everything feel more magical, more grown-up. And awkward.

Ciera clutched her clutch tighter. “Why do I suddenly feel like everyone’s staring?”

“Because they are,” Sadé grinned. “You look like a Disney princess who doesn’t take crap from anyone.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“I’m right.”

They walked together along the edge of the gym floor, avoiding the clumps of kids in the middle. Ciera’s eyes scanned the crowd almost on instinct—searching. Hoping. She caught a glimpse of Joshua Fatu first, laughing near the drink table in a crisp white shirt and sneakers. Which meant Jon couldn’t be far.

Then Sadé froze beside her.

“Oh my God,” Sadé whispered. “He’s walking over here.”

Ciera blinked. “Who?”

“Joshua. He’s walking over here—he’s walking over here, Cie—what do I do?”

“Just be cool!” Ciera whispered, nudging her.

But it was too late. Joshua was already in front of them, hands stuffed in his pockets, that trademark Fatu grin spreading across his face.

“Hey,” he said, eyes flicking to Sadé. “You wanna dance?”

Sadé’s jaw dropped. “Like, right now?”

Joshua chuckled. “I mean… unless you were waiting on someone better?”

“No! I mean, yeah! I mean—yes. Let’s dance.”

Sadé looked back at Ciera, panic and apology written all over her face. “I’ll be right back, I swear.”

Ciera tried to smile. “Go. It’s fine.”

And just like that, her best friend was gone, disappearing into the music and the lights with the twin brother of the boy she’d been thinking about all week.

Ciera stood there for a while, alone, the buzz of the gym wrapping around her like static. She watched Sadé and Joshua laugh, spin, and bump shoulders like they’d known each other forever. It made her smile, truly. Sadé deserved that moment.

But as she turned to grab a cup of punch, a familiar voice came from behind her.

“Well, well, well.”

She turned, heart skipping.

Jon Fatu stood behind her, hands in his pockets, smirking like he’d been waiting all night to ambush her.

“Didn’t think you’d actually come,” he said.

Ciera raised a brow. “Surprised to see me?”

“A little,” he admitted. “Thought you’d blow it off. I mean, it’s just a middle school dance.”

“You seem like you’re enjoying yourself,” she noted, nodding toward his twin. “Joshua’s already out here stealing hearts.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Typical.”

“Well,” she said, brushing her curls off her shoulder, “a couple guys asked me to show face.”

“Oh yeah?” Jon cocked his head. “A couple guys, huh?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“So you’re not here because I asked you to?” he challenged, stepping closer.

Ciera smirked. “You admitting that you asked me to come?”

Jon shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “I might’ve hinted.”

Ciera crossed her arms. “So subtle. Just a casual ‘you should go.’”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

She laughed, soft and genuine. “Barely.”

He leaned in just enough for her to feel the warmth of his words. “Even I know I want to dance with the coolest girl in school.”

Her breath caught slightly.

“You asking me to dance, Fatu?”

His grin widened. “I guess I am.”

She didn’t say yes right away. She let the moment stretch, heart pounding, then finally took his hand.

The gym didn’t fade away, not completely, but everything got quieter somehow. The music slowed—by sheer coincidence or fate—and a soft R&B track filled the room. Jon led her to the center of the floor, one hand on her waist, the other holding her hand like he’d done this before.

“You nervous?” he asked, his voice low.

“Maybe a little.”

He raised a brow. “You? Nervous? Nah.”

She smiled. “I don’t usually slow dance with loudmouths.”

“Ouch.”

“I said what I said.”

Jon chuckled, twirling her slowly. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Oh, so now I’m cute.”

“I always thought you were cute,” he said quietly.

Her eyes met his, surprised by the honesty. “You’re serious.”

He shrugged. “Don’t act like you didn’t know.”

Ciera bit her lip, heart racing. “I thought you were just annoying.”

“I can be both.”

They laughed, bodies swaying just a little closer. Ciera felt the warmth of his hand on her back, the slow rhythm carrying them into something softer than teasing, something real. She rested her head slightly toward his shoulder, close but not touching.

“You ever wonder what it would’ve been like if we were actually friends?” she asked.

Jon thought for a moment. “I think we kinda are now.”

“Friends who almost wanna kiss?” she teased.

Jon blinked. “Almost?”

Ciera tilted her head up, and for a moment, they just looked at each other—barely inches apart. His hand slid slightly to her lower back. Her fingers curled tighter around his. And then, slowly, Jon leaned in—

“CIE!”

Sadé’s voice cut through the moment like a needle to a balloon.

Ciera startled, taking a quick step back as Jon blinked out of the trance.

Sadé bounded toward them, cheeks flushed and curly hair a little wild. “You have to come with me! They’re doing a dance battle and Joshua said—oh.” Her words slowed as she realized what she’d interrupted.

Jon cleared his throat, stepping back with a smirk. “Saved by the twin.”

Ciera shot Sadé a look. “Couldn’t wait five more seconds?”

Sadé looked between them, then gasped. “Were y’all about to—?”

“Nope,” Jon cut in. “She was about to admit she’s had a crush on me since sixth grade.”

Ciera rolled her eyes. “I was about to push you off me.”

“You didn’t, though,” he said, grinning.

Sadé giggled. “You two are a mess.”

Jon leaned close one last time. “I meant what I said, though. Coolest girl in school.”

Ciera smiled, softer this time. “Thanks, Jon.”

He nodded, backing away toward his friends. “Catch you later, Monroe.”

As he disappeared into the crowd, Sadé looped her arm through Ciera’s. “So… we need to talk.”

Ciera laughed, letting herself be pulled away. Her heart was still beating fast, still warm from the almost-kiss and everything before it. And even though the moment was interrupted, something had shifted between them.

He had asked her to come.

And she had come—for him.

That was the last real moment they shared before high school pulled them in different directions. Jon got louder, bolder, more popular. Ciera grew quieter, sharper, focused on her future. They drifted, like kids often do, but those middle school memories stayed tucked away—soft and golden, like the sunlight on that last evening.