**Monday Morning – Three Days After the Kiss**
I don't sleep well Sunday night.
Every time I close my eyes, I'm back in the library. Thunder shaking the windows. His hand in my hair. The way the world went quiet when his lips touched mine.
I replay it so many times it starts to feel like a dream. Like something I imagined. Like maybe it didn't actually happen.
Except I can still taste him. Can still feel the ghost of his touch. Can still hear the way he said my name—*Cassia*—like it was something precious.
At 2 AM, I give up on sleep and pull out my journal.
*What am I doing?* I write. *What are WE doing?*
*We haven't talked since Thursday. Just a few texts. Nothing substantial. Nothing about what the kiss meant or what happens next.*
*Maybe he regrets it. Maybe he woke up Friday morning and realized he kissed the scholarship girl and felt embarrassed. Maybe Sterling said something. Maybe his mother found out somehow and told him I'm not worth the trouble.*
*Maybe I'm going to show up at school Monday and he'll pretend it never happened.*
*That would be easier, probably. Safer. Less complicated.*
*But God, I don't want easier. I don't want safer.*
*I want him.*
I close the journal. Stare at my phone. Consider texting him. Don't.
At 3 AM, my phone buzzes.
**Aurelio:** You awake?
My heart stops. Starts. Stops again.
**Me:** Yeah. Can't sleep.
**Aurelio:** Me neither.
**Aurelio:** Thinking about Thursday.
**Aurelio:** About you.
**Me:** Me too.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
**Aurelio:** I'll see you tomorrow. First thing. I'll be waiting at your locker.
**Me:** You don't have to do that.
**Aurelio:** I know. I want to.
**Aurelio:** Is that okay?
I think about what that means. Him waiting at my locker. Everyone seeing us together. Making this public. Making this real.
**Me:** Yeah. That's okay.
**Aurelio:** Good. Because I'm done pretending I don't feel what I feel.
**Aurelio:** Get some sleep, Cassia.
**Me:** You too.
But I don't sleep. I lie awake until the sun comes up, alternating between excitement and terror, and when my alarm finally goes off at 6:30, I've been awake for twenty-eight hours straight.
---
Grandma Rosa is already in the kitchen when I emerge from my room, dressed in my most carefully chosen outfit—jeans that actually fit (thrifted but good brand), a sweater that's not too worn, my hair in loose curls instead of the usual bun.
She looks up from her coffee, takes one look at me, and smiles.
"Special day?" she asks innocently.
"Just Monday."
"Uh-huh. And you're wearing your good jeans and you actually did your hair for just Monday?"
I pour myself coffee. Avoid her eyes. "Maybe."
She laughs. "Baby, I've known you since you were two days old. You can't lie to me. This about that boy? The Italian one?"
I lean against the counter. Take a sip of coffee. Nod.
"We kissed. Thursday. In the library."
"I figured. You came home looking like you'd been struck by lightning."
"It felt like it."
She sets down her mug. Comes over to me. Cups my face in her rough, warm hands.
"Listen to me, Cassia Monroe. I'm happy you found someone who makes you light up like this. But I need you to be careful."
"I know, Grandma. You already said—"
"Let me finish." Her voice is gentle but firm. "Boys like him come from a different world. And I'm not saying he's a bad person. I'm not even saying it can't work. But I am saying that the world is going to make it hard for you. His family, his friends, people at that fancy school—they're going to have opinions. And some of those opinions are going to hurt."
My throat tightens. "I know."
"And when it hurts, you come home to me. You hear? You don't let them make you feel small. You don't let them make you think you're not good enough. Because you are. You're more than good enough. You're extraordinary."
I hug her. Tight. She smells like cocoa butter and that lavender soap she uses and home.
"I love you, Grandma."
"I love you too, baby. Now go. Your bus is coming in ten minutes."
---
The bus ride to Riverside Academy takes forty-five minutes from Roxbury. I spend all of them trying not to throw up.
What if he's not there? What if he changed his mind? What if last night's texts were just late-night impulse and in the morning light he realized it was a mistake?
What if he's there but with Sterling? What if he's there but acts like we're just friends? What if—
The bus pulls up to the school. I get off. Walk through the gates of Riverside Academy—all brick and ivy and old money and history that doesn't include people like me.
Deep breath.
I walk through the main entrance. Down the hallway toward my locker.
And there he is.
Aurelio Santoro, leaning against locker 247, holding two coffee cups, looking like he stepped out of some catalog for beautiful boys who don't know they're beautiful.
He's wearing dark jeans and a grey henley that matches his eyes. His hair is slightly damp like he just showered. He hasn't seen me yet—he's looking at his phone—and for a moment I just watch him.
This boy. This impossible, beautiful boy is waiting for me.
Then he looks up. Sees me. And his entire face transforms.
That smile. God, that smile.
I walk toward him, hyperaware of every other student in the hallway turning to stare. I can feel their eyes. Can hear the whispers starting.
*Is that Cassia Monroe?*
*With Aurelio Santoro?*
*Since when are they—*
I don't care. Suddenly, I don't care at all.
"Hey," he says when I reach him. He straightens up. Hands me one of the coffee cups. "Coffee. With cinnamon."
I take it. Our fingers brush. Electricity.
"Thank you," I manage.
"You look beautiful."
Heat floods my face. "I look tired. I didn't sleep."
"Me neither." He shifts his weight. "I was too busy thinking about you."
Students are definitely staring now. I can see Sterling Hayes across the hall by the water fountain, frozen mid-conversation with her friends, watching us with an expression I can't quite read.
"So," Aurelio says.
"So," I echo.
We're both terrible at this.
He shifts his coffee to his other hand. Reaches for mine. Threads his fingers through mine like it's the most natural thing in the world.
The hallway gets quieter. Or maybe it's just that my heart is so loud I can't hear anything else.
"Is this okay?" he asks quietly. His grey eyes search mine, vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache.
I look at our hands. At the way his fingers fit between mine like they were made to be there. At the way this simple gesture feels like jumping off a cliff into water you can't see the bottom of.
"Yeah," I whisper. "This is okay."
His smile is sunrise. Dawn after the longest night.
We walk to AP Lit like that. Hand in hand. While everyone stares. While Sterling's face goes tight with something between anger and disbelief. While Poet catches my eye from across the hall and gives me a look that clearly says *we need to talk immediately*.
I don't let go of his hand.
Neither does he.
When we get to Ms. Okonkwo's classroom, he doesn't immediately release me. Instead, he stops just outside the door.
"Cassia."
"Yeah?"
"I know this is fast. I know we should probably talk about what Thursday meant. About what this is. But I just—" He stops. Takes a breath. Starts again. "I really like you. And I want to see where this goes. If you do too."
My heart is doing something complicated and impossible in my chest. Something that feels dangerous and necessary all at once.
Every logical part of my brain is screaming warnings. This won't work. You're from different worlds. His family will never accept you. You're going to get hurt.
But looking at him now—at the hope in his eyes, at the way he's holding my hand like he's afraid to let go, at the vulnerability in his expression—I can't make myself listen to logic.
"I do too," I say.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He squeezes my hand once. Then, because we're standing in the doorway of AP Literature and students are filing past us and Ms. Okonkwo is probably watching, he lets go.
But not before his thumb brushes across my knuckles. Not before his eyes hold mine for one more second that feels like a promise.
We walk into class together.
Ms. Okonkwo looks up from her desk. She's young for a teacher—maybe twenty-eight or twenty-nine—and she has this way of seeing everything without saying anything. Her natural hair is styled in an elaborate updo today, and she's wearing a dress with a quote from Toni Morrison printed on it: "You are your best thing."
Her eyes flick from me to Aurelio to our just-released hands, and a small smile plays at the corners of her mouth.
"Ah, the Romeo and Juliet of forbidden love analysis," she says. "How's the project coming?"
"Good," Aurelio says, sliding into his seat behind mine.
"Very good," I add, sitting down.
Ms. Okonkwo's smile gets wider. "I'm sure it is."
The rest of the class files in. Sterling comes in last, deliberately choosing a seat as far from us as possible. She doesn't look at me. Doesn't look at Aurelio. Just stares straight ahead with her jaw tight.
I feel a small twist of guilt. They dated freshman year. They broke up "amicably" according to school gossip, but looking at her face now, I'm not sure how amicable it really was.
Class starts. Ms. Okonkwo begins talking about *Wuthering Heights*. About Catherine and Heathcliff. About toxic love and obsession and the difference between passion and destruction.
"The question we need to ask," Ms. Okonkwo says, pacing at the front of the room, "is whether their love is actually love, or whether it's obsession. Whether it's romantic, or whether it's destructive. What do you all think?"
Several hands go up. Sterling's is one of them.
Ms. Okonkwo calls on her.
Sterling stands—because of course she does, because standing makes you look more confident, more important—and says, "I think some loves are just destined to fail. That some people are too different, from too different worlds, to ever really work. Catherine and Heathcliff fail because they refuse to accept reality. She marries Edgar because he's suitable, because he makes sense. And Heathcliff never gets over it because he can't accept that sometimes love isn't enough."
She's looking right at me when she says it.
The message is clear: *You and Aurelio are going to fail. You're too different. He'll realize it eventually.*
My stomach twists. But before I can spiral, Ms. Okonkwo says, "Interesting interpretation. Anyone else?"
My hand goes up before I can stop it.
"Cassia?"
I stand too. If Sterling can make speeches, so can I.
"I think," I say slowly, finding my words as I go, "that it's not about whether they're from different worlds. It's about whether they're willing to build a new world together. Catherine and Heathcliff fail because Catherine isn't brave enough. She chooses safety over love. She chooses what society expects over what her heart wants. And yes, maybe that's the practical choice. Maybe that's the smart choice. But it's also the choice that destroys them both."
I can feel Aurelio's eyes on my back. Can feel the weight of the entire class watching.
"So you're saying love can transcend class differences?" Ms. Okonkwo asks. "Family expectations? Social pressure?"
"I'm saying it can try."
"And if it fails?"
I think about that. About Thursday. About right now. About how this whole thing with Aurelio could blow up spectacularly in my face.
"Then at least you tried," I say quietly. "At least you didn't spend your whole life wondering what if. At least you were brave enough to choose what you wanted instead of what was expected."
Ms. Okonkwo is smiling now. Really smiling. "Well said, Cassia. Very well said."
I sit down. My hands are shaking.
Behind me, I feel Aurelio's foot tap against my chair leg twice. Our secret code. The one that means *I'm here. I agree. You're not alone.*
Sterling doesn't say anything else for the rest of class. But when the bell rings and we all file out, she walks past me and says, just loud enough for me to hear: "Catherine chose Edgar because he was suitable. Just remember that when reality sets in."
Then she's gone, swept away by her friends, leaving me standing there with her words echoing in my head.
*When reality sets in.*
Not if. When.
---
After second period, Poet corners me at my locker.
"Spill," she demands without preamble. "Now. Everything."
Poet Davis has been my best friend since freshman year, when we were both new scholarship students trying to figure out how to survive at Riverside Academy. She's loud where I'm quiet, confident where I'm unsure, and has been trying to get me to "live a little" since the day we met.
She's also wearing a shirt that says "Nevertheless, she persisted" and has her natural hair in box braids with gold cuffs, and she looks amazing.
"There's nothing to spill," I lie.
"Girl." She crosses her arms. "He was holding your hand in the hallway. Half the school is talking about it. Sterling Hayes looks like she wants to murder you. And you're telling me there's nothing to spill?"
I close my locker. Look at her. Give up on lying.
"He kissed me. Thursday. In the library."
Poet's eyes go wide. Then wider. Then she actually squeals.
"FINALLY!" She grabs my arm. "Oh my God, finally! I've been watching you two make eyes at each other in that library for weeks. It was painful."
"We weren't making eyes."
"You absolutely were. Okay, tell me everything. How did it happen? Was it good? What did he say? What did you say? Are you together now?"
"It was..." I don't have words. "It was perfect. And yeah, I think we're together? We didn't exactly define it, but he held my hand this morning, so..."
"Holding hands in public is definitely defining it." Poet's grin is huge. "Cass, this is amazing! I'm so happy for you!"
But then her expression shifts. Gets more serious.
"But also," she says quietly, "you know this is going to be complicated, right?"
"I know."
"Like, really complicated. Aurelio Santoro? Do you know who his family is?"
"I know, Poet."
"They're like Boston royalty. His family owns half the North End. They're rich rich. Like, generational wealth rich. Like, his mother probably has opinions about who he dates."
"I know," I repeat, more sharply than I mean to.
Poet softens. "I'm not trying to be a buzzkill. I just don't want you to get hurt."
"Too late. I'm already in."
"I know you are. I can see it on your face." She sighs. "Okay. If you're doing this, then I support you. But Cass, promise me something?"
"What?"
"Promise me you won't lose yourself in this. Promise me that if his family or his friends or anyone makes you feel like you're not good enough, you'll remember that you are. You're brilliant and talented and you deserve someone who sees that."
My throat gets tight. "I promise."
She pulls me into a hug right there in the hallway. "Good. Now let's get to class before we're late. And I want more details at lunch. Like, all the details."
---
At lunch, I find Aurelio already sitting at a table near the windows. Not his usual table—the one where the popular kids sit, where Sterling and her friends hold court. A different table. Quieter. Less crowded.
He's saved me a seat.
I walk over, hyperaware of every eye in the cafeteria following me.
"Hey," he says, smiling up at me.
"Hey."
"Sit?"
I sit.
He's already halfway through his lunch—something from his family's restaurant, probably, because it looks infinitely better than cafeteria food. He sees me looking at my sad packed lunch (peanut butter sandwich, apple, water) and immediately pushes his plate toward me.
"Want some? It's pesto pasta from Santoro's. My mom made extra."
"I can't take your lunch."
"You're not taking it. I'm sharing it."
"Aurelio—"
"Cassia." He says my name like it settles something. "Share my lunch. Please."
The please gets me. I take a forkful of pasta. It's incredible—fresh basil, real parmesan, homemade pesto that probably costs more than my entire lunch budget for the week.
"Good?" he asks.
"So good."
He grins. "My mom's the best cook in Boston. Don't tell her I said that though. Her ego doesn't need the boost."
We eat in comfortable silence for a moment. Then Poet arrives, dramatically throwing herself into the seat across from us.
"So," she says, looking between us with barely contained glee. "Are we doing this? Are we sitting together now? Is this a thing?"
"I think this is a thing," Aurelio says, looking at me for confirmation.
"This is a thing," I agree.
Poet pumps her fist. "Yes! Okay, I'm here for this. But fair warning, Aurelio Santoro, if you hurt my girl, I will end you. I have three older brothers and I know how to hide a body."
Aurelio doesn't even blink. "Noted. But I'm not planning to hurt her."
"Nobody plans to."
"Poet," I say, "maybe don't threaten my boyfriend on day one?"
The word slips out before I can stop it. Boyfriend.
Aurelio's eyes snap to mine. Something bright and warm floods his expression.
"Boyfriend?" he repeats.
Oh God. I said it out loud. "I mean, if that's— we didn't really— I shouldn't have assumed—"
He takes my hand on top of the table where everyone can see.
"I like the sound of that," he says. "Boyfriend. Yeah. Let's go with that."
My heart could power the entire eastern seaboard right now.
Poet is grinning so hard her face might split. "You two are disgustingly cute. I approve. Now, Aurelio, tell me your intentions with my best friend."
"Poet!" I hiss.
But Aurelio just laughs. "My intentions are to bring her coffee with cinnamon every morning, to actually finish this AP Lit project with her, and to see if we can be different from every tragic romance we've been reading about."
"Good answer," Poet says. "You can stay."
The rest of lunch passes in this weird, surreal haze. Aurelio and Poet get along—she makes him laugh, he takes her teasing in stride, and I sit there thinking *this is my life now*.
I have a boyfriend. Aurelio Santoro is my boyfriend.
It doesn't feel real.
But his hand is still holding mine under the table, and that feels real enough.
---
After school, Aurelio walks me to my bus stop.
"You don't have to do this," I tell him. "You have a car. You could be halfway home by now."
"I want to."
"You're going to be late."
"I don't care."
We stand at the bus stop together, and it's awkward because we're in public and I don't know what the rules are. Do we hug goodbye? Kiss? Just wave?
He decides for us. Pulls me into a hug. I rest my head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat and try to memorize this feeling.
"Text me when you get home?" he murmurs into my hair.
"Okay."
"And Cassia?"
"Yeah?"
He pulls back just enough to look at me. "Today was good. Really good. I know it's going to be complicated. I know people are going to talk. But I don't care. I just want you to know that."
"I know."
"Do you?"
I think about Sterling's words. About Grandma Rosa's warnings. About every book I've ever read where the rich boy and the poor girl don't work out.
But I also think about his hand in mine. About the way he waited at my locker this morning. About the way he looked at me across the lunch table like I was the only person in the room.
"Yeah," I say. "I know."
He kisses my forehead. Quick. Gentle. Then steps back.
"Go. Your bus is coming."
I get on the bus. Find a seat by the window. Watch him stand there watching me until the bus pulls away.
---
That night, I write in the new journal he hasn't given me yet (that comes later). But in my old, worn journal, I write:
*Day Four. Four days since the kiss that changed everything.*
*Today, Aurelio Santoro held my hand in the hallway at school. In front of everyone. And I let him.*
*We're together now. Officially. He's my boyfriend.*
*Writing that feels surreal. Like saying it out loud might make it disappear.*
*In Pride and Prejudice, Elizabeth Bennet tells her sister Jane: "I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."*
*That's how this feels. Like I was in the middle before I knew I'd begun. Like I've been falling for him since that first day in the library when he asked me about Juliet's choice.*
*Everyone's talking about us. I can feel it. The whispers in the hallways. The stares in the cafeteria. Sterling's thinly veiled warnings.*
*Poet says I should enjoy it. That I deserve this. That I shouldn't worry about all the ways it could go wrong.*
*But I can't help it. I've read too many books. I know how these stories end.*
*The rich boy and the poor girl. The families who disapprove. The pressure that builds until something breaks.*
*In Pride and Prejudice, it works out. Elizabeth and Darcy overcome their differences, their pride, their prejudices.*
*But in The Great Gatsby, Daisy chooses Tom. Safety over love. Money over dreams. The practical choice.*
*I don't know which story this is yet.*
*All I know is that Aurelio Santoro held my hand today, and called me his girlfriend, and for those few hours, I let myself believe in happy endings.*
*Even though the logical part of my brain knows better.*
*Even though I can already see the cracks forming in the distance.*
*Even though Sterling's words keep echoing in my head: "Just remember that when reality sets in."*
*When. Not if.*
*When.*
I close the journal. Look at my phone. There's already a text from him.
**Aurelio:** Home safe?
**Me:** Yeah. You?
**Aurelio:** Yeah. My mom asked about you.
My stomach drops.
**Me:** What did you tell her?
**Aurelio:** That you're amazing. That she'll love you when she meets you properly.
**Aurelio:** Which is this Saturday. Dinner. If you're ready.
I stare at that message for a full minute.
Dinner with his family. With his mother who definitely has opinions about who her son dates. With his father who's probably just as status-conscious. In their North End brownstone that probably costs more than I'll make in my entire life.
Every instinct screams *run*.
But I think about his hand in mine. About the way he looked at me today. About how he chose to walk me to my bus stop instead of just going home.
**Me:** Okay. Saturday.
**Aurelio:** Really?
**Me:** Really.
**Aurelio:** You're brave, you know that?
**Me:** Or stupid.
**Aurelio:** Brave. Definitely brave.
**Aurelio:** I'll pick you up at 6?
**Me:** Okay.
**Aurelio:** Cassia?
**Me:** Yeah?
**Aurelio:** Thank you. For giving this a chance. For giving us a chance.
I don't know how to respond to that. How to tell him that I'm terrified but I'd rather be terrified with him than safe without him.
So I just write:
**Me:** Thank you for waiting atmy locker this morning. **Aurelio:** I'll wait at your locker every morning if you want me to.
**Me:** That's very boyfriend of you.
**Aurelio:** I'm learning.
**Me:** You're doing good so far.**Aurelio:** Good night, Cassia.
**Me:** Good night, Aurelio.
I put my phone down. Stare at the ceiling of my small room in my small apartment in my small life that suddenly feels enormous.
I have a boyfriend.
Aurelio Santoro is my boyfriend.
And on Saturday, I'm meeting his family.
*When reality sets in,* Sterling had said.
I guess Saturday is when reality sets in.