[Willa’s POV]
The sun was high in the sky, shining directly onto the bleachers at the Palisades field when I arrived. I was about thirty minutes early from the ti Andrew and I had agreed on.
Not out of anxiety, or politeness. I just... had free ti.
My mom wasn’t ho, and my stepdad was locked in his office working on one of his "cinematic masterpieces." So I preferred this instead.
I sat alone, off to the side of the bleachers. Dark jeans, boots, a plain white t-shirt under my black jacket. Hair down. I could’ve passed for just another student, watching practice.
But I wasn’t. I noticed it right away from the glances. A few guys looked at sideways. Not in a bad way. Just curious.
Who’s she? Is she new? Is she famous?
It happens a lot.
And honestly, I don’t mind.
If I were a student at Palisades, I’d probably be popular. I’m sure of it. Modesty? No, realism.
But I’m not a Palisades student, even if it’d be fun to go to school with Andrew, Howard, and Leonard.
So barely anyone here knows . Maybe a few have seen at Friday night gas, sitting with Andrew’s group of friends.
I’m not a football fan.
I don’t care who caught how many yards or what defense formation they used, but I get the ga. Thanks to my stepdad, who spent years trying to drag into his Sunday rituals in front of the TV.
And because, ever since I beca friends with Andrew, and his other geeky friends like , I’ve gone to more gas than I ever thought I would.
Still, I’d rather spend a quiet Friday night at ho watching the Spider-Man trilogy or sothing like that.
But when he plays... it’s different. My eyes went straight to Andrew on the field.
Helt on. Moving effortlessly. Under the sun, calling plays, organizing formations, throwing with annoying precision.
He’s a full-on nerd. Loves comics. Knows way too much about Star Wars. Has strong and controversial opinions about Marvel.
And yet... he’s a ridiculously talented quarterback. And when I say ridiculously, I an RIDICULOUSLY.
It’s like watching a machine built to win. Precision, leadership, focus.
It’s actually kind of annoying how good he is at everything related to football. His na shows up in local articles, state rankings, in conversations between coaches who say things like:
"That guy could play Division 1 right now if he wanted to."
And yet, there he is. In Division 4. Leading a team that used to be nobody... until he showed up.
There’s sothing fascinating about that.
Sothing I don’t say out loud.
I rested my elbows on my knees and clasped my hands, watching as he ran another play.
And to think that in a few hours, I’m going to teach him how to fake a heart attack.
Yeah. This’ll be our third acting lesson.
Not that I consider myself a great teacher, but... I know what I’m doing. I have my thods. I respect the craft.
And Andrew... well, Andrew sucks. But he tries with everything he’s got, and that makes him tolerable, and even kind of adorable.
The first lesson was a disaster. The second one was better. Today, we’ll see if he survives the third without yelling at him for the millionth ti.
The funny thing is that he lets direct him. He listens and respects . And despite my grouchy tone and my demands like so 40-year-old thod actress, he keeps trying.
He doesn’t give up.
And I like that more than I care to admit.
Although, let’s be honest, the idea behind the prank is insane. Faking a heart attack in front of his family just to win an internal Halloween war with his aunt...
That’s like two steps away from creative psychopathy.
And still, I think it’s brilliant.
Over-the-top? Yes.
Morbid? Also yes.
Fun? Without a doubt.
One more throw, another perfect pass, right on target. I wonder if he ever misses.
Just then, the whistle blew, and Andrew and his teammates started walking toward the coach.
Right as I was about to lower my gaze and check my phone, I noticed Andrew saw .
He looked surprised to see this early, but raised his hand and greeted with his usual enthusiastic smile.
And I... without thinking too much... waved back. I raised my hand too, trying to match it with a smile.
A smile?
What the hell am I doing?
I don’t smile.
Not automatically.
Was it kind? Friendly? Stupid? I’m not sure. Maybe I just tried to match his energy.
I lowered my hand slowly. The smile faded just as quickly. I cleared my throat, even though there was no one to explain anything to.
Finally, about fifteen minutes later, practice ended. I watched as the team started to disperse. So of them stayed sprawled out on the grass like they’d just survived a war.
Andrew, as always, didn’t look tired. Like his body was on a completely different level.
I saw him looking at , and he walked over.
He ca straight toward the bleachers, still wearing his chest protector, arms marked by the afternoon sun.
"You got here early," he said, in his usual friendly tone, wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel.
"Yeah, I had so free ti..." I replied, shrugging.
"You’ll have the great honor of being your chauffeur," I added with a smile. I had just recently gotten my driver’s license.
"Will I still be alive after the trip?" he asked with a slight teasing smile.
I frowned. Only this idiot dared to criticize my driving skills to my face... and with a smile on top of it.
"I drive fast, yes. So what?" I shot back, raising an eyebrow. "But I’m not a criminal. I never go over the speed limit."
Well... almost never.
"I always go exactly at the legal limit. Technically legal. And my reflexes are flawless. I have perfect coordination. I could dodge cones with my eyes closed if I wanted to."
He didn’t say anything, but his smile stayed, like he knew he was annoying on purpose.
"Mm... you sound very confident. Pulling that off, driving at high speed with your eyes closed, doesn’t seem easy," he said.
"You’re not one to talk. I’ve seen you riding your bike, no helt, fast, no brakes..." I replied, squinting at him.
"Are you scared?" I added with a teasing smile.
"No, of course not," he replied instantly, sounding half-offended.
"It’s just that I ca on my bike today. I can’t leave it here," he added.
"Relax, I’ve got space," I said. "I ca in a truck. We can throw it in the back."
Andrew looked at like he was picturing it for a second. "A truck? What are you, a lesbian?"
I couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that comnt. He’d definitely get canceled if he said that to another girl.
"I’m not a lesbian. My mom took the car, so I ended up with my stepdad’s truck. It was either that or walk three miles," I replied with a smile.
"Alright," he said with a brief nod. "Then we’re going in your truck."
He paused and added, "Just wait five minutes, no more. Quick shower and change. I promise I won’t sll like sweat during our intense acting session."
"I appreciate that," I said, crossing my arms.
Just as he was turning around, I asked, "And Pippa?"
I asked it without any tone, just curiosity. She’d been there for the first two lessons.
I assud it was for obvious reasons.
It’s not like I was a threat, but I wasn’t a total stranger either.
And well... not every boyfriend looks great rehearsing dramatic scenes with another girl without raising so kind of red flag.
And even if I’d never say it out loud, I hated the idea of anyone lumping into the "girl who goes after guys with girlfriends" stereotype.
God, I’m not one of those girls who chase taken guys. And if a guy cheats on his girlfriend, I’d feel disgusted by him.
"She’s not coming," he said. "She has two exams tomorrow and needs to study. And with Halloween tonight, she won’t have much ti."
I nodded without saying anything else. Just watched him walk away.
He was literally back in five minutes, already changed, his hair still damp, and his backpack slung over one shoulder.
We went to get his bike. Walked to the school parking lot. Since it was a public school, security wasn’t exactly a challenge. I got in without any fuss. Andrew loaded the bike into the back with ease.
We got in, buckled up, I started the engine, and we drove off.
For a while, neither of us said anything. It wasn’t awkward. Just... calm.
"This won’t get you in trouble?" I finally asked, glancing slightly toward him without taking my eyes off the road.
"What do you an?"
"This," I said. "The class. At your house. You and . Alone. Considering you have a girlfriend."
There was a brief pause.
It’s not like I was expecting anything. Neither was he. But I knew how girls perceived things.
Even I, if I had a hypothetical boyfriend who spent ti with another girl at his house, in acting lessons... depending on the context, I’d probably feel uncomfortable.
Not out of distrust. Just instinct.
"No," he replied without hesitation. "She’s not bothered by it."
"You sure?"
"Yes. Actually... I was the one who invited her to the previous lessons. She didn’t invite herself."
I frowned. That caught off guard. "Seriously?"
"Yeah. I just figured, since we were going to be at my place, I didn’t want there to be any misunderstandings," he said with a shrug.
I stayed quiet for a second.
"I thought it was the other way around," I finally admitted.
"That she joined because, I don’t know, she didn’t want to leave you alone with another girl. You know, what you’d expect from any teenage girl dating the popular quarterback," I added with a smile.
Andrew laughed and then continued, "It was my decision. Not because I think you have feelings for . Or that you’d try anything."
"Thanks for clarifying," I said with a half-smile, not offended in the slightest.
"It’s just that I had a similar experience once. I used to go running with a friend, literally just running, and well... it caused so issues. It’s all resolved now. She trusts . But still... I prefer to avoid unnecessary tension."
I nodded silently. Rational. Honest. Practical.
Very Andrew.
But also... very thoughtful.
When we got to his house, I parked in the driveway. We got out of the truck. He unloaded his bike with one arm... Seriously, how strong is he?
The front yard was decorated with orange garlands and cardboard bats fluttering in the wind. It was clear Halloween was taken seriously in this house.
Inside, Cam was in the main living room, bent over a little table with Lily, who was in her baby seat, happily playing with a smiling skull and a plush spider. All of it, of course, in a perfectly "adorably spooky" aesthetic.
"Hi, sweetheart!" said Cam, looking up with a smile. "Oh, are we continuing the intense acting lessons with the famous teacher today?"
"Famous for yelling and growling," Andrew replied shalessly, dropping his backpack on the coat rack.
"Shut up," I whispered, still smiling, as I elbowed him in the ribs.
"Hi, Willa," said Cam, turning toward with his usual warmth. "You know you’re welco in this house anyti, right?"
"As long as no one asks to dress up, we’re good," I replied, raising a hand in a peace gesture.
Andrew turned slightly toward with that half-smile I know way too well.
"The irony of an actress who doesn’t want to dress up on Halloween..."
I looked at him. Raised an eyebrow, "Are you trying to suffer today? Because you’re earning every ticket, Pritchett."
He chuckled quietly and raised his hands in surrender, "I’m silent. Nothing but humility and respect."
"Too late," I said as we walked into the living room, "No rcy."
Third lesson.
We sat in the living room.
Well, he sat. I stood in front of him, folder in hand, like a casting director ready to ruin soone’s day.
He didn’t give up, despite how strict I am. Which is both impressive and a warning sign of how stubborn he can be.
And he wanted to pull this "prank" on his aunt Claire as if it were a high-budget theatrical production. No clumsy falls or hands-on-chest like a low-budget soap opera.
He wanted her to believe, at least for one real second—that her nephew was dying right in front of her.
And yes, that might sound psychopathic, but I like it, and I think her reaction would be hilarious if we pull it off.
"Alright..." I said, exhaling slowly. "You know the theory. We’ve practiced body control, shallow breathing, the leg tremble. This ti I want to see it all together. Fluid and natural. Not forced."
"We have little ti..." Andrew nodded, frowning at the clock. He knew we were running short on ti.
"Then let’s not waste any," I said. "Visualize the scene. Close your eyes."
He did so obediently.
"Now think of this, you don’t know exactly when your aunt will pull her prank. And that’s the beauty of it. You’ll be off guard. Maybe relaxed. Maybe busy. Maybe just walking. And suddenly... bam. Scare."
"That scare," I continued, "is your cue. Your emotional trigger to start the performance."
Andrew nodded again, eyes still closed. I watched him. He had improved since the first lesson, I won’t lie about that.
Back in the first class, he looked like a robot reciting dical instructions. Now, at least, he looked human.
But I also... know Claire. Not well, but enough to know she’s a perfectionist, controlling, and notices every detail.
She’s not easy to fool.
Forty minutes passed. I had given him more tips. More examples. More references. We tried with sound. Without sound. Repeated the fall in slow motion. We tried everything.
But it was almost six.
And because of what Andrew had said earlier, he had to be at his aunt’s house around seven. There was no ti left, he needed to get ready, and pushing further would only overload him.
He let himself fall back onto the couch, sighing in frustration.
"I’m not going to pull this off," he said, not dramatically, just with real exhaustion. "I should’ve started this weeks ago. Not five days ago."
I stayed quiet.
Not because I had nothing to say.
But because... he was right.
"If I do it now and ss it up... Claire won’t believe it. And not just that, she’ll laugh at my terrible acting, and how my prank sucked and hers was the winner this year..."
He ran a hand over his face, closing his eyes for a second, "I’d rather save it for next year. Have more ti. Do it right. A prank like that is only worth it if it’s executed perfectly."
I kept looking at him in silence, sitting on the edge of the couch across from him, the folder still open beside , "So what are you going to do this year?"
He opened his eyes, looked at , and shrugged.
"I don’t know. Sothing improvised. A classic jumpscare. Throw a fake spider on her or hide in a closet. It won’t be much... Looks like this year is Claire’s."
His voice had a mix of resignation and frustration. He didn’t like losing.
So I don’t know why I said it. Or how it even ca to . It just ca out.
"I’ll do it."
Andrew looked at , confused, "What?"
"The prank. The heart attack. You won’t do it. I will. And you’ll win," I clarified, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"How?" he asked.
"I’ll spend Halloween with you..." I replied like it was no big deal. "My family doesn’t really celebrate anyway. They were never into it. And neither was I. I usually just end up watching old horror movies, avoiding opening the door for annoying kids asking for candy."
Andrew was still looking at like he was processing the idea.
"So, when your aunt pulls her prank... I’ll be next to you. And I’ll fake the heart attack. A girl who’s not part of the family. Just a friend from your group. She gets scared. The guilt might hit harder since she nearly kills a complete stranger..." I added with a smile, and Andrew smiled too, clearly picturing the scene.
"You’d do that? I thought you weren’t really into Halloween."
"Yeah, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not like I have anything better to do," I said, shrugging. "And let’s be honest, I want to see that woman’s face when her soul drops to the floor."
Andrew smiled. "That’s gonna be amazing. Thanks, Willa."
"Don’t thank just yet," I warned him. "If it all goes well, you’ll owe one."
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