Page 142 of Bad Prince
It’s lighter than Stella’s laugh.
Easier.
Less guarded.
We part at the fork in the quad.
She gives a little salute.
“See you, Vale.”
It’s harmless.
Until it isn’t.
Soon, she’s not just my class partner—she’s a fixture.
She walks into the athletic dining hall one afternoon while I’m halfway through grilled chicken and sweet potatoes.
Tray in hand.
Plops down beside me without hesitation.
Her friends trail behind her — three other soccer girls in cropped hoodies and messy ponytails.
“You’re eating clean again,” she observes, eyeing my plate.
“Always.”
She wrinkles her nose playfully.
“Live a little.”
I glance at her tray.
Salmon.
Rice.
Greens.
Also clean.
“You’re not exactly eating fries,” I point out.
She winks.
“I’m disciplined. Just fun about it.”
The guys at the table nudge each other.
Someone mutters, “Vale’s upgrading.”
I ignore it.
Isa doesn’t.
She leans closer.
