Two Years Ago "Isabella, sweetheart! The boys are out back—why don't you check on them?" Mrs. Castellano's voice cut through my wandering thoughts like a blade. She stood beside my mother in the doorway, her expectant smile making my stomach clench. Check on them? That would mean facing him—the very person I'd spent months perfecting the art of avoiding. "Oh, no thank you! I'm perfectly content here with Sophie," I replied, settling deeper into the living room carpet beside the toddler. Using a three-year-old as a shield wasn't my proudest moment, but desperate times called for desperate measures. I half-heartedly moved Sophie's dolls around, but her knowing gaze suggested she saw right through my charade. My thoughts betrayed me, drifting toward the back door where I knew my brother Lucas was throwing passes with his best friend—Dante Castellano. Even thinking his name sent familiar warmth cascading through my chest, a Pavlovian response I'd never managed to shake. They'd been inseparable since childhood, these two polar opposites who somehow fit together perfectly. Lucas was sunshine personified—loud, magnetic, thriving in any spotlight. His infectious laughter and crooked grin could charm his way out of anything. Dante was his shadow made flesh. Quiet intensity radiated from him like heat from asphalt, commanding attention without seeking it. Where Lucas craved the spotlight, Dante seemed entirely indifferent to it—indifferent to everything, really. Until recently, I'd been their barely tolerated third wheel. I adored Lucas, truly. He'd always been protective of his awkward little sister, never minding when I tagged along on their adventures. But Dante... Dante minded. I couldn't blame him. The truth was mortifying in its simplicity: I'd been desperately, hopelessly in love with Dante Castellano for as long as I could draw breath. I loved the storm-gray intensity of his eyes, the way his jaw tightened when he was thinking, those rare moments when his walls crumbled and genuine laughter escaped. I loved everything about him with the devastating certainty that only comes from unrequited devotion. A reasonable person might have kept such feelings private, subtle. But I'd been five when it started—the age when subtlety doesn't exist. I'd stared at him like he'd hung the moon, spinning elaborate fantasies where he suddenly realized he loved me too. The problem? I never stopped. Even at sixteen, I'd been drowning in the same pathetic behavior, completely oblivious to his growing discomfort. Two Months Before "God, I can't believe our baby Izzy is turning sixteen today!" Maya squealed, hanging fairy lights with theatrical flair. She dabbed at imaginary tears on her freckled cheeks. "Tonight's definitely going to be your first real kiss!" "Finally!" Chloe chimed in from her spot by the sound system. "Our girl's about to get some action!" "First of all," I said, rolling my eyes, "I'm still seventy percent convinced nobody's actually coming. Second, I'm not kissing anyone tonight—there's literally no one I'd want to." The look my friends exchanged screamed delusion, and maybe they weren't wrong. Of course, there was someone. But inviting Dante directly would require actual conversation, and every time I looked into those storm-gray eyes, my brain short-circuited. Instead, I'd made Lucas pinky-swear he'd bring his best friend along. This party was my grand plan—my chance to finally show Dante I wasn't a child anymore. At sixteen, surely he'd notice I'd grown up. My mind wandered into familiar fantasy territory. In my imagined world, we'd end up paired in seven minutes in heaven. His trademark smirk would appear as he led me somewhere private, his hand finding my waist while my heart threatened to explode from pure joy... "Look at that dreamy expression!" Maya's laughter yanked me back to reality. "She's definitely making her move tonight." I sighed, rushing to finish the preparations. This party would be my catalyst—the moment I stopped being the invisible girl who only mattered because of her associations. I was determined to become someone worth remembering. The garage door's slam interrupted my final touches. Expecting guests, I started toward the entrance but froze at the sound of Dante's voice, sharp with irritation. "Seriously, Luke? What am I even doing here?" "Come on, man—she's my little sister. We'll make an appearance, then head to Scarlett's party." My heart sank. They weren't planning to stay? Who was Scarlett? If Lucas's words stung, Dante's response was devastating. "Whatever. Scarlett's been throwing herself at me all week, and you know how she gets when she's drunk—she'll grab whoever's closest. I swear, if this pathetic party costs me tonight, I'm done with you and your creepy little sister forever." They disappeared upstairs, leaving me collapsed on the cold garage floor, tears blurring my vision as my heart shattered into countless pieces. Creepy little sister. The words echoed in my skull like a death knell. Memories flooded back—every longing stare, every lovesick smile, every moment I'd thought was romantic but had actually been deeply uncomfortable for him. How many times had I caught him looking at me with barely concealed irritation while I'd been too busy swooning over his freckles to notice? The humiliation was suffocating. If Maya and Chloe could see my feelings so clearly, who else knew? Had I been the subject of pitying whispers for years? Shame crashed over me in waves as I made a desperate resolution. This schoolgirl infatuation had to die—tonight. No more daydreams, no more doodling "Mrs. Isabella Castellano" in my notebooks. I created rules that would become my survival mantra: Never look directly at Dante. Never speak directly to Dante. Never think about Dante. Never remain in the same room as Dante. If I could follow these rules—if I could convince everyone I couldn't care less about Dante Castellano—maybe I could salvage what remained of my dignity. Maybe I could finally learn to breathe again.