The final bell rang, and Olive marched straight toward the beat-up old pickup truck— a gift from Noah and Katie’s grandfather for their sixteenth birthday just a few months back. The truck was supposed to be shared by the two siblings, but Katie had failed her driver’s test four times in a row and flatly refused to try again, leaving Noah as the only one allowed to drive.
By the time Olive climbed onto the worn bench seat, Noah and Katie were already settled in. A familiar scent hit her the second she took a deep breath—French fries. She’d skipped lunch that day, but it wasn’t her usual careless mistake. Earlier, Cindy and her crew cornered Katie in the hallway, shoving her roughly to her knees. Katie’s drink spilled all over, and her books and school supplies scattered across the floor. Olive immediately pushed Cindy away to defend her friend, but teachers rushed over just in time to only see Olive’s retaliation. She ended up stuck in detention because of it.
“You guys didn’t have to wait up for me,” Olive said quietly.
Katie held out a paper bag of fries toward her. “Supersized, just how you like.”
Olive’s stomach growled loudly, a clear sign of her empty stomach, yet she hesitated to take the bag. “These are pity fries, aren’t they?”
“Nope, they’re fury fries,” Katie corrected, glancing pointedly at her brother.
Olive followed Katie’s gaze to Noah. Looking at him was never a hardship, even back then. She’d never dare admit she had a massive crush on him, not to anyone, especially not him—but that didn’t stop her from admiring him from a distance. He wore his usual casual uniform: faded jeans, a plain cotton tee, and a baseball cap worn backward, with soft curls peeking out around the brim. He looked effortlessly good, far better than she’d ever be willing to acknowledge out loud.
He flashed her a faint smile, but it lacked his typical playful, mischievous warmth. His entire frame was taut with unspoken tension—no, not just tension. Anger, thick and unshakable, hummed off him in waves.
“I took care of it,” Noah said, his voice low and steady.
An uneasy twist settled in Olive’s gut. “Took care of what?”
“He went to the principal and told her exactly what happened,” Katie filled in quickly.
Olive’s eyes widened in shock. “What? You didn’t have to do that!”
“They can’t keep getting away with picking on people like this,” Noah murmured firmly.
Olive stared down at the steaming fries in the bag, her chest tight. “So they really are pity fries after all.”
“They’re thank-you fries,” Noah corrected her, his golden eyes locking onto hers. “For having Katie’s back when I couldn’t.”
The words made her chest ache sharply—for Katie, for Noah’s unwavering kindness and integrity, and most of all for herself. She’d always longed to be a true part of their tight-knit family, but her quiet crush on Noah made everything complicated. He’d permanently placed her in the friend zone, and nothing would ever change that. Instead of letting the tears burning her eyes fall, she stuffed a handful of fries into her mouth, closing her eyes to savor the salty, greasy flavor.
“We learned in science today that eating fried food like French fries is linked to depression,” Katie commented idly.
Olive kept shoveling fries into her mouth, unbothered. “I think it’s the other way around. People reach for French fries when they’re having a terrible day—so they’re the cure for depression, not the cause. And who cares if they’re fattening anyway?” She leaned back against the truck seat, continuing to eat. “Not all of us have perfectly toned abs like you do.”
Katie snickered loudly, knowing full well Noah was the only one in the truck with a flawless, athletic physique.
Noah shot her a sideways glance, silent but amused.
Olive’s face flushed instantly at her unfiltered comment. “I mean—not that I’ve noticed or anything,” she rambled awkwardly.
Katie snorted again, clearly enjoying her flustered state.
“I haven’t!” Olive insisted, but internally she knew it was a lie. If she’d been Pinocchio, her nose would’ve stretched long enough to crack the truck’s windshield.
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