Sophie couldn't stop replaying the moment from the previous class in her head. The memory of Ethan's polite nod and the way her chest had tightened at the sight of it kept looping like a broken record.
She wasn't even sure why she felt this way. He hadn't said a word to her yet, and they hadn't even worked on anything together beyond glancing at each other. But somehow, just seeing him in that brief moment had made the rest of her day feel… different.
"It was just a nod, Sophie," she whispered, her voice sounding scratchy and far away. "People nod at dogs. People nod at mailboxes. It doesn't mean your souls are tethered by the red string of fate."
By the time she reached the school gates, the air was crisp, smelling of damp asphalt and the faint, sugary scent of the bakery down the street. Sophie clutched the straps of her backpack so hard her knuckles turned white. Every charcoal-grey hoodie she saw in the distance made her breath hitch, only for her to feel a wave of stupid relief, and a sharp sting of disappointment when it turned out to be someone else.
"Morning, slowpoke," Lila's cheerful voice pulled Sophie out of her spiraling thoughts. "Lost in some deep existential crush thoughts again?"
Sophie's stomach twisted. How did Lila always know? She had tried so hard to act normal, to blend in and not make a scene, but apparently, her "subtle glances" were anything but subtle.
"I'm just… noticing things," Sophie mumbled, hoping it would sound casual enough to pass.
"Noticing things?" Lila repeated, clearly amused. "That's code for crushing. Admit it, Sophie. You're smitten."
Sophie groaned and shoved her notebook into her bag. "It's not like that," she muttered, but her cheeks betrayed her, coloring pink.
"Uh-huh," Lila said, her voice dripping with skepticism. "Totally believable. Except for the part where you've looked at the entrance of the school fourteen times in the last sixty seconds. You're staring, Sophie. Your 'subtle' is everyone else's 'glaring.'"
"I'm not staring!" Sophie hissed, ducking her head as they entered the main hallway. The roar of a hundred conversations hit her like a wall of sound—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, and the chaotic energy of teenagers who had far too much caffeine. "I'm just... observing the flow of traffic. For safety."
"Right. Safety," Lila giggled, nudging Sophie with her shoulder. "Well, 'Safety' is currently standing by his locker near the water fountain. And he looks particularly 'safe' today in that denim jacket."
Sophie's heart did a violent jolt. Her eyes moved before she could stop them.
There he was.
Ethan was leaning against a locker, his head tilted as he listened to a tall guy on the basketball team tell a story. He looked relaxed—infuriatingly so. While Sophie felt like she was vibrating at a frequency high enough to shatter glass, Ethan looked like he had just woken up from a refreshing nap in a field of lavender.
"Don't look," Sophie whispered to herself, even as she kept looking.
She noticed something new: when he listened, he didn't just wait for his turn to speak. He actually focused on the person talking, his expression serious and attentive. It was a small detail, but it felt like a treasure Sophie had just unearthed.
"Earth to Sophie!" Lila exclaimed, snapping her fingers directly in front of Sophie's nose. "You're doing the thing again. The 'brain-melting' thing. If you keep standing in the middle of the hallway like a statue, you're going to get run over by the freshman football team."
Sophie blinked, realizing she had actually stopped walking. Her face went from pink to a deep, agonizing crimson. She scrambled to catch up to Lila, her sneakers squeaking awkwardly on the linoleum. "I'm fine. I'm totally fine."
"You're the opposite of fine," Lila teased, swinging her bag. "You're smitten. You're in the deep end, Soph, and you forgot your floaties."
---
Second period was a blur of misery and longing. Sophie sat in English Lit, staring at a copy of The Great Gatsby, but the words were just black ants crawling across the page.
Why does he make everything look so easy? she wondered, her pen hovering over her notebook. He's new. He should be the one who's nervous. He should be the one worried about where to sit or who to talk to.
Instead, she was the one who felt like an intruder in her own school. She started a list in the back of her notebook, hiding it behind her hand:
Things I know about Ethan:
- He nods back.
- He wears denim and grey.
- He actually listens when people talk.
- His hair is annoying. (Because I want to touch it.)
She immediately crossed out the fourth point with so much force she almost ripped the paper. Get a grip, Sophie. You are a rational human being.
But then, the teacher, Mrs. Gable, called for silence. "Alright class, before we start the discussion on Gatsby's obsession, I need to hand back your mid-term essays."
As Mrs. Gable walked around the room, the tension in Sophie's chest tightened. She reached for her water bottle, her palms feeling strangely clammy. She took a sip, but just as she did, the door to the classroom opened.
A student from the office walked in with a stack of papers, and trailing behind him was Ethan. He was supposed to be in the library for his study hall, but apparently, he was being moved to this section.
Sophie choked.
A small, undignified spray of water escaped her mouth, landing directly on her copy of The Great Gatsby. She coughed, her face turning purple as she tried to be silent and invisible while simultaneously dying of embarrassment.
Lila, sitting two seats away, didn't even try to hide her laughter. She ducked her head into her hoodie, her shoulders shaking with silent mirth.
Ethan didn't see the water incident, thankfully but he did have to walk past her row to get to the only empty seat in the back. As he passed, the scent of his laundry detergent, something clean and crisp, like rain drifted over her.
Sophie held her breath until her lungs burned.
He's here. He's in this room. For the next fifty minutes, we are breathing the same recycled air.
It was a terrifying thought. The overthinking, which had been a low-grade hum all morning, suddenly turned into a roar. Every time she shifted in her seat, she wondered if the sound was annoying him. Every time she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, she wondered if he could see the back of her head and think it looked messy.
She spent the rest of the hour in a state of hyper-awareness. She didn't hear a single word about Gatsby. She was too busy being the protagonist of her own tragedy: The Girl Who Could Not Act Normal.
When the final bell finally rang, Sophie felt like she had just finished a marathon. She gathered her things with shaky hands, desperate to escape to the sanctuary of her bedroom where she could overthink in peace.
But as she stepped into the crowded hallway, the universe decided she hadn't suffered enough.
The hallway was a bottleneck of students moving toward the exit. Sophie was swept along in the current, her shoulder brushing against lockers and backpacks. She was looking down, checking her phone to avoid eye contact with anyone, when the person in front of her stopped abruptly.
Sophie slammed right into a firm, solid back.
"Oh! I'm so sorry, I wasn't ..." she started, the apology tumbling out of her mouth before she even looked up.
The person turned around.
It was him.
Ethan looked down at her, a look of mild surprise on his face. Up close, he was taller than he seemed in class, and the denim of his jacket looked soft and worn. For a heartbeat, Sophie was paralyzed. She was close enough to see the small, pale scar near his eyebrow.
"It's fine," he said.
His voice was exactly how she had imagined it, low, calm, and slightly gravelly, like he had just woken up. He didn't look annoyed. He didn't look angry. He just gave her that same, small, polite nod from the day before.
"Watch your step," he added, a hint of something, maybe a ghost of a smile? flickering in his eyes before he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Sophie stood frozen in the middle of the hallway, students swerving around her like she was a rock in a river. Her heart wasn't just fluttering anymore; it was doing a full-blown drum solo.
"You're so screwed," a voice whispered in her ear.
Lila had appeared out of nowhere, her eyes wide with delight. "He spoke to you. He literally told you to watch your step. That's practically a marriage proposal in high school years."
Sophie didn't even have the energy to tell her to shut up. She just stood there, her skin still tingling where she had bumped into him, the smell of rain and laundry detergent lingering in the air.
Lila was right. She was utterly, hopelessly, and dangerously screwed.