The period between third-period English and lunch was exactly forty-seven minutes long, but for Sophie, it felt like forty-seven years of mental preparation.
She spent the entire lesson staring at the back of Ethan's head which was becoming her favorite view and mentally rehearsing a script. It was like she was a director and a lead actress rolled into one, trying to find the perfect line that said, 'I am a cool, interesting girl who definitely doesn't think about you every five seconds.'
Option A: "Hey Ethan, how are you finding the curriculum? It's quite robust, isn't it?" Verdict: No. Too formal. She sounded like a 19th-century schoolmarm.
Option B: "The cafeteria food is basically toxic waste, right? Total disaster." Verdict: Too negative. She didn't want him to think she was a hater.
Option C: "Hi." Verdict: Safe. Boring, but safe.
By the time the bell rang, Sophie's brain was a tangled mess of scripts and stage directions. She followed the flow of students toward the cafeteria, her pulse thrumming in her ears like a heavy bassline. The smell hit her first, a combination of lukewarm tater tots, industrial-grade disinfectant, and too many people packed into one room. It was the scent of social anxiety.
"Okay, look," Lila said, appearing at her shoulder like a persistent, slightly meaner guardian angel. "He's at the window table. The one with the decent sunlight. It's like the universe is literally spotlighting him for you, Soph. If you don't go over there, I'm revoking your Best Friend card."
"I can't," Sophie hissed, her feet feeling like they were encased in lead. "Look at him. He's... he's existing. Effortlessly. I'm currently sweating through my favorite shirt and I forgot how to walk in a straight line."
"Go. Now. Or I will scream your crush's name in front of the entire student body," Lila threatened, her eyes sparkling with the kind of chaotic energy that meant she was 100% serious.
Sophie took a deep, shaky breath. "Fine. If I die of embarrassment, I want my cat to go to someone who actually likes cats."
She grabbed a plastic tray, her hands trembling so much the mystery-meat tacos rattled against the orange plastic. She scanned the room. The cafeteria was a battlefield of cliques, but the window table was an island of relative calm. Ethan was there, sitting with two other guys. He was mid-laugh, his head tilted back, showing the line of his throat.
Sophie felt a physical tug in her chest, like a hook had been snagged in her heart and was being pulled toward him.
She walked over. Every step felt like she was trekking through deep mud. Left foot. Right foot. Don't trip. For the love of everything holy, Sophie, do not trip.
The empty seat was right next to him. It felt like a trap. Or a miracle.
As she approached, Ethan looked up. The sun caught the dark amber of his eyes, and he blinked, a look of recognition crossing his face.
"Hey, Sophie," he said.
His voice was like a bucket of cold water over her burning nerves. He remembered her name. He had said it casually, like it was a word he used every day.
Sophie's brain, which had spent forty-seven minutes preparing a script, immediately deleted all files. The "Hi" she had practiced came out as a tiny, pathetic squeak—the sound a mouse might make if it stepped on a Lego.
"Hi," she squeaked.
She slid into the seat so fast she almost missed the chair entirely. Her tray landed on the table with a loud clack that drew a few looks from the nearby tables. Sophie wanted to crawl under the table and live there permanently.
"You okay?" Ethan asked, a faint, amused smile playing on his lips. "You look like you just escaped a high-speed chase."
"I... uh... the line," Sophie managed to say, her voice finally returning to a semi-human register. "The taco line. It's a war zone out there. Very intense. High stakes."
Ethan chuckled, reaching for a fry from his own tray. "Yeah, I noticed. I think I saw a freshman get tackled for the last apple."
Sophie laughed nervously, the sound a bit too loud and a bit too fast. She grabbed her fork and began to systematically destroy her taco, shredding the lettuce into tiny, uniform bits.
The silence that followed was agonizing. It was the kind of silence that felt like it had weight, pressing down on her shoulders. She needed to say something. Anything.
"So... uh... do you... want some fries?" she blurted out.
She realized two things immediately: 1. She didn't have fries. She had tacos. 2. He already had fries.
Ethan looked at her empty side-plate, then at his own half-eaten pile of fries, then back at her. He didn't laugh at her, though. He just smiled, a gentle, kind look that made the heat in her cheeks flare up again.
"I'd love some fries," he said, reaching over and taking a stray tater tot that had rolled onto her tray. He popped it into his mouth. "Thanks, Sophie. Best fries I've had all day."
Sophie felt a jolt of pure, unadulterated electricity. He's eating my tater tot. This is practically an indirect kiss. No, Sophie, stop it. You are being weird again.
"So," she said, trying to regain some shred of dignity. "You're new here. From out of town, right?"
"Yeah," Ethan said, leaning back. "Moved from the city. My dad got a job at the hospital here."
"The city?" Sophie repeated. "That's... big. This place must seem like a tiny, boring dot on a map to you."
"It's different," Ethan said, shrugging. "In the city, everything is loud. All the time. Here... it's quiet. You can actually hear yourself think. I kind of like it."
Sophie nodded frantically. "I love thinking! Thinking is great. I do it all the time. Too much, actually. My brain doesn't have an off-switch. It's like a 24-hour news cycle but only about things I'm worried about."
She stopped. Why did I just say that? Why am I telling the boy of my dreams that I have a mental health crisis?
Ethan laughed, but it wasn't a mean laugh. It was a warm, inclusive sound. "I get that," he said softly. "The off-switch is the hardest part to find."
For a moment, the cafeteria noise seemed to fade away. It was just the two of them, sitting in a pool of winter sunlight. Sophie felt a strange sense of calm wash over her. He wasn't just a "crush" or a "new boy" anymore. He was someone who understood the noise in her head.
"You seem... less nervous now," Ethan noted, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"I'm—well, I'm still 40% nervous," Sophie admitted, holding up her thumb and forefinger to show a small gap. "But the other 60% is just... enjoying the 'fries'."
Ethan laughed again, a bright, clear sound. "Good. I'm glad."
The bell rang, the harsh electronic buzz cutting through the moment. Ethan gathered his things, standing up with that effortless grace that Sophie still found deeply unfair.
"See you later, Sophie," he said, giving her a small wave.
Sophie sat there for a long moment after he left, staring at the spot where he had been. Her tacos were cold, her water was lukewarm, and Lila was already sprinting over to demand a full report.
"Did he eat your food?" Lila demanded, slamming her hands on the table. "I saw a tater tot exchange! That's basically an engagement ring in cafeteria code!"
Sophie didn't even roll her eyes. She just leaned back, a small, genuine smile on her face.
"He said he likes the quiet," Sophie whispered.
"What?"
"Nothing," Sophie said, grabbing her bag. "Let's go to class, Lila. I have a lot of thinking to do."
And for the first time in her life, the thinking didn't feel like a 24-hour news cycle of worry. It felt like a song.