Kara had to swallow every last shred of her pride as she slowly pushed herself up from her seat. Her palms pressed flat against the cold laminate of the desk, fingers splayed as if she were silently begging it to hold her upright. The scrape of the chair legs against the tiled floor sounded painfully loud in her ears, even though the room buzzed with low conversation and the hum of fluorescent lights.
Her gaze stayed fixed on her hands—pale, tense—before drifting down to the worn backpack slouched at her feet. The zipper was half-broken. One strap was fraying. Figures.
She bent down and lifted it with deliberate slowness, stalling, hoping—stupidly—that time might stretch or the teacher might change her mind. But no. The seating chart projected on the smartboard glowed like a sentence already passed.
Partner: fuck-face Adam.
She straightened and began the walk.
Each step felt like dragging a thousand pounds of dead weight behind her.
Probably how much he fucking weighs, she thought bitterly. Big football idiot. He's probably gay anyway—that's why he likes football so much. Gets to grab all the guys he wants. Fucking Percy Jackson knockoff—
Kara's jaw clenched as she shot a glare into the back of Adam's head, her nails digging into the strap of her bag. He sat sprawled across his chair like he owned the place, broad shoulders filling the plastic seat, one arm slung lazily over the desk beside him. Of course he looked comfortable. Of course he didn't look like he wanted to disappear into the floor.
She reached the lab table and dropped her bag down harder than necessary before sitting beside him, stiff and robotic. Her body angled away immediately, like proximity alone offended her. She refused to look at him. Refused to speak.
The sharp scent of disinfectant and chemicals lingered in the air. Beakers and graduated cylinders sat neatly in plastic trays at the center of each island table. A faded poster of the periodic table peeled slightly at one corner on the wall.
Her raven-black hair slipped forward, curtaining her face as she hunched slightly. She could feel the heat radiating off Adam's body—too close, too warm. It made her skin crawl. She shifted away, teeth clenched, fingers tangling together as she picked at her cuticles aggressively, grounding herself in the sting.
Until—
"Hey… uh…"
Kara froze.
"You must be Kara. I'm Adam."
She didn't move.
"Your project partner," he added quickly, then hesitated. "…and the guy who accidentally threw a football at your face this morning."
That did it.
Kara snapped her head toward him, her hair whipping back sharply. Her nose was still red and slightly swollen, an old, peeling bandage from the nurse clinging to it uselessly—like a bear trying to hide behind a twig.
Adam squinted the moment he really looked at her.
"Oh. Wow."
Regret crossed his face instantly—not the fake, exaggerated kind people used when teachers were watching, but something real. His posture straightened, shoulders pulling in slightly.
"I—shit," he muttered. "I didn't realize it was that bad."
Unlike the others—the kids who had laughed, or offered shallow sympathy with smirks tugging at their mouths—Adam didn't look amused. He looked uncomfortable. Guilty.
Stillanidiot, Kara decided.
But… a genuine one.
He opened his mouth, closed it, rubbed the back of his neck. His lips parted again like he was sorting through words that refused to line up.
"I'm really sorry," he said finally. "I should've said something in the gym, but the coach wouldn't let anyone near you and—yeah. That's not an excuse. I just… I don't want any bad blood between us." He hesitated, then added, lighter, "So could you maybe stop glaring holes through the back of my head? Feels like Superman's about to laser me."
A small, crooked smile appeared.
And just like that, something in Kara loosened.
Her shoulders relaxed before she even realized it. Her glare softened. Her lips parted slightly, as if she'd seen something unexpected—something unreal.
She looked away quickly, annoyed at herself.
"It's fine," she said quietly. Then, dryly, "Just work on your aim before you start using footballs as bullets."
The words were serious, but there was a faint edge to her tone—a barely-there smirk
she didn't bother hiding.
Adam's smile widened.
His chocolate-brown eyes lit up, warm and bright, fitting his grin like the final piece of a puzzle snapping into place. He looked… happy. Effortlessly so.
The sight made something twist in Kara's chest—something unfamiliar.
She watched him silently for a second, then opened her mouth to speak—
"So," Adam cut in, suddenly flustered, "since there's like no time left in class and this project's worth thirty percent of our grade—and she only gave us two weeks—"
He snorted, shaking his head.
"—just give me your number and I'll text you my address so we can work on it. Today, if that's cool."
Kara looked down, hesitating, before slowly pulling her phone from her pocket.
A cracked, ancient flip phone.
Adam's eyes widened.
He blinked. Then smiled awkwardly.
"You… actually use that?" he asked. "I mean—it's, uh, 20XX."
Kara stiffened instantly.
Her fingers tightened around the phone, knuckles whitening. The warmth she'd felt moments ago vanished, replaced with something sharp and familiar.
Adam noticed.
"Hey—no, sorry," he said quickly. "That came out wrong. I didn't mean it like that."
He softened his voice.
"Just—give me your number. I'll text you my address. Come after school. I've got a football game, so I'll already be home when you get there."
Kara studied him for a moment, searching for judgment—and finding none.
She handed him the phone.
Their fingers brushed briefly.
Electric. Startling.
"Okay," she said quietly.
And for the first time that day, the weight on her chest felt just a little lighter.