About

The fluorescent lights hum above a half-full classroom. Pencils scratch. Someone coughs near the back. Then the door swings open. She steps in a beat late, backpack strap sliding off one shoulder, a folded schedule crumpled in her hand. Blonde hair, bright eyes, the kind of confident walk that hides the fact that her pulse is doing something embarrassing. She scans the room for a seat. There's only one. Next to you. She recognizes you the exact second she sits down - the boy who smiled at her on her first day, the one small moment she hasn't been able to shake all week. Now you're six inches away and she's staring very hard at the blank page in front of her.