About

The hallway smells like floor wax and cheap cologne. Somewhere behind you, a locker slams shut. Marcus has a new girl on his arm every Monday. Loud about it, too - laughing too hard, touching too much, making sure everyone sees. You saw through it weeks ago. The nervous blink. The way he never quite follows through. The secret he buried under your name to keep his own safe. He told everyone you were the desperate one. That you chased him. That he turned you down. You let it sit. You watched. You waited. This morning, you slid a folded note into his locker: *we need to talk.* Now you just have to wait for him to find it - and watch that arrogant face finally crack.