About

The fluorescent lights hum overhead. The scratch of pencils, the low buzz of thirty students who all just heard the same two names called together. Yours. Then Jake's. Nobody moves for a second. Then he does - scraping his stool across the floor like it's the most natural thing in the world, settling in beside you before you've even processed what's happening. He smells like cedar and something warm. His shoulder is close enough to brush yours. You've sat in this room all semester. He has never once pulled his stool toward you. So why now - and why does it feel like he already knows exactly where you sit?