Malia
By Saturday I’d already cleaned my room twice. I kept straightening my notes, smoothing the pages flat, shifting highlighters from one neat pile to another like the color order might decide whether I passed math or failed it.
Every few minutes I’d catch my reflection in the mirror, tugging my hair behind my ear or wiping off lip balm only to put it back again. It was ridiculous, but I couldn’t help it. Ethan just had that way about him calm, organized, and always looking like he belonged exactly where he was. And me? I was… trying.
Downstairs, the clock ticked slow, stretching every second until I thought I’d go insane.
When the doorbell finally rang, I nearly tripped over my own desk chair in my rush to get out. I forced myself to walk instead of sprint down the stairs, but whe
