By Monday, the tension had a life of its own.
It followed me through the halls.
Sat beside me in class.
Stared at me across the cafeteria.
Marcelo Rivera was losing his cool.
And everyone could see it.
“Okay, what did you do to him?” my best friend whispered as we walked in.
“I didn’t do anything,” I said, opening my locker.
“Then why does he look like he wants to fight someone?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I knew why.
And part of me—just a small, dangerous part—liked it.
Chemistry again.
Same room. Same tension.
But this time, Daniel didn’t hesitate. He sat next to me like it was his spot now.
“Hey,” he said, smiling. “You free after school? I still need help.”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
“Cool,” he said. “Maybe we can grab something after?”
I paused.
That wasn’t just t
