Zendaya’s POV
The cafeteria was louder than usual that afternoon, buzzing with energy that felt almost contagious. Trays clattered, chairs scraped, and conversations overlapped into a constant hum.
The smell of fried chicken and fresh pastries lingered in the air, warm and familiar. But at our table, everything felt slightly different. Maybe it was because it wasn’t just Beatrice and me anymore. Or maybe it was because Beatrice had not stopped staring at Frank since the moment he sat down.
I tried, really tried to focus on my sandwich, pretending not to notice the way her eyes kept drifting toward him every few seconds. But it was impossible to ignore. Frank, on the other hand, noticed everything.
“So,” he said casually, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world,
