Vacant
584 Words
The cards arrived the next day, fanned across my desk like a smuggled contraband. Theo's handwriting curled across a torn page taped to the queen of hearts: 3 PM. Back booth. Bring your poker face. -T
Lynne's nails dug into my arm as we huddled around the invitation. "He can't be serious. Ma'am Florence catches us with playing cards? Automatic detention."
"Maybe he wants to get caught," Sandra Lee whispered, eyeing the empty faculty lounge doorway. "Rich boy's bored."
Jemma flipped the queen over, voice trembling. "My brother got suspended for dice games behind the gym."
Theo's shadow fell over our circle before his smirk did. "Relax. We're not gambling." He dropped a velvet pouch of chocolate coins beside the deck. "Licensed educator-approved snacks. Any objections?"
Three pairs of eyes turned to me. I swallowed hard, fingers brushing the notebook in my bag where I'd scribbled Florence's schedule: Bus departs 2:45 PM.
"Wait here," I breathed.
Ma'am Florence's office smelled like bergamot and unresolved questions. Sunlight caught her silver-streaked bun as she graded papers. "Miss Milton? Shouldn't you be in—"
"Please, ma'am." My smile felt foreign, muscles straining like a diver breaching surface. "We're organizing a... bonding activity. Critical thinking through classic games. May we use the east wing booth this afternoon?"
Her pen stilled. For three heartbeats, I saw the woman from my notes—the fleeting worry when Lila forgot her lunch last week, the way she'd lingered by the sophomore lockers yesterday. Then she smiled, warm and sudden as sunrise through storm clouds. "How thoughtful. Room 207's free until four."
Theo's eyebrows shot up when I returned waving the permission slip. Jemma squeaked, "You weaponized dimples!"
Chips clinked. Chocolate coins piled higher by Lynne's trembling hands. Theo dealt the fifth round, his knee brushing mine under the table—accidentally? On purpose? The contact sent jolts up my spine every time.
"Call," Sandra Lee muttered, laying down two pairs.
Theo's gaze never left me as he revealed a straight flush. "Beginner's luck."
My cheeks burned. This wasn't luck. He'd folded three times when I bluffed, let me win the pot when Jemma nearly fainted holding a royal flush. Now his pinky tapped mine as he passed the deck—a secret Morse code I couldn't decipher.
Lynne kicked me under the table, mouthing TENSION! as Theo leaned closer to check my cards, his cologne (sandalwood and trouble) drowning the chocolate scent.
"Mr. Angeles."
We froze. Ma'am Florence stood in the doorway, but her usual sternness had melted. "I trust the critical thinking is proceeding well?"
Theo's hand covered mine beneath the table, squeezing reassurance. "Just demonstrating probability theory, ma'am."
Her gaze lingered on our joined hands. My lungs forgot how to inflate. But she simply nodded, eyes crinkling. "Carry on."
The bus seat still held afternoon warmth when I collapsed into it. Across the aisle, Ma'am Florence's usual perch sat empty until the last second. She boarded with a rustle of linen, pausing by my row.
Our eyes met. For the first time, her smile reached beyond teacherly approval—a conspiratorial gleam as she touched my shoulder. "Well played, Miss Milton."
As the engine rumbled to life, I finally noticed. No Lila in the backseat. No furtive glances. Just Ma'am Florence humming softly, watching golden hour paint the streets through rain-speckled windows.
Dear Diary,
It was the most dangerous smile I've ever witnessed—crooked at the left corner, eyes lit with unspoken challenges. Real. Fleeting. Mine alone.
- Writer
