Eyes on You

Chapter Three (His POV): The Second Row Mafia

Chapter Two (His POV): The Second Row Mafia

By the second week, the French classroom had become my favorite territory.

I had successfully executed my 9th-grade plan. I was part of the "Second Row Mafia"—a group of us who had been friends since the end of 8th grade, all clustered together on the right side of the room. We had this unspoken agreement: we’d do just enough work to keep the teacher off our backs, but the rest of the hour was ours.

Having my boys there made me feel invincible. We spent half the period leaning back in our chairs, exchanging half-whispered jokes about the teacher’s accent or the ridiculous French dialogues we had to recite. When you’re surrounded by your best friends, you feel like you’re in a bubble. You think you’re the ones doing all the looking, all the judging, and all the laughing.

It never even crossed my mind that someone might be looking at us. Or, more specifically, at me.

My routine was solid. Every ten minutes or so, whenever the conversation with the guys hit a lull, I’d perform the move I’d perfected over the last year. I’d stretch my arms, lean my chair back on two legs, and casually swivel my head to the right.

My target was always the same: Ritika.

She was sitting three rows back, usually tucked behind her textbook. My friends knew the drill. They’d nudge me and smirk whenever I did it, and I’d just shrug it off like it was no big deal. It was a comfortable, low-stakes crush. I didn't have to talk to her. I didn't have to be "on." I just had to look. It was the easiest part of my day.

But then, the atmosphere in the room started to feel... heavy.

It started as a prickly sensation on the back of my neck. At first, I blamed it on the humid afternoon air or the stiff collar of my new uniform. But as the days went by, the feeling grew stronger. It was that specific, unmistakable twitch of the nerves you get when you realize you aren't alone.

I started noticing things I hadn't seen during the first week.

I noticed there was a girl sitting in the middle row, right in the path of my "Ritika Glance." I realized that every time I leaned back to joke with the guys, or every time I turned around to check the back of the room, she was there.

Initially, I didn't think much of it. I figured she was just another 9th grader trying to survive the syllabus. But then, during a quiet moment while the teacher was handing out those grammar worksheets, I caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye.

She wasn't looking at the teacher. She wasn't talking to the girl next to her. She was sitting very still, her eyes fixed on our row. On me.

A weird, unfamiliar spark of self-consciousness hit me. For the first time all year, I wasn't the one in control of the gaze. I felt like a specimen under a microscope. I found myself sitting up a little straighter. I stopped leaning back so far in my chair. I even caught myself checking my hair in the reflection of the window before I walked into class—a move I usually only reserved for when I knew I'd be talking to Ritika.

I tried to play it cool. I laughed even louder at my friends' jokes, trying to prove to whoever was watching that I was still the same unbothered guy from 8th grade. But the bubble was starting to leak.