Wrong Number, right person

There were three things Lena Carter knew for certain. One: Westbridge High School cared more about football than oxygen. Two: Ethan Brooks had never met a mirror he didn't like. Three: her Monday morning was already ruined, and it was only 8:07 a.m. "Are you seriously writing that?" Mia asked, leaning over Lena's shoulder as they walked through the crowded hallway. Lena immediately covered her notebook. "No." Mia raised an eyebrow. "You're literally holding a pen and a notebook with his name written at the top." "I'm brainstorming." "You wrote 'Reasons Ethan Brooks Is The Human Equivalent Of A School Announcement'?" Lena looked down at her page. "Okay, when you say it out loud, it sounds slightly biased." "Slightly?" Lena closed the notebook. "Fine. Extremely accurate." Westbridge High had a strange energy on Monday mornings. Half the students looked like they hadn't slept. The other half were still celebrating Friday night's football win as if they'd played every minute of the game themselves. The football team had won again. Of course, they had. The school banners hanging from the ceiling still hadn't been taken down from last season's championship run. Ethan Brooks' face was practically printed on every surface. Captain. Quarterback. Student favorite. The school's golden boy. Lena thought the golden part was a little suspicious. "You know," Mia said, "most people don't write articles about people they hate." "I don't hate him." Mia gave her a look. "Okay," Lena corrected. "I strongly dislike his existence." "That sounds healthier." "It is." Before Mia could respond, a group of football players walked past them, laughing loudly. In the middle was Ethan Brooks. Lena instantly recognized the confidence. It wasn't just that Ethan was popular. Popular people usually knew they were popular. Ethan acted like the entire world was a room he had already been invited into. What bothered Lena wasn't just that Ethan was popular. It was that nobody ever questioned him. Teachers admired him. Students defended him. Coaches praised him. Meanwhile, she'd had to earn every bit of respect she'd ever received. He was tall, athletic, annoyingly good-looking, and somehow managed to look relaxed even when everyone else was struggling. Lena disliked that most of all. Because she had worked hard for everything. Every article she wrote. Every grade she earned. Every achievement she collected. Meanwhile, Ethan had the irritating ability to walk into any room, flash that effortless smile, and make everyone act as if he belonged there. Lena couldn't decide what annoyed her more. The smile or the fact that it actually worked. She folded her arms and leveled him with a look. "Maybe if footballers spent half as much time reading as they do throwing balls around, you'd actually understand my article." A few students laughed. Ethan shook his head. "There she is." "Who is?" "The girl who thinks winning an argument counts as a personality." Lena stepped closer. "And there you are." "Me?" "The guy who thinks throwing a ball makes him qualified to have opinions." For a moment, neither of them spoke. The hallway noise seemed to disappear. Then the warning bell rang. Ethan grabbed his backpack. "See you around, Carter." "Unfortunately." He walked away, still smiling. As he disappeared into the crowd, he bent to help a freshman pick up a pile of books scattered across the floor. Lena caught the gesture. She frowned. "Show-off." And Lena hated that she noticed. Not the smile. Definitely not the smile. She hated that she noticed anything about Ethan Brooks at all. By lunch, Lena had already decided the day was officially against her. First, her history teacher assigned a ten-page research paper. Second, the newspaper printer jammed three times. Third, Mia had spent the entire morning reminding her that arguing with Ethan Brooks before the first period was basically giving him free entertainment. "He smiled after you insulted him," Mia said, stabbing her fork into her salad. "That was probably a facial malfunction." "Lena." "What?" "You know normal people don't analyze someone's facial expressions after insulting them." "I'm not analyzing." "You just called his smile a malfunction." Lena opened her juice box. "That was a scientific observation." Across from them, Noah, another member of the newspaper staff, shook his head. "You two are exhausting." Lena looked offended. "We are not." "You absolutely are." Mia nodded. "It's like watching two lawyers argue over a case neither of them wants to lose." "I always win," Lena said. Noah raised a finger. "See? That. That's why people think you and Ethan secretly enjoy fighting." Lena almost choked. "Enjoy?" "Yes." "I would rather spend an entire weekend organizing old newspaper files." Noah looked horrified. "Okay, that might actually be worse." The table laughed. Despite her complaints, Lena liked moments like this. The newspaper room was the one place in school where she didn't feel like she had to compete. No expectations. No popularity contests. No football players acting like they owned the building. Unfortunately, Westbridge High never let anyone forget who ran the social hierarchy. Especially not during football season. After school, Lena stayed behind in the newspaper office to finish editing an article. The building slowly emptied until the loud hallway became quiet. She preferred it this way. Quiet meant thinking. Thinking meant writing. Writing meant she could control something. Her phone buzzed beside her laptop. A notification. She glanced down. It was from an online discussion forum she occasionally used. Mostly teenagers complaining about school, parents, homework, and the general tragedy of existing before eighteen. She smiled slightly. Teenagers were dramatic. Including herself. Especially herself. She clicked through a few posts before replying to one about feeling pressured to be perfect. A few seconds later, a message appeared. Unknown: You know, replying to strangers online is usually how horror movies begin. Lena stared at the screen. Then typed. Lena: Good thing I'm not dumb enough to follow someone into a dark basement. The reply came almost instantly. Unknown: That's exactly what someone who follows people into dark basements would say. Lena smiled. She didn't even know why. Maybe because he was funny. Maybe because he didn't know who she was. For once, nobody expected her to be the smart girl with the perfect answers. Online, nobody cared about school rankings or popularity. Nobody cared that she was the girl who argued with Ethan Brooks in the hallway. She was just Lena. Lena: You're annoying. Unknown: You replied, so technically you enjoy being annoyed. She rolled her eyes. Lena: Your logic is terrible. Unknown: And yet you're still here. She hated that he had a point. Before she could respond, her phone slipped slightly in her hand. She accidentally clicked an old contact. A message sent. She froze. "Oh no." The number wasn't saved. Just a string of digits. The message read: I swear if Ethan Brooks says one more word tomorrow, I'm transferring schools. Lena stared at the screen. Her stomach dropped. She had sent that to a stranger. Three dots appeared. Someone was typing. Then: Unknown: Strong opening message. I assume I'm either supposed to offer emotional support or help you choose a new school. Lena covered her face. This was humiliating. She typed back quickly. Lena: Wrong number. Ignore that. A pause. Then: Unknown: Too late. Now I need to know who Ethan Brooks is and why he apparently has the power to make people consider leaving civilization. Despite herself, Lena laughed. She should stop replying. She knew that. Talking to strangers online was probably a terrible idea. But for some reason... She typed back. Lena: Unfortunately, explaining Ethan Brooks would take more than a few messages. A reply appeared more quickly this time. Unknown: That's fine. I've got all the time in the world. Lena stared at the screen for a moment. She didn't know his name. She didn't know what he looked like. She had no idea that the stranger she was texting was the very person she'd spent years clashing with. All she knew was that, for the first time that day... She smiled at the screen. She had no idea the stranger she'd accidentally texted was the very boy she could barely stand for years.