Burning Between Lines

The classroom smelled like old textbooks, marker ink, and the kind of tension that only the last year of high school could bring. Pearl Donovan sat by the window, sunlight brushing the edge of her cheekbone like it had a crush on her. She didn’t look up when the door opened. She didn’t have to. She knew who it was by the way the room shifted—by the whispers, the way someone dropped a pen just to get a better look. Prince Ellington. He walked like the world belonged to him and paused like he was considering whether or not to let you have a piece of it. “Late again, Mr. Ellington,” the teacher muttered without looking up. “Fashionably,” he replied, sliding into the seat behind Pearl. His voice carried a smirk. Pearl kept her eyes on her notebook. Her handwriting was perfect, controlled. Her pulse wasn’t. He always sat behind her. Always late. Always too close. “Pearl,” he said under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear. “You get the homework done?” She didn’t turn around. “Maybe you’d know if you showed up on time.” A beat. Then his low laugh. “I missed your voice,” he said casually. She rolled her eyes, but her hand paused mid-sentence. He couldn’t see it, but she hated that he could still affect her like this. They weren’t friends. Not exactly. They weren’t enemies either. But whatever they were? It buzzed under the surface like static waiting to snap. Mr. Harris droned on about symbolism in literature. Prince tapped his pen against the desk once, twice. Pearl told herself to focus. But she could feel him behind her—his gaze, his grin, the heat of him like sunlight on skin. And for just a second, she wondered what would happen if she turned around. Pearl shifted in her seat, forcing her attention back to the open textbook in front of her. It wasn’t the first time Prince tried to distract her, and it wouldn’t be the last. That was just his thing—charm, flirt, disrupt. But never fully commit. That made him dangerous. Mr. Harris scribbled something on the whiteboard, droning about metaphors in The Great Gatsby. Around her, students scrolled their phones under desks or fought sleep with energy drinks. But Pearl always paid attention—even when she didn’t have to. Control was her armor, and knowledge was her shield. Behind her, Prince whispered again. “Let me borrow your notes.” “No.” “Please?” She smirked. He couldn’t see it, but somehow she knew he felt it. “You’re too used to getting your way,” she said quietly. “And you’re too used to being untouchable.” That caught her off guard. Just a second too long. Her pen stopped again. She finally turned her head—just slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye. He was leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head like he was king of the damn world. His uniform shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing a silver chain and smooth, bronze skin beneath. His gaze met hers, steady and unreadable. Their eyes held for just a breath too long. Then she turned back. “You’re wasting your charm on the wrong girl,” she said. His voice came low, softer this time. “Who said I was trying to charm you?” Pearl didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The electricity already crackled between them, unspoken and unavoidable. When the bell finally rang, it was both a relief and a disappointment. She stood, slipping her bag over one shoulder. Prince rose behind her, and for a second, their hands brushed. Barely. A spark passed between them like static. She didn’t look back. But he watched her walk away. Outside the classroom, the hallway buzzed with noise—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, teenage energy building toward its usual chaos. Pearl walked like she had somewhere important to be, even when she didn’t. That was another rule she lived by: never let them see you idle. She made it three steps before a voice called after her. “Pearl.” She stopped, turned, eyebrows raised. Prince stood a few feet away, slouched against the wall like the rules of gravity didn’t apply to him. “You ever let anyone in?” he asked. She blinked. “You ask a lot of personal questions for someone who barely shows up to class.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’m curious.” “Then you’ll be disappointed.” He pushed off the wall, stepping closer, just enough to make her heart tick faster—but not enough to let anyone else notice. “I doubt that.” And with that, he walked past her—cool, confident, maddening. Pearl stood still for a moment, the hallway noise blurring behind her. Maybe she’d regret it later. But she turned to watch him walks away.Pearl shook herself from the moment and walked toward the stairwell, heels clicking softly against the tile. She needed space, distance, air. The rooftop was her secret—barly anyone went up there since the access door was always slightly jammed. But she knew how to push it open just right. She liked the view from up there. The way the city stretched on, unapologetically alive. She shoved the door open with her shoulder, stepping into the early afternoon sun. The wind caught her hair and her breath at once. She exhaled slowly, leaning against the metal railing. This was where she thought best. Where she could drop the act for just a moment. She closed her eyes. “You always disappear like this?” a voice said from behind. Her eyes flew open. She turned, heart lurching. Prince stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, watching her with a look that wasn’t cocky—just calm. Intent. She should’ve been annoyed. She should’ve told him to leave. Instead, she stayed quiet. “I figured you were either hiding from someone,” he said, “or from yourself.” She narrowed her eyes. “You followed me.” “I was curious.” “You’re always curious,” she said. “But never serious.” His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Maybe that’s not true with you.” Something fluttered inside her chest—and she hated that he could make her feel that with a few simple words. “Don’t try to get close,” she said, turning her back to him, facing the skyline again. “It won’t end well.” He stepped up beside her, but didn’t crowd her. Just close enough to share the silence. “I’m not trying anything,” he said. “I just like the view.” She looked at him from the corner of her eye. He wasn’t staring at the city. He was staring at her. The bell rang again, distant through the wind. Pearl turned away, brushing past him as she headed back inside. His hand grazed hers—just barely. A question hung in the air between them. Neither of them asked it. Not yet.