Chapter Four
The classroom always smells like pencil shavings and body spray, which is basically the scent of suffering. I take my usual seat by the window, halfway between invisible and exposed. If you sit in the front row, teachers notice you. Back row, the assholes notice you. The middle is safer.
“Nice boots,” Mariah says as she drops into the seat beside me. Same Mariah from the corner store yesterday. Same grin that makes my stomach feel like a broken elevator.
“Thanks,” I say, keeping my voice flat. I don’t know what to do with compliments. They feel like tiny traps, waiting for me to step wrong.
She leans back, pulling her hoodie tighter. “You always dress cool. Like… not trying too hard, but also like you don’t give a fuck.”
That almost makes me laugh, because if she only knew how many times I’d changed this morning before settling on “don’t look too gay, but also don’t look too straight.” It’s not an outfit, it’s a minefield.
Before I can answer, Mr. Collins storms in, arms full of papers. “Pop quiz!” he announces like it’s a prize. Groans ripple across the room.
As everyone digs for pencils, I sneak a glance at Mariah. She’s doodling a dragon in the margin of her notebook. Not even pretending to care. I wish I could be that free—drawing dragons instead of calculating every move, every word, every stitch of clothing.
Halfway through the quiz, a folded note slides onto my desk. My pulse spikes. I unfold it under the desk, careful not to attract attention.
It says: You should hang out with me after school. – M
The words glow on the page, too bright, too dangerous. My chest is buzzing. For a second, the whole world feels like it’s holding its breath.
And then I hear it—two boys snickering behind me.
“Is it a love letter?”
“Bet it’s from a girl. Figures.”
Their laughter burns the back of my neck. I crumple the note in my fist before the teacher notices, before anyone else can see.
Mariah doesn’t look at me. She just keeps drawing her dragon, like she didn’t just set fire to my day.