WHEN THE BELL RINGS

(Part 1 of 4) If you had told me that moving to Maplewood High would end with me falling for the school’s golden boy, I would’ve laughed and asked what movie you stole that line from. But life, apparently, loves clichés. When my mom said we were moving again, I packed my suitcase with the precision of someone who’d done it too many times. I wasn’t planning on making friends. I wasn’t planning on falling for anyone. I was just planning on surviving another year without my usual panic attacks, awkward silences, and that heavy ache that comes from being the “new girl” for the fifth time in two years. Maplewood, though, was different. It looked like one of those towns that refused to move past 2005 diners with neon signs, everyone knowing everyone, and a school so old it squeaked whenever you walked down the hall. My first day started off great, if by “great” you mean spilling a full cup of caramel latte all over someone’s hoodie before first period. “Oh my God, I’m so—” I started, looking up, only to lock eyes with a boy who had that effortlessly charming grin that could melt butter. He looked down at his now caramel-scented hoodie and smirked. “Well, at least it smells good.” I wanted to crawl into a hole. “I—I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I—” “It’s fine,” he said, waving it off. “I needed a new reason for people to stare at me anyway. I’m Mark.” Of course he was. The way people started whispering as he walked off confirmed what I already suspected ,he wasn’t just some random guy. He was that guy. Every high school has one. The one teachers adore, girls secretly stalk on i********:, and guys pretend not to envy. Mark Lawson. Star of the basketball team, student council rep, rumored heartbreaker. And I had just baptized him in coffee. By lunch, everyone knew. I sat alone, pretending to scroll through my phone, when someone dropped their tray across from me. “Hey, Latte Girl.” I looked up. It was him. Of course. “Please don’t call me that,” I said, trying to hide a smile. He grinned. “Then give me your name.” “Clara.” “Clara,” he repeated, like he was testing how it felt in his mouth. “Nice to officially meet you. I figured I’d check if you survived first-period humiliation.” I laughed despite myself. “Barely. I’m probably a meme already.” “Not yet,” he said, biting into his burger. “But I can make that happen if you want.” That was our first real conversation, full of sarcastic comments, eye rolls, and that weird flutter in my chest I tried to ignore. By the end of the week, fate (and my terrible luck) decided to throw us together again. Mr. Baldwin, our science teacher, announced lab partners, and of course, “Lawson and Rivers” was called. Mark grinned from across the room. “Guess we’re stuck together, Latte Girl.” I groaned. “This is a nightmare.” But it wasn’t. Not even close. Our project was on chemical reactions, which meant spending afternoons in the lab — him teasing me for my messy handwriting, me pretending I didn’t notice how he looked better when he laughed. He’d tell me stories about his childhood — growing up in Maplewood, getting detention for setting off the fire alarm with a fog machine, how he hated being seen as “perfect.” There was a sadness in his eyes sometimes when he thought I wasn’t looking. “So what about you?” he asked one day. “Why’d you move here?” I shrugged. “Mom’s job. She works in healthcare. We move a lot. I guess I’m used to being temporary.” “Temporary?” “Yeah. People don’t really get attached when they know you might disappear.” He was quiet for a while. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right people yet.” I didn’t answer. But I knew I’d already met someone who was dangerously close to changing that. Weeks passed, and somewhere between late-night texts about school projects and inside jokes about the cafeteria food, I realized I looked forward to seeing him. Every. Single. Day. He’d find me at my locker with some ridiculous excuse. “You look like someone who needs coffee.” “You look like someone who hasn’t smiled today.” Or the classic: “You look like someone who should totally come to my basketball game.” So I did. It was the first time I’d gone to a school event willingly. The gym was packed, cheerleaders shouting, lights bright enough to blind me. Mark caught sight of me from the court, and for a split second, I swore he smiled mid-game. After the win, he jogged over, sweaty and grinning. “You came.” “I said I would,” I replied, pretending not to be impressed. He leaned in, close enough that I caught the scent of sweat and detergent and something that was just… him. “So… what’d you think?” “You’re not bad,” I teased. “For someone who still owes me a new hoodie.” He laughed. “Guess I’ll make it up to you with dinner.” “Is that your way of asking me out?” “Depends. Is it working?” It was. God, it was working. --- That night, lying in bed, I replayed every second, the way his fingers brushed mine when he handed me popcorn, how he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, the way he said my name like it mattered. I told myself it was harmless. Just a crush. Just a phase. But the next morning when I saw him in the hallway and he grinned like I was his favorite part of the day… I knew I was in trouble.