Boys Like Him

A note

I was running late, fumbling with my bag straps and trying not to trip over the pile of textbooks spilling out of the bottom. The sun had barely climbed high enough to warm the sidewalk, and the air carried that sharp, damp-grass bite mixed with distant coffee. My sneakers scuffed against the threshold as I stepped toward the door, mind already in full "school mode" what classes I had, what assignments I needed, how I'd explain to Mariah why I was late again.

I threw open the door and nearly stepped on a box neatly wrapped in red ribbon, sitting right in front of the door. The faint scent hit me first, sweet and buttery, pulling me up short as if someone had yanked the floor out from under me.

Beside the box was a folded note, perfectly creased, leaning against the box. My fingers trembled slightly as I picked it up, careful not to tear the paper.

Nyelle, it began, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...

My pulse skipped, heat pooling low in my belly. I could hear his voice in each sentence, feel the tension he'd left lingering like a shadow over me.

...kissed you without your permission. I acted without thinking. You didn't deserve that. I want to make it up to you. I'll be at practice today if you want to talk. No pressure. Just... me trying to do right by you.

I traced the lines with my finger, feeling the curve of his letters. The pie beside me smelled impossibly sweet.

I caught myself grinning before I even realized it. Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I quickly shoved the smile down.

I scooped the box up carefully, carried it inside, and after a second's debate, cut a small slice, wrapped it in foil, and tucked it into my bag. The rest went in the freezer.

By the time I reached Bean & Brew, I was flushed and breathless. Mariah was already at our usual table, stirring her caramel latte, eyes narrowing the second she saw me, with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

"You're... weirdly chipper this morning," she announced, eyebrow raised, a grin tugging at her lips.

I froze for a heartbeat, trying to act casual, then rolled my eyes, laughing lightly. "Weirdly? Maybe a little."

She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. "Uh-huh. Spill. What's going on, Nyelle?"

I sighed, caught. It was no use pretending. "Fine," I admitted, pulling the note from my bag and smoothing it across the table. "He... Lloyd left me this."

Mariah leaned in, eyes wide, fingers hovering over the note. "Ohhh, he actually wrote you a note?!"

I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek. "Yeah. I didn't expect it either. And... he wants me to come by during practice today, to... make up for yesterday."

Mariah pressed her lips together to suppress a laugh, but her eyes softened with curiosity. "Okay... wow. That's... something. And the kiss?"

My stomach fluttered, and I let out a small groan. " I mean... obviously it was a lot. I still don't know how to feel."

Mariah leaned back in her chair, studying me with that playful, knowing look she always had. "Nyelle, you're crushing on him. Don't even lie. I see it."

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. "Fine! I am... but I'm not supposed to be. He... he's..." I hesitated, swallowed hard. "...intense."

She chuckled knowingly. "Intense and probably doesn't even realize the chaos he causes."

I bit my lip, glancing down at the note again, tracing the words with my fingertip. "I don't know if I should go. I mean... what if it's awkward? Or worse, what if I just... mess everything up?"

Mariah nudged my shoulder. "Or, hear me out... You go, see him, and maybe actually figure out what's going on instead of driving yourself crazy."

I nodded slowly, feeling some of the tension ease just by talking it through. "Yeah... yeah, maybe you're right."

We sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, sipping our drinks, until the creak of a chair announced the arrival of Janet, Mariah's major classmate. She slid into the booth beside us with her usual chatter, and Mariah's gaze shifted instantly, gesturing to me with a half-smile.

I tucked the note back into my bag, feeling its weight like a secret tucked against my side. The conversation veered toward class assignments and Janet's latest drama, and I let it, the world had a way of continuing even when my thoughts refused to.

But even as we laughed at something Janet said, I couldn't stop my mind from drifting back to him.

We parted ways at Bean and Brew, Mariah heading to her major and me shuffling toward mine. I kept my eyes on the floor, but my mind refused to follow, again. It wouldn't settle on equations, lecture notes, or anything else but him.

Every sentence from the professor felt distant, muffled behind a wall of anticipation. My pen hovered over my notebook as it had suddenly forgotten how to write, scrawled letters turning into half-formed shapes, my hand shaking slightly with excitement I couldn't control. I tried to focus, I really did, but the thought of him, his note, his words, the pull in my chest when I imagined him waiting, made it impossible.

Time crawled, each second a beat louder than the last. I shifted in my chair, tapping my foot uncontrollably against the floor.

And then, finally, the hands on the clock struck two. I was out of class first.

The thought made me grin a little too widely, and I felt my cheeks warm at the smugness creeping in. I slung my bag over my shoulder and practically bolted for the door, the cool air of the hallway rushing against my skin.

I hurried toward the basketball court, my bag bouncing against my hip with each step, heart hammering in a rhythm that matched the squeak of sneakers and the echo of the bouncing balls. My chest tightened when I saw the cheerleaders already warming up, chatting and laughing, tossing balls between themselves like it was all so casual. It was unusually buzzy with energy I wasn't used to.

Like a moth drawn to flame, our eyes met.

He was standing by the center line, grinning that infuriating, confident grin of his. He started jogging toward me. My stomach dropped, and I could feel a faint warmth creeping up my neck.

"Hi," he greeted, making my pulse stutter. "Didn't think you'd come."

I swallowed, trying to steady the flutter in my chest. "Well... after that delicious cherry pie," I replied, feeling my cheeks heat up, "I figured I should at least hear you out."

He chuckled. "I can't talk right now for long. Come on, let me show you where to sit."

Before I could process it, his hand reached for mine. My fingers froze as his intertwined with mine. I blinked up at him, shocked, my heart thrumming so loudly I thought the other girls might hear it.

He just gave me that smile again, the one that made the world shrink down to him and me, and started leading me toward the bleachers. My steps faltered, but he squeezed my hand gently, and suddenly I was walking again, caught between awe, embarrassment, and the electric pull of him.

Some of the guys were already there, stretching and tossing balls around, but the second he caught sight of them, he barked, "Stand up!"

Without hesitation, they obeyed, all of them straightening like soldiers, eyes snapping toward me. My stomach dropped. Silence fell over the court. Every single pair of eyes was on me.

I froze, gripping my bag strap like a lifeline. He guided me forward with gentle authority, brushing his hand against mine as he led me to an empty row in the bleachers. My books were clutched in my arms, but before I could protest, he plucked them from my hands and placed them neatly beside me, then bent down to my level.

His face was close, too close, and I could feel the warmth radiating off him and the faint scent of his cologne. His lips curved in that infuriating smile that made my pulse hammer.

"Have fun," he whispered, and even the way he said it made my knees feel weak.

"Luxen!" the coach barked, voice slicing across the gym like a whip. "Get your wimpy ass over here!"

Lloyd smirked at me over his shoulder. "Every shot I throw successfully," he murmured, "is my apology to you... and for you."

I blinked, dazed, trying to register what was happening. My legs cramped as I pressed them together, trying to anchor myself in some semblance of normalcy, but the one who glared daggers at me was back, staring, lips pressed thin, eyes burning.

Then the whistle blew, signaling the start of practice.