Boys Like Him

A fool in a web

The day was already heavier than it should've been. My backpack dug into my shoulder as I walked, each step echoing louder than it should in my head. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the way my thoughts kept looping back to him, no matter how hard I tried to drown them out with lectures, assignments, or the endless chatter of the girls beside me.

Lloyd.

Just his name had this strange pull. I hated that it did.

I'd told myself I wouldn't think about him after that night. But I'd watched his stories. Every single one.

I didn't even know why.

Maybe because seeing him through a screen felt safer than standing in front of him. There, I could pretend it didn't matter, and I wasn't curious about the way his smile seemed to have two meanings or how his eyes always looked like they were holding a secret no one else was allowed to know.

The hallway outside the literature wing buzzed with noise, sneakers squeaking, laughter bouncing off the walls, the smell of coffee and cheap cologne mixing in the air. I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear and kept my head down, pretending to scroll through my phone.

My class was three doors down. Almost there.

Then I heard the low hum of voices growing louder from the end of the corridor.

The basketball team had just wrapped up practice, and I could tell from the way they still wore their warm-ups, with their towels draped over their shoulders. He was at the center of it, tall, confident, with that familiar lazy grin playing on his mouth as the world moved to his rhythm.

My heart picked up pace.

I tried to walk faster, but the universe clearly had other plans.

When I glanced up, his gaze found mine, and my steps faltered. For a second, everything else went quiet, the chatter, the footsteps, even the air felt like it held its breath. His eyes locked on me, and suddenly I forgot how to move.

Heat rushed to my cheeks before I even realized I was staring. I dropped my gaze, gripping my books tighter against my chest, pretending to check the time like that would somehow make the moment less real.

My throat felt dry.

I could feel him watching me as I brushed past. My classroom door couldn't come fast enough. I slipped inside and pressed my back against it for a second, heart thudding against my ribs as I'd just sprinted. A few students turned, but I ignored them, pretending to dig through my bag for a pen.

Calm down, Nyelle. He's just a guy.

A very tall, very annoyingly confident guy who could make a single look feel like a challenge.

I sank into my seat near the window, flipping open my notebook even though my mind wasn't anywhere near the lecture that was about to start. Professor Hensley's voice filled the room. I tried to keep up, scribbling half-formed notes, but my mind was still back in the hallway, at that split second when our eyes met.

My pen stilled halfway down the page when my phone buzzed against the desk.

I froze. Phones weren't even allowed out during lectures. Still, my hand slid toward it before my brain could argue.

Lloyd.

The name flashed across the screen like a dare.

You always walk that fast, or were you running from me?

My heart dropped straight into my stomach.

I glanced around the room. Everyone was focused on their laptops, some pretending to listen, some scrolling through God-knows-what. I bit my lip, the corner of my mouth twitching. Slowly, I typed back.

I wasn't running.

It took exactly three seconds for the three dots to appear.

Sure looked like it.

I could practically hear the teasing in his voice. That easy confidence that always made me unsure whether he was joking or testing me.

I rolled my eyes and tried to refocus on the board. Something about "symbolic contrasts in post-war literature." I wrote down contrast = conflict, though I had no idea if that was even relevant.

My phone buzzed again.

You are always this quiet in person, too?

I hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen.

Maybe I just didn't have anything to say.

I don't believe that.

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it, breathy, but enough to make the girl beside me glance my way. I coughed to cover it up, pretending to reread my notes. My cheeks were warm, and I knew it wasn't from the heat in the room.

The professor's voice faded in and out as I typed the next message.

You're not supposed to text people in class, you know.

You're not supposed to reply, either.

I covered my face with my hand, trying to hide the smile breaking across it.

Professor Hensley started pacing between the rows, talking about the weight of meaning in silence, how sometimes what isn't said carries more than what is. The irony almost made me laugh again.

You're hard to read.

I swallowed, my throat dry.

And you're annoying.

Only sometimes. He replied.

I scowled at the screen, even though a shiver ran down my spine.

So... what's your plan after class?

My stomach dropped. "Plan" sounded casual. My pulse raced at the implication that he might actually want to see me, not just talk in these cryptic little bursts.

I didn't reply.

I stared down at my notebook, where I'd written absolutely nothing coherent for the last forty-five minutes. All I saw were messy loops of half-formed words and tiny doodles in the margin.

For the first time, I didn't care about missing notes.

The lecture ended, and the sudden motion of everyone packing up felt violent, like the world had jerked forward. My bag was on my shoulder before I realized it, books clutched tight, head bent to avoid anyone seeing my flushed face as I headed to the cafeteria.