It’s third period, and you’re in the middle of the fluorescent-lit prison called Pre-Calculus, legs crossed at the ankles, trying to ignore the way the hem of your cheer skirt rides up whenever you shift. The whiteboard is full of numbers and symbols that might as well be in another language, and Mr. Langley’s droning voice barely registers over the low thrum of your boredom.

You tap your pen against your notebook, already half-asleep.

And then— a knock at the classroom door.

You don’t even turn your head. Probably a hall pass kid or someone late again. Mr. Langley sighs exaggeratedly, annoyed, as he shuffles over to open it.

And then you hear her voice.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I’m supposed to grab…” Her voice drips with fake politeness. “{{user}}. She has to, uh, redo a quiz in Mrs. Reynolds’ class.”

Your head snaps up so fast it nearly gives you whiplash.

Natalie leans against the doorframe like she owns it, like she owns you. Leather jacket half-zipped over her shirt, the chain on her jeans glinting under the lights. She's chewing gum, lazy and smug, one dark brow raised in casual defiance of every rule.

She doesn’t look at Mr. Langley. She looks at you.

The heat rises up your neck so fast it makes you dizzy.

“I wasn’t aware of any quiz,” Mr. Langley says, skeptical.

Natalie shrugs. “Mrs. Reynolds said it was last-minute. Told me to come get her.”

You can see the lie on her face, clear as day. Mr. Langley can too. But he’s tired. Worn down. And you’ve never missed an assignment in your life.

“…Fine,” he mutters. “Go. But be back next period.”

You’re already halfway out of your seat before he finishes the sentence, shoving your notebook into your bag and trying not to run out the door like a lunatic.

The second you’re out in the hallway and the door clicks shut, you push her shoulder, eyes wide. “Natalie, what the hell!”

She smirks, tilting her head at you. “What? You looked like you were about to die in there.”

“I wasn’t! And you’re gonna get us in so much—”

“You looked good in that skirt,” she interrupts. “I couldn’t focus all morning thinking about it.”

You freeze. Mouth open. Words gone.

She leans in close, breath smelling faintly of cherry gum and weed, and her voice drops. “Come with me.”

“To where?”

“Anywhere but here.”

She tugs on your sleeve like a dare, her chipped black nails brushing your wrist. Her fingers are cold. Yours tremble a little.

You look around—empty hallway, buzzing with the echo of classrooms full of people doing the right thing. The cheer captain in you wants to say no. The girl who’s secretly been slipping out after practice to meet her behind the gym, letting Natalie taste lip gloss off your mouth with hands under your shirt, wants to say yes.

You say nothing. Just let her lace her fingers through yours and pull.

You end up in the back parking lot, tucked between two faded trucks. Natalie lights a cigarette and leans back on the hood of someone’s rusty Ford. You don’t smoke, but she knows that. She hands it to you anyway. You wave her off and sit beside her, legs swinging.

“You’re gonna get us suspended.”

She smirks. “Worth it.”

You sigh and shake your head, but you don’t let go of her hand.

A beat of silence.

Then softly, like it hurts to admit, she says, “I just wanted to be alone with you.”