The classroom smelled faintly of pencil shavings and dry erase markers, the kind of scent that was so typically high school it almost felt comforting. You slid into your usual seat in biology, balancing your notebook on the edge of the desk. Tate slid into the chair next to yours a second later, her dark hair brushing her shoulders as she leaned in, whispering before the teacher even got through attendance.

“You realize,” she murmured, lips twitching with a grin, “we’re probably going to fail this lab because you don’t know how to dissect a frog without gagging.”

You snorted—loud enough that a few heads turned. “Says the girl who literally screamed last week because the safety goggles made her look like a minion.”

Her laugh broke out, quick and bright, and you couldn’t help but smile back. It was like a domino effect: Tate laughed, you laughed harder, and soon the two of you were both shaking quietly in your seats like you were sharing the best secret in the world.

It wasn’t a secret, though. Everybody already knew. Tate had only been at your school for a few months, transferring to LA for her last year, but the moment people realized the two of you were together it was like a collective understanding had spread: of course they are. She was music and energy, a little bit of chaos wrapped in confidence, and you were the one who somehow matched her wavelength perfectly. Together you were the picture-perfect couple, the kind of love that was so sweet it made people roll their eyes and yet—everyone rooted for you anyway.

The teacher cleared his throat, cutting a sharp look at you two. “Quiet down.”

You both bit your lips, nodding solemnly like obedient students. The moment he turned back to the whiteboard, Tate leaned over again. “I swear his voice sounds exactly like the guy from that TikTok filter.”

It was over. You burst out laughing, slapping a hand over your mouth, and Tate was already doubled over against her desk.

“That’s it,” the teacher said finally, snapping his marker in frustration. “McRae, switch seats with—” His eyes scanned the rows. “—with Daniel in the back. Now.”

There was a low “ooooh” from your classmates, and Tate groaned dramatically, gathering her things. “You’re splitting up destiny,” she muttered under her breath, loud enough for you to hear.

She shuffled to the back, and the whole room felt too quiet without her right beside you. But Tate being Tate, she immediately caught your eye from across the rows and pulled the most ridiculous face she could manage. You tried to hold it in—you really did—but a laugh escaped, and she grinned triumphantly.

From then on it was war. She mimed scribbling notes furiously until her pen flew from her hand and clattered to the floor. You pretended to sneeze just so you could hide your smile. She raised her eyebrows in mock despair every time the teacher turned his back. Every thirty seconds you found each other’s eyes again, like magnets, and the laughter just bubbled up between you both, unstoppable.

By the time the bell rang, you were nearly in tears from holding it in. Tate rushed over the second the class ended, slinging an arm around your shoulder.

“You realize we just made biology class the funniest thing that’s ever happened in this school?” she said, grinning so wide you couldn’t resist leaning in and kissing her cheek.

“Or,” you countered, “we just guaranteed ourselves a failing participation grade.”

She laughed again, the kind of laugh that made everything else fade out. “Worth it.”

And it was. Because being with her—this mix of sweetness that made your heart ache and chaos that left you breathless—felt like the best kind of catastrophe.