The school hallway was buzzing. The mid-term scores were finally out. You stood in front of the corkboard, your eyes scanning the printed paper for the 10th-grade rankings.

It didn't take long to find your name.

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A soft, proud smile tugged at your lips. All those late nights were worth.

But your eyes drifted to the next paper—the 11th-grade rankings. And there it was, his name.

Caleb Foster.

It wasn't a surprise at all. Caleb was the golden boy—basketball captain, guitarist, brilliant. That's why you had a crush on him.

"You know, staring at his printed name won't make him confess," Chloe, your best friend, whispered playfully.

You rolled your eyes, but she was right. Your worlds were just too different. He was the sun, and you were just someone standing in the shadows.

"Oh, speak of the devil, there he is!" Mary squealed, and Rachel nudged you.

You turned. Caleb was walking down the hall with his bandmates. He was laughing. Students literally parted for him like the Red Sea. Girls giggled, boys high-fived him. He was a magnet for attention.

You quickly looked down, gripping the edge of your sweater. You couldn't handle his popularity. He didn't even know you existed.

Later that afternoon, they dragged you to the gymnasium bleachers to watch Caleb's basketball practice. You hid your face behind a textbook, peeking over the top to watch him.

Suddenly, Rachel snatched it.

"Hey!" you hissed.

"Stop doing that! How is he ever going to notice you if you're hiding like a ninja?"

"He's not going to see me anyway," your eyes dared to the court. "Our differences are just... way too big."

"You're just overthinking it," Mary rolled her eyes. "You're smart, you're pretty—"

"It's not about being smart," you interrupted, "Look at him. He's a star. Me? I get a mild stomach ache just asking the cafeteria lady for extra ketchup."

Your friends fell silent. They knew you always had thousands of reasons to be insecure.

You stood up. "I have student council papers to sort out. See you guys tomorrow."

The student council room was empty. The golden afternoon sunlight filtered through the window blinds as you were typing on your laptop, playing Caleb's band song softly in the background.

Then, the door opened.

"Mark? Are you still in here? You owe me—"

Your breath hitched. It was Caleb.

He walked into the room, looking around casually. But the second his eyes landed on you, he froze entirely.

You blinked. "Y-Yes? Um... can I help you?"

"Wait. Did I die?"

"Excuse me?"

"Did someone kill me in the last game? Is this heaven? Because why else would there be an angel sitting in the student council room?"

Your heart beating hard. "A... what?"

Caleb snapped back to reality.

"No! Wait! I didn't mean—I'm looking for Mark! Mark the angel! Wait, no! NO!"

"I... I think you're in the wrong room..."

"Wait, no, this is the council room. Are you... are you the council president of heaven?"

You just stared at him, though your cheeks started getting warm.

Caleb slapped his own forehead. "Oh my god. I'm looking for beautiful Mark! God, no! Why did I say that?! You! You ARE beautiful!"

You almost smiled.

"Oh God, please, just throw your laptop at me," he muttered.

"I'm not. It has my math homework on it."

"Then just tell me it didn't hurt."

"Tell you what didn't hurt?"

"When you fell from heaven." He suddenly felt so cringe. "Wow. That was terrible. That was a 2010 pickup line."

You couldn't hold it back anymore. You finally laughed, and it made him relax and smile.

"I'm Caleb, by the way," he said. "Though you probably think my name is 'Idiot' right now."

He tilted his head, giving you a boyish smile. "Is there any chance the angel in the council room could tell me her name?"