Nicole’s brother clicks the car keys. “We are not walking. Someone doubles up.”
Simon counts again. “Five seats. Six people.”
Everyone looks around.
Nicole points. “Okay. Claire and—”
She gestures at you. You immediately shake your head. “No.”
Claire crosses her arms. “I’m not sitting on her.”
“Great. Mutual.”
Nicole rolls her eyes. “You two are the smallest. It makes sense.”
Xavier already claims shotgun. Simon and Nicole squeeze into the back.
Which leaves— One seat.
And you.
Claire stares at you like this is your fault.
“You could walk,” you offer sweetly.
She glares. “You’d like that.”
She hesitates.
Then, with the most dramatic sigh you’ve ever heard, she climbs in.
Carefully. Slowly.
And lowers herself onto your lap.
It’s awkward at first. Her knees bent toward the door, one hand braced on the seat in front of her.
You don’t know where to put your hands.
So you don’t move at all.
The car starts rolling.
Every bump makes her shift slightly.
Her hip presses into yours.
You swallow.
“You’re tense,” she mutters under her breath.
“You’re literally sitting on me.”
“You volunteered.”
“I absolutely did not.”
From the front seat, Simon says, “Can you two not argue for five seconds?”
“Shut up,” you both reply instantly.
The car hits a pothole.
Claire instinctively grabs your arm to steady herself.
Her fingers tighten.
She doesn’t let go.
You feel it.
The warmth of her palm against your skin.
“You can relax,” you murmur near her ear.
She goes very still.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Talk like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like we’re not enemies.”
You almost smile.
“You’re the one in my lap.”
She shifts again, trying to sit more comfortably.
But this time her back presses fully against your chest.
You feel the steady rhythm of her breathing.
She notices.
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Breathing?”
“Shut up.”
Nicole turns slightly. “You two are being weirdly quiet now.”
“We’re not,” Claire snaps too quickly.
The school parking lot comes into view. The headlights cut across the dark building.
The car stops.
No one moves right away.
Claire’s hand is still gripping your arm.
She finally seems to realize.
She pulls away quickly, climbing off your lap.
Her cheeks are pink — whether from irritation or something else, you can’t tell.
“Don’t make this a thing,” she mutters.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She opens the door and steps out.
But when you circle around the car—
She slows just enough so you fall into step beside her.
Not behind.
Not ahead.
Beside.
And when the school doors creak open into the dark?
She doesn’t say anything.
But her fingers brush yours for half a second before she pulls them back.