“Hey, Steve… so I’ll see you after school?”

I stood there, hugging my notebook to my chest, my voice barely steady. Steve was leaning against the lockers with Tommy and Carol, laughing too loud, like the hallway belonged to him.

He looked at me once. Just once.

“In your dreams,” he said, smirking, like it was the easiest thing in the world to crush someone.

The words hit harder than I expected. I turned around before anyone could see my face.

“Hey!” Tommy called after me. “Where’s your sweater?” He exaggerated my voice, laughing as I walked away faster, pretending I didn’t hear him.

⸻

That night, I was in my room when the knocking started. Hard. Annoyed. Desperate.

“Come on, open the door, please!” Steve’s voice echoed from the porch.

I waited. Counted to ten. Then stormed outside, arms crossed.

“What do you want?”

He blinked, like he wasn’t expecting anger. “You’re not in a good mood.”

“You don’t miss a thing,” I said, sarcasm dripping.

“Listen… I was hoping we could run lines together.”

I stared at him. “Okay. But nobody can know, right?” I hated that I sounded hurt. I hated that I still cared.

“Well, yeah,” he said quickly. “I figured we could surprise everyone with how good I get.”

“Like we’re secret friends,” I said flatly.

“Exactly!” His face lit up. “It’s like you’re reading my mind.”

“Um, maybe you could read mine.” I turned to go back inside.

“Yo, yo— I can’t just be your friend,” he blurted.

I stopped. Didn’t turn around.

“Steve… I thought I saw something in you. Something good.” My voice broke despite myself. “And I was very wrong.”

I closed the door before he could answer.

⸻

A week passed.

I avoided him like it was my full-time job.

Different hallways. Different lunch table. I dropped drama club entirely. If Steve was leaning against a locker, I took the long way around. If he laughed, I felt it anyway.

On Friday, he cornered me by the vending machines.

“You’re really gonna pretend I don’t exist now?” he asked quietly.

I didn’t look at him. “You’re good at pretending. I thought I’d try it too.”

He swallowed. “Tommy was being an asshole.”

“You let him,” I said finally, meeting his eyes. “That’s worse.”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” he said.

“That’s the problem, Steve. It mattered to me.”

For a moment, the hallway noise faded. No jokes. No audience.

“I messed up,” he said, softer now. “I was scared of looking stupid.”