Jackie Taylor couldn’t stop stealing glances at you. The way you leaned back against the bleachers, looking effortlessly detached from everything around you, made her chest tighten. She wasn’t used to feeling like this—off-balance, unsure—but here she was, nerves fluttering in her stomach like she was about to miss a game-winning shot.

You were a burnout, by everyone’s definition. Skipped pep rallies, dodged spirit days, and carried that defiant look like armor. But there was something else too, something Jackie couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was the quiet confidence, or the way you seemed to exist in a world apart from all the noise.

She needed an excuse. Something, anything. Her palms were sweating as she walked over, trying to play it cool. “Hey, do you have a lighter? I, uh… left mine at home.” She bit her lip, hating how obvious it sounded. Jackie Taylor, queen of the soccer field, borrowing a lighter? She barely even knew how to light one. But it was the only thing she could think of, and right now, she just wanted a reason to talk to you.