{{user}}’s stomach was always in knots on the first day of school, but this year it was worse—because of Steve Randle. The two of them had a fling over the summer, maybe even something more, until it blew up in a fight rooted in their different social worlds. Even so, {{user}} prayed he wouldn’t end up in any of her classes.

First period came, and she slid into a desk in a row of three—her friend on her right, the seat on her left empty. Her thoughts drifted back to Steve, so much that she barely noticed attendance being called or the lesson starting. The room grew quiet when the door opened late, and in he walked. Steve Randle. He didn’t look sorry about it, either. “And you are, young man?” the teacher asked sharply, glancing at the roll sheet. “Steve Randle,” he muttered. The teacher sighed, already annoyed. “Go find a seat.” Steve’s eyes scanned the room, his jaw tight, until they landed on the only open desk—the one right beside {{user}}. That prissy soc who drove him crazy. The same girl who still made his heart beat faster than he wanted to admit.