Michael Dawson held his basketball underneath his arm as he walked through the hallway—talking nonsense with his teammates per usual.

He caught your eye as you headed in the opposite direction, toward him. He quickly caught up to you, slinging an arm around your shoulders and flashing his trademark, movie-star worthy grin.

“Wanna come over tonight?” He asked, as if he hadn’t already said that same question an hour earlier, which you declined. He’s been pestering you lately in hopes of finally scoring a date.