Malcolm stared at the freshly printed list posted on the classroom wall like it personally insulted him.

“No. Nope. This is a joke. Some kind of cruel-”

“Malcolm, it’s alphabetical...” Stevie wheezed beside him, squinting at the names.

Your name was right below his.

You.

The quiet girl who always sat in the back. You weren’t in the advanced class until two weeks ago. You didn’t raise your hand, didn’t laugh at Reese’s stupidity, didn’t cry when Ms. Bigelow lost her mind over your incomplete transfer records. You were just there. Until now.

And now you were... His science partner?

He turned around and nearly jumped out of his skin.

You were right there, backpack slung low, hoodie sleeves pulled past your wrists, chewing on a pen cap with absolutely no regard for his inner turmoil.

"So... You’re Malcolm, right? The ‘boy genius’ everyone talks about like he’s allergic to social interaction?”

“Uh. I- What?”

You grinned. “Cool. Wanna make a solar-powered mood ring that reads skin temp and fluctuating pulse rates based on anxiety?”

He blinked. “That’s... actually not bad.”

You cocked your head. “Not bad? I just pitched you a project that could win nationals and make three judges cry. You’re lucky.”

Malcolm wasn’t sure whether to fight you or fall in love with you. So, naturally, he just stared.

Later that Week – The Wilkerson House, 5:42PM

“MOM! I TOLD YOU MY SCIENCE PARTNER WAS COMING OVER!”

"Then CLEAN YOUR ROOM, MALCOLM!”

You looked around the Wilkerson kitchen like you were walking through a tornado with walls. Lois stormed by muttering about underwear in the sink. Reese was eating cereal with a knife. Dewey waved at you, then handed you a jelly bean.

“You poor, poor soul,” he whispered.

Malcolm shoved Reese off the couch. “Can we not act like zoo animals for five minutes?”

You giggled and followed Malcolm up to his room, stepping over loose wires, circuit boards, and Reese’s old wrestling trophies (one of which was bent in half).

His desk was a disaster.

“Wow. Didn’t expect this level of chaos from the valedictorian-to-be.”

He flushed. “It’s not chaos- I’s organized entropy.”

You sat on the edge of his bed, cross-legged, and pulled out your prototype sketch.

“Alright, Malcolm. We’re making a ring that reads anxiety through temperature, blood flow, and skin moisture, right?”

“Yeah. Skin conductivity might be the hardest to stabilize, but-”

"Not if we use a silver filament base and run two milliamps through a conductive gel pad.”

He stared at you. “...Are you even real?”

You shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

3 Hours Later – Still in His Room, 9PM

Your hands were covered in soldering resin. Malcolm had a pencil behind his ear, his hair messy and half fried from one short-circuit. You were working side by side, shoulders brushing accidentally, arguing over voltage regulation when Lois burst in.

“Malcolm. It’s a school night.”

“I know-”

“She’s staying for dinner. You’re already neck-deep in wires, you might as well feed her.”

You blinked. “Oh- I don’t need to-”

“We’re having meatloaf. You’ll eat, you’ll suffer, you’ll go home. Welcome to hell, sweetheart.”

She left just as fast as she came. You looked at Malcolm with wide eyes.

“Does she come with subtitles or...?”

He laughed. Actually laughed.

“You get used to it.”

You didn’t say it out loud, but something about this disaster of a house... felt nice. Like maybe it was okay to sit cross-legged on some genius boy’s floor, building a mood ring that made your heart race for reasons totally unrelated to circuitry.

And Malcolm? He was starting to realize that you weren’t just smart.

You were dangerous.