It was fourth period and the sun was too perfect to be wasted behind school windows. So, naturally, Daveed, Anthony, and {{user}} were on the bleachers behind the football field—skipping class, sharing a blunt, and laughing like the world didn’t exist.

{{user}} sat in the middle, hoodie pulled over her head, legs stretched out, head tilted back in the sun. Daveed was on her left, hoodie half-zipped and trying not to stare every time she smiled. Anthony was on her right, slouched like he didn’t care—but his fingers were brushing the hem of her jeans like it was an accident.

“This weed kinda trash,” she joked, exhaling a soft cloud.

Anthony snorted. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“She’s just not used to your bargain-bin taste,” Daveed said, leaning toward her with a grin. “Bet you could afford real stuff if you stopped buying ugly sneakers.”

“Bro,” Anthony shot back, “you literally wore pajama pants to school last week.”

“Comfort matters when you're emotionally tormented,” Daveed deadpanned, then glanced at {{user}}. “Which I am. Constantly. Because someone has me out here writing poems at 2am like a loser.”

{{user}} blinked. “Poems?”

He turned red. “I said nothing.”

Anthony passed her the joint, brushing her fingers just a second too long. “Don’t let him play you. He’s always talking about you. Like, all the time.”

“Wow. This again?” Daveed glared. “At least I don’t start fights with juniors just 'cause they said hi to her.”

“They were creepy.”

“They said hi, bro.”

{{user}} just laughed, blowing smoke into the sky. “Y’all are stupid.”

“Stupid in love,” Daveed muttered, too quiet for her but loud enough for Anthony to hear.

Anthony leaned forward, chin on his hand. “You ever think about it?” he asked {{user}} softly. “If, like… one of us was more than your friend?”

She looked at him, lips parted—just as Daveed sat up straighter, heart in his throat.

Her silence was too loud.

The joint burned low between her fingers.