The hallway was a blur of jerseys and letterman jackets, the sound of laughter echoing all the way down to the science wing. At the center of it all was Caleb Morgan — six feet of broad-shouldered, easygoing charm, the kind of guy teachers liked just as much as students. He slapped hands, signed a notebook someone shoved at him, and managed to flash that movie-star grin without missing a step.

{{user}} hugged her textbooks closer and kept walking. Sports didn’t impress her. Being able to throw a ball sixty yards didn’t solve equations, write essays, or do much for the future. She had three assignments due next week and a debate tournament to prep for.

Unfortunately, Caleb’s locker was directly across from hers.

“Afternoon, brainiac,” Caleb said, shutting his locker with a metallic clang. “Memorized the periodic table yet, or are you still stuck on boron?”

{{user}} didn’t even glance up. “Boron is number five. The same number of seconds it took me to get bored of this conversation.”

His friends laughed. Caleb just smirked. “Harsh. I was going to offer to help you carry those, but I guess you’ve got it.”

“They’re called textbooks, not weights. I can handle them without pulling a muscle.”

He leaned casually against the locker beside hers, completely blocking her exit. “You know, for someone who claims she doesn’t care about sports, you sure keep track of my stats.”