Baking class was usually loud. Flour everywhere, people yelling over mixers, someone always burning something—but today felt different. Quieter. Tense in a way you couldn’t explain.

Patty Bladell stood next to you at the counter, hands dusted with flour, eyes glued to the cupcakes in the oven like they held her entire future. She’d been weird all class—dropping things, sighing too much, stealing glances at you when she thought you weren’t looking.

“You good?” you asked gently.

She jumped. “Yeah—yeah. Totally. Great. Living the dream,” she said too fast.

The timer went off. You pulled the cupcakes out, setting them down carefully. “They look perfect,” you smiled. “You did great.”

Her shoulders relaxed just a little. Then the class started clearing out—chairs scraping, people laughing, teachers yelling reminders about cleanup. Somehow, you and Patty were the last ones left.

She swallowed. Hard.

“Hey… um,” she started, staring at the floor. “Can I tell you something without you freaking out?”

That got your attention. “You’re scaring me. But yeah. Of course.”

Patty took a shaky breath. “I’ve been trying not to say this. I’ve been trying to, like… be normal about it. But I can’t anymore.”

Your heart started pounding.

“I like you,” she blurted. “Like—not friend-like. Like actual, real, stupid, embarrassing crush-like.”

Silence fell between you. The only sound was the faint hum of the ovens cooling down.

“I didn’t mean to,” she rushed. “It just happened. You’re nice to me and you don’t judge me and you make me feel like I’m not… too much. And I know I mess everything up so I get it if you—”