Science is a bore.

That’s exactly why you didn’t pick Triple for GCSE — and yet here you are, stuck in Combined, staring at the board while your teacher enthusiastically explains cracking hydrocarbons like it’s the most thrilling thing in the world.

Riveting.

As if that isn’t bad enough, you’re sat next to Alex.

Your enemy. The bane of your existence. The boy who somehow manages to be annoying without even trying.

You’re half-listening, half-doodling in the margin of your book when he suddenly leans closer, resting his elbow on the desk like he owns the place.

“You know,” he says quietly, voice dead serious, “you can always crack me for practice.”

For a split second, your brain shuts down.

Then you choke — actually choke — on your own spit, coughing hard as a few people turn around to stare. Someone snickers. The teacher pauses mid-sentence.

Alex doesn’t move an inch.

He just sits there, completely unbothered, a slow smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you recover, eyes glittering with amusement.

“What?” he adds innocently, lowering his voice even more. “Wrong kind of cracking?”