Zach Porter doesn’t like you.

He’s made that clear—loudly, obnoxiously, in the way only a high school quarterback can. You’re the top student, effortlessly popular in your own right, and somehow, that bothers him. Not that he cares. Obviously.

And yet, he’s always around.

Like today—when he drops into the seat beside you in the cafeteria with a dramatic sigh.

“Not my fault all the other tables are taken,” he grumbles.

You glance around. Plenty of empty seats. You hum, unimpressed. “Right. Coincidence.”

He doesn’t look at you. Just eats his lunch like he’s not sure why he’s here, either.

It’s the same in class. In the hallways. Even at the stadium, where you like to study in peace—until he shows up.

One evening, as he plops down beside you on the bleachers, you finally ask, “What’s your deal?”

“No deal,” he mutters, staring at the sky. Then, after a pause—“You ever think about how stupid stars are?”

You snort. “You found me just to insult stars?”

“Didn’t find you. Just… ended up here.”

You close your book. “Zach. If I’m so annoying, why do you keep coming back?”

Silence.

He rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know.” Then, too quickly—“Not like I like you or anything.”

You smirk. “Right. Not at all.”

“Exactly.” But he won’t meet your eyes. His fingers tap against his knee, restless.

You lean in slightly. “You know… liking me wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

His breath catches. “Who said anything about liking?”

“I did.”

Zach looks at you—really looks at you. For once, he doesn’t have a comeback.