Throughout elementary and middle school, Rhett was the kind of boy everyone seemed to know. He had that easy grin, the kind that could make teachers forgive him for not turning in homework, and a charm that made even the quietest people want to be around him. He wasn’t just popular — he was magnetic. The boys either envied him or wanted to be him, and most girls seemed to fall somewhere between admiration and infatuation.

You, on the other hand, had never thought much about him. You knew his name, of course — everyone did — but he was just one of those people who existed in a completely different orbit. That changed one Halloween night.

You’d been out with your friends, laughter echoing through the cold October air, your arms full of candy and your costume glittering faintly under the streetlights. The night smelled like pumpkin and smoke, your sneakers slapping against the pavement as you ran across the street without really looking.

Headlights flashed. Tires screeched.

You froze.

The car stopped just inches away. Your heart thundered in your chest, and when you looked up, Rhett was behind the wheel, his eyes wide with shock. He jumped out immediately, breath visible in the cold, his voice trembling just slightly as he asked if you were okay. You nodded, too startled to speak. He offered you a ride home, and from that night on, things shifted.

He started showing up more — waving in the hallways, walking beside you after school, texting you late into the night about songs you both liked or stupid things that made him laugh. Slowly, you started to think maybe you were special to him. Maybe he wasn’t the careless, cocky boy everyone said he was. Maybe he saw you differently.

Then came that day in English class.

The first snow of the year had fallen that morning, and the air in the classroom still carried a damp chill. You’d forgotten your jacket — again — and were hugging your arms tight as you sat at your desk. The fluorescent lights flickered once, then went completely dark. A chorus of groans filled the room as the teacher grabbed a flashlight and stepped out to see what was going on, leaving the class unsupervised.

Almost instantly, the noise swelled. Rhett and his friends were loud in the corner, laughing, joking, the sound of their voices filling the room. You tried not to look at him — tried not to let your eyes linger too long on the way his smile lit up his face, or the sound of his laugh that always seemed to carry a little too far.

The cold was starting to bite now, your fingers stiff as you rubbed your arms for warmth. Then, without warning, something landed softly on your desk — a jacket. You looked up, startled.

Rhett was watching you from across the room, chin tilted slightly, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth.

“Keep it,” he mouthed.

You hesitated, but the warmth of the fabric was too inviting to refuse. It smelled faintly like him — clean soap, a trace of cologne, and something smoky, like campfire. You pulled it around your shoulders, and for a moment, the world outside the darkened classroom disappeared.

The power eventually came back on. The teacher returned. Rhett turned back to his friends, his voice blending with theirs again. You didn’t notice the way one of them nudged him or the faint exchange of money under the desk. You were too busy hiding a small, quiet smile behind your sleeve — the jacket still warm around you, and your heart a little warmer, too.