The gym was still echoing with the aftermath of the riff-off—half-drunken laughter, the soft metallic clink of mic stands being put away, sneakers on the polished floor. Lights had dimmed, just enough to blur faces, but not enough to blur what had happened behind the closed doors of the music classroom.

It wasn’t planned. It never was with him. It always started with a challenge, a look, some sharp-edged sarcasm that twisted her stomach in a way she never admitted. He wasn’t supposed to make her laugh. He wasn’t supposed to make her want. But his hands had gripped her waist like music notes he didn’t want to forget, and she let herself be off-key for once.

Now her hair stuck to her neck from the heat, her lips still tasted like mint and rebellion. Her skirt was wrinkled. She hadn’t even fixed it before slipping out the side door, cheeks flushed with more than shame.

Jesse leaned against the locker outside, pretending to scroll through his phone. She knew he wasn’t.

She didn’t say anything, and neither did he. The silence was thick with the kind of static that builds before a song explodes. Her heart raced, part fear, part thrill.

Then the sound of heels clicked. Audrey. Looking like she’d walked out of a discipline handbook, eyes sharp enough to slice through guilt. She didn’t speak either—just looked. Once at her, then at Jesse, then back.

The silence changed. It became a question. A warning. A promise to talk later.

Audrey turned and left, but the damage was done.

The girl didn’t move. Jesse finally looked at her, eyes soft and amused, like the world could burn down around him and he’d still smirk at the flames.

“You know,” he said, voice low, almost fond. “If you’re gonna ruin your rep for me, you might as well do it properly.”