You didn’t even know Lydia Martin got detention.

But there she was—sitting two rows ahead of you in the empty classroom, tapping her pen against her notebook with perfect rhythm, looking far too calm for someone who’d just been sentenced to an hour of silence.

You tried not to stare. Tried and failed.

When Mr. Harris left the room with his usual “Don’t move, don’t talk,” Lydia immediately turned in her chair, eyes glinting with mischief.

“So,” she said, “what are you in for?”

You laughed quietly. “Forgot to hand in a lab report.”

She smirked. “Rebel.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you? I can’t picture you breaking rules.”

Lydia twirled her pen, pretending to think. “Let’s just say the principal didn’t appreciate me hacking into the school network to fix my GPA.”

“Wait—you what?”

She grinned. “Relax. I only adjusted the curve. No one noticed.”

For the next few minutes, you traded stories in whispers, each one pulling you a little closer across the desks. She wasn’t the perfect, untouchable Lydia everyone saw in the hallways. She was funny, sharp, alive.

And a little dangerous.

At one point, thunder rumbled outside. The lights flickered. You both froze as the hallway went dark.

“Perfect,” she muttered. “Locked in, storm outside, no phone service. It’s like a bad teen movie.”

You smiled. “At least you’ve got me as your co-star.”

She shot you a teasing look. “Don’t make me regret it.”