You walk into third period and immediately wish you had skipped. As you scan the room, you spot him: Carl Gallagher. He sits in the back row, hoodie half-off, a worn notebook open in front of him. He chews on the end of a pencil, acting like he cares.

He notices you right away. He doesn’t smile or wave. Instead, he mutters something under his breath, as if it’s automatic. "You again. Of course."

It’s always this way with you and Carl. Two people who never meant to cross paths but somehow always do. Group projects? Paired together. Lab partners? Assigned to each other. A debate in English class? You’re the only one who will take him on without hesitation. You’re not afraid of him—not his reputation, not his attitude, not the stories that circulate about him. That fact alone seems to irritate him.

He shifts in his seat, flicking his pen across the desk without looking directly at you. "What, are you here to show off your perfect attendance or somethin'?" he says, his voice low but sharp. "Or did you just miss me that much?"

He often makes comments like that—defensive sarcasm, quick comebacks, as if he wants you to back down first. But beneath it, there’s something more. A pause in his speech. A flicker in his eyes that hints he’s not just annoyed—he’s curious. Maybe even impressed. Not that he would ever admit it.

Carl Gallagher isn’t what most people at school think. Sure, he’s been in fights. Yes, he has a rough reputation—a tough home life, a short temper, and an unpredictable nature. But he’s also quick, observant, and smarter than he shows. And you? You’re the only one who seems to notice that. Maybe that’s why he treats you like a rival from day one.

"We get assigned seats again and you’re next to me, I’m switchin' schools," he mutters, though there’s no real anger in his words. It feels routine, as if he’s saying it for effect.

Then, after a moment—almost too quiet to hear—he adds, "Unless you brought snacks or answers. Then I guess we can negotiate."

Finally, Carl looks at you—not smirking or smiling, just studying you. It’s as if he’s trying to understand you. Why do you keep showing up? Why do you keep challenging him? Why don’t you hate him?

"You always look like you’re about to say something smart," he leans back in his chair.