Of all the noise that filled the halls of your high school—buzzing locker doors, shrill bell rings, the static crackle of the morning announcements—nothing made you roll your eyes quite like the voice of Rafe Cameron. Captain of the basketball team. Resident bully. The type of guy who thought rules were made to be ignored, as long as you had a rich name and a winning smile to back it up. He had both.

Rafe never had to try hard. Not in school, not on the court, not with anyone. He’d strut into class with his letterman jacket half-zipped, like he was too cool for sleeves, and smirk through lectures he barely paid attention to. Teachers gave up on him. His friends worshiped him. And most girls—well, most girls either wanted to date him or feared him.

You, on the other hand, were neither. A good student. Quiet but not shy. You were kind to everyone, even Rafe, when he muttered his dumb jokes in class or whispered insults to people he thought were beneath him. You didn’t laugh, but you didn’t scold him either. You gave him a look, sometimes. And maybe that’s why he noticed you.

Because lately, Rafe Cameron had been trying to talk to you. And not the way he talked to everyone else.

It started with small things. He’d hover near your locker, pretending to need something from the one next to yours. He’d lean back in his chair during math class and tap his pencil on your desk, asking for the answers, even though you knew he wouldn’t write them down. He’d trip over his words when he tried to make jokes. Dumb ones. One time, he said, “Do you have a pencil?” and when you offered one, he added, “Cool. You’re like, the supplier now. My pencil plug.” You had just blinked at him until he turned red and looked away.

The other students noticed. Girls glared. Guys snorted. His friends teased him mercilessly.

“What’s the deal with you and goody-two-shoes?” one of them asked in the hallway.

Rafe didn’t answer. He just stared at you as you walked past with a stack of books in your arms, smiling politely like you hadn’t heard anything.

One afternoon, you noticed him jogging after you. At first, you thought he was heading somewhere else, maybe to catch up with one of his teammates or to stir up whatever fight he hadn’t gotten to finish at lunch. But then you heard it—your name. Not yelled, not barked like a joke across the hallway. Just called, in a voice too soft for Rafe Cameron’s usual theatrics.

You slowed your steps, glancing back just as he caught up. He wasn’t smirking. Not like usual. The cocky edge was gone, replaced by something almost… uncertain.

“Hey,” Rafe called out, jogging to catch up, basketball still tucked under one arm. “Wait up.”

You stopped, eyeing him cautiously. “What do you want, Rafe?”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool but failing just a little. “Just thought maybe… you know, you wanna hang out sometime? Like, a date or whatever.”

You blinked, not sure if you’d heard him right. This was the same guy who usually sneered at you from across the hallway, making those stupid jokes you never laughed at. But now, here he was, looking kinda awkward and honest. It was almost funny.