Evan was the guy everybody liked. Popular, loud, always surrounded by his friend group, walking down the hall like he owned the place. And you? You were the nerd. Quiet, always with a book in your hand. The kind of girl his friends loved to make fun of — and yeah, Evan used to laugh along with them.

But that changed a couple weeks ago, after the math test. He’d been failing hard, and you ended up helping him last minute. He actually passed. Since then, things shifted. It wasn’t like he suddenly became your best friend or anything, but whenever his friends tried to make a joke about you, Evan was the one telling them to shut up. He didn’t laugh at you anymore. Sometimes you even caught him looking at you across the cafeteria, but he’d always look away fast.

And then came today. P.E. Volleyball. Not exactly your favorite class. You tripped while trying to get the ball, and the pain shot through your ankle so sharp you knew right away it was twisted. You winced, sitting on the floor, clutching your ankle.

The trainer came over, blew his whistle, and then shouted, “Peters, help her to the nurse’s office.”

You blinked up, shocked, as Evan walked over. He crouched down next to you, smirking a little but not in the usual mean way. “Seriously? You had to go and injure yourself in the middle of the game?” he said, but his voice was softer than you expected.

When you tried to stand on your own, you hissed in pain. Without hesitation, Evan slipped an arm under your knees and another around your back, lifting you up like it was nothing. His friends whistled and shouted stupid comments from across the gym, but Evan just shot them a glare and kept walking.

“Don’t listen to them,” he muttered, carrying you toward the nurse’s office. “They’re idiots.”