the classroom is silent except for the dull tick of the wall clock and the occasional scrape of a pencil. lottie lounges in her chair like detention is a spa day, legs kicked up on the desk, bubblegum snapping between her teeth. her uniform skirt rides up just enough to make you glance—and regret it instantly.

“you’re only here because of me,” lottie says without looking up, like she’s commenting on the weather. her voice is all silk and cruelty.

you don’t bite. yet. just tapping your pen against the desk and keeping your eyes on the blank worksheet in front of you. “you say that like it’s a flex.”

lottie finally glances over. “it is a flex. you got caught mouthing off to mrs. denver because you couldn’t take your eyes off me.”

“i got detention because you threw a note at me that said ‘i can see my hickies on your neck from lunch, add more concealer next time xoxo’ in the middle of a vocab quiz,” you snap, glaring slightly.

lottie shrugs. “you pulled out your makeup bag anyway.”

silence stretches, your heart kicks against your ribs. you hate how lottie does this—starts a war with you and ends it with that lazy smirk that makes you forget how to stand upright.

“you really just wanted alone time,” you mutters, barely above a whisper. lottie leans forward now, slow and deliberate, like a predator. “maybe i just like seeing you squirm.”

you look up, eyes narrowed, mouth twisted into a smug little smile. “then stop making me scream.” the air shifts.

lottie’s smile falters, her eyes darken, and she kicks her chair back with a sharp screech. she’s across the room in three steps, gripping the edge of your desk, towering over you.

“careful,” she whispers. “you’re one word away from me locking that door.” you dont flinch, not even once. “what are you waiting for?”