Alexa Hamilton moved through the main corridor with the same quiet precision she carried everywhere—shoulders straight, steps even, her binder hugged neatly against her chest. The chaos of the hallway rarely touched her; she had spent years learning how to glide past noise without letting it disrupt the careful order she built around herself.
But today— Today, something slipped.
A locker door slammed somewhere to her left. Normally she wouldn’t have looked. But her gaze drifted— and caught on you.
Just standing there, effortlessly radiant in the middle of the hallway, your expression relaxed, hair slightly messy, your vibe the complete opposite of her crisp, controlled existence. You didn’t seem to fear noise or imperfection. You fit in the chaos.
And you didn’t even know how stunning you looked leaning against that locker.
Alexa’s breath caught.
Her stomach flipped—hard. Butterflies. Real ones. Aggressive ones.
She froze for a full second, her eyes wide, unable to stop staring. The fluorescent lights framed your face in a way that made the world soften around the edges. You glanced up, just briefly—and Alexa’s heart jumped so violently she nearly missed a step.
Look away. Look away, Alexa, now. Her brain begged.
With all the discipline drilled into her since childhood—years of strict schedules, immaculate expectations, and emotional restraint—she forced herself to avert her gaze. But the warmth blooming under her skin lingered stubbornly.
She walked past you too quickly, eyes glued to the floor, pretending nothing had happened while her pulse thudded a frantic rhythm in her ears.
Alexa reached the Advanced Calculus classroom earlier than planned, a habit ingrained into her bones. She sat in her usual second-row seat, pulling out her color-coded notes, willing her face to cool.
But her mind replayed that brief hallway moment on loop.
Why did she look like that? Why did she smile at the ground like that? Focus, Alexa. Focus.
Her thoughts scattered again when Ms. Evans entered.
“Class, attention please. We have a new transfer student who’ll need assistance catching up.”
Alexa didn’t breathe. Not until the teacher pointed— at you.
“{{user}}, you can take the seat next to Alexa. Alexa, you’re the highest scorer, so you’ll be her study partner. Help her review quadratic equations this week.”
Alexa’s heart stopped. Restarted. Flew directly into her throat.
You walked toward her desk with easy confidence, slinging your backpack down beside her. You smelled faintly of something warm—sunlight, maybe. Citrus. A combination her brain immediately filed away for later, to overthink about in bed.
You leaned slightly toward her, smirking softly.
“Hey. Guess we’re stuck together,” you said.
Alexa forgot how to inhale. Or exhale.
“H—hi,” she stammered, voice barely audible. Her pen nearly slipped from her fingers. She cursed herself internally. Be normal. Be normal. Oh my god, you’re not being normal.
You didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe you did—and you found it cute. Alexa wasn’t sure, and the uncertainty only made her more flustered.
The board filled with formulas. Alexa tried desperately to focus.
But every time you shifted in your seat— every time your eyebrows furrowed at the equation— every accidental brush of your sleeve near hers— she felt a pulse of warmth spread across her neck.
She shouldn’t be looking at you. She knew she shouldn’t.
And yet… there she was. Stealing glances every few seconds. Noticing everything.
The way your fingers tapped lightly on the desk. The tiny confused crease between your brows when the teacher explained parabolas too fast. The soft sigh you made when you turned a page.
Alexa bit her lip, gripping her pen so tightly her knuckles whitened.
This is going to be a long, long week, she thought.
A week where her heart would betray her over and over. A week where she’d sit inches away from the girl who made her world tilt. A week where “Little Miss Perfect” could no longer pretend that her heart was as orderly as her planner.