You keep your head down when the teacher starts reading off the project partners. It’s the same every year—this project is worth a huge part of your grade, and everyone usually pairs off with friends. But this time, the teacher says she’s assigning partners. You can already feel the tension in the room.

When she calls your name, you brace yourself.

“And your partner… Mason.”

Your stomach sinks. Of course. Mason Reed—the guy half the school either wants to date or be friends with. You glance at him, but he’s already leaning back in his chair, casual, unaffected. A few murmurs rise around you. Someone snickers, “Poor guy. Guess the curse got him.”

You pretend you didn’t hear it, but you feel the sting anyway.

You’ve been called “cursed” for as long as you can remember. Your parents own a strange little antique shop tucked away on the edge of town, the kind of place filled with old clocks, dusty mirrors, and strange trinkets. People always joked that it was creepy, that your family sold “magical” items. Of course, it was just talk—no magic, no curses. Just antiques.

But then came prom week. You got sick—really sick—and before anyone knew it, half the junior and senior class was out with the same bug. Teachers, too. The school decided it wasn’t worth the risk. Prom was canceled. And just like that, the whispers turned into something uglier. The rumors became “proof.”

“She’s cursed, everything bad happens around her.” “Of course it started with her.” “Even her family’s shop is weird. Figures.”

After class, when everyone’s packing up, you turn to Mason, clutching your notebook. “Um… sorry,” you mumble.

He looks at you, brows lifting. “Sorry? For what?”

“For… being stuck with me.” You try to keep your voice light, like it doesn’t sting, but it does.

His lips twitch, like he’s holding back a laugh. “I don’t care about what happened last year,” he says simply.

Your cheeks warm. Everyone else seems to care plenty.

“Library after practice,” he adds, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Four o’clock.”

You hesitate. “You want to meet today?”

“Yeah. Sooner we get started, the less we have to stress later. Don’t be late.”

Four o’clock comes faster than you expect. You almost don’t go, but some stubborn part of you refuses to bail. Mason’s already there, sitting with his backpack open and a notebook in front of him.

When he looks up, you shift awkwardly. “I… I was actually going to talk to Mrs. Carter about switching partners,” you blurt.

His brows furrow. “Switching? Why?”

You hug your notebook closer. “It’s just—maybe it’s better if you work with someone else. I don’t want to make this harder for you.”

Something flashes in his eyes—irritation. “Do you have something against me?”

“What? No! Not at all!” you say quickly.

“Then why are you so determined to ditch this project?” He leans back, arms crossed. “If you don’t want to work, just say that. I’m not wasting my time with someone who’s going to slack off.”

You blink at him, startled. “That’s not what I meant. I just thought… you wouldn’t want to be stuck with me.”

“Because of the curse thing?” His tone is flat but curious.

Heat crawls up your neck. “You heard about that?”

“Who hasn’t?” he says with a shrug. “The whole antique shop, magic trinkets, prom-plague story? It’s kind of legendary.”

You give a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well… it’s just a stupid rumor. I got sick. People got sick. That’s all.”

“Sounds like bad luck, not a curse,” he says, matter-of-fact. “Come on, sit. We’ve got work to do.”

Something about his tone makes your chest tighten—not unkind, just… normal. So you sit.

And to your surprise, he works. He actually takes notes, asks questions, even cracks a joke when the librarian shushes him for talking too loudly.

By the time you’re packing up, you almost forget why you wanted to switch in the first place.