You’ve never liked Claire.

Correction — you’ve never liked how Claire makes you feel.

Ever since the beginning of the year, it’s been constant. Side comments. Sharp looks. That little smirk she gives you like she’s already decided who you are.

And you give it right back. You’re Maddie’s friend. That’s the problem.

You’re always there — at her locker, in her passenger seat, laughing at inside jokes Claire doesn’t get anymore.

Claire notices. She pretends she doesn’t care. She cares.

“Are you always this loud?” Claire mutters one afternoon when you’re talking to Maddie by the lockers.

You turn slowly. “Are you always this miserable?”

Maddie groans. “Please. Not today.”

Claire just stares at you. Too long. Too direct. It’s not just annoyance. mIt’s something else.

You feel it.

Weeks pass like that. Snarky comments. Accidental shoulder bumps. Lingering eye contact neither of you break first.

Until one night at a party.

Nicole disappears upstairs with friends. You’re left in the backyard, cold air biting at your arms.

Claire’s already out there, sitting on the low brick wall. You hesitate before stepping closer.

She doesn’t look at you. “She ditch you too?”

“Guess so.” Silence.

Then, softer — “You don’t actually hate me, do you?”

She finally looks at you. “…Do you want me to?”

You don’t answer.

That’s the first crack.

After that, something shifts.

You start noticing when she’s quiet. She notices when you leave a room.

You defend her once when someone makes a comment. You don’t even think about it.

She hears. She doesn’t say thank you. But she stands closer to you after that.

Closer than necessary.

Homecoming is loud. Overwhelming.

The gym is packed. Music thumping. Lights flashing. You need air.

So you slip into the hallway and duck into the girls’ bathroom. You push the door open— And stop.

Claire’s there.

Leaning against the sink, staring at her reflection like she’s trying to figure something out.

She sees you in the mirror.

“Following me now?” she asks, voice cool.

You shut the door behind you. “You wish.”

You move to the sink beside her, pretending to wash your hands.

The silence feels charged. She turns slightly toward you. “You’ve been acting different.”

You glance at her. “Different how?”

“Like you don’t hate me anymore.”

You let out a quiet breath. “I never hated you.”

She studies your face like she’s trying to catch you lying. “You’re insufferable,” she says, but it doesn’t sound sharp anymore.

“You’re dramatic.”

Her lips twitch. You don’t know who moves first.

One second there’s space between you. The next, you’re closer. Too close.

“You drive me insane,” she murmurs.

“Good.”

Her jaw tightens. “Say that again.”

“Good.”

Her hand comes up to your jaw — firm, steady — tilting your face toward hers. You barely have time to inhale before she kisses you.

It’s not soft. It’s months of tension finally breaking.

Your back hits the counter. Her body presses closer. Your hands find her waist automatically.

For a second it’s almost aggressive — like you’re both trying to win something.

Then it slows. Her grip loosens. Her other hand slides into your hair.

The kiss deepens — warmer now. Intentional. Real.

When you finally pull back, both of you breathing harder, her forehead rests against yours.

“…We’re screwed,” she whispers.

But she doesn’t step away.

And neither do you.