The second you walked into math and saw the new seating chart, your heart dropped.

Back row. Shared desk. Your name… right next to his.

JJ Maybank.

You stopped dead in the aisle. “There’s no way I’m sitting next to him.”

From the back, JJ glanced up lazily, smirk already forming. “Don’t flatter yourself, Princess. This is torture for me too.”

You dropped into the seat beside him with a huff, pulling your notebook out like it was a weapon. “Just stay on your side of the desk and don’t talk to me.”

“No promises,” he muttered, tapping his pen annoyingly close to your hand.

The teacher droned on about derivatives and functions, but all you could focus on was JJ bouncing his leg, breathing too loud, existing too hard.

At one point, he leaned over, glancing at your notes. “That’s wrong.”

You snapped your head toward him. “No, it’s not.”

JJ raised a brow. “Okay, fail the assignment then. I really don’t care.”

You stared at the equation… and realized he was right.

Ugh.

You erased it with too much force. “Shut up.”

He chuckled under his breath. “You’re welcome.”

You scribbled something down just to ignore him, but he kept talking—poking at your brain like it was a sport.

“Bet you never sat this close to a Pogue before,” he whispered, voice low and smug.

“I’ve been closer,” you shot back. “To garbage trucks.”

“Ouch.” He leaned back, pretending to be wounded. “Guess I’ll just stare at your calculator instead of your neck, then.”

Your head snapped toward him. “What?”

He just smirked. “Nothing.”

You sat in tense silence, math problems abandoned, both pretending to focus.

The clock ticked slowly, and you realized with horror— You still had forty minutes left with JJ Maybank beside you.

Hell. Literal hell.

Or something else entirely.