Farkle Minkus had always been the loyal friend, the comic relief, the genius in the background. He’d loved Riley and Maya in his own way—deeply, purely, and silently—but never quite enough to be chosen. That was okay. He’d told himself he didn’t need anyone to choose him. He had his grades, his dreams, and his algorithms.

But then she walked into AP Physics halfway through junior year.

Late transfer. New York born, raised somewhere far less glamorous. She had this “don’t talk to me” energy that only made people talk to her more. Farkle, being Farkle, noticed her the way he noticed anomalies in data. She didn’t sit in the front like the other smart kids. She didn’t raise her hand to answer questions—only to challenge them. And when Mr. McLean tried to condescend to her on her first day, she corrected him and cited the paper he misquoted.

Farkle blinked. He was in love.

They didn’t talk at first. Not really. He tried, but his usual charm didn’t work on her. She didn’t care about his family’s money or his SAT score. In fact, she called him “Robot Richie Rich” the first time he tried to flex his trivia knowledge.

But then came the group lab. Farkle was assigned to her, much to her obvious annoyance.

“If you mess up this circuit board, I’m not fixing it,” she said, pulling her sleeves up and getting to work.

“I wasn’t planning on messing it up. I was planning on optimizing it,” Farkle replied, sitting across from her.

“Yeah? Let’s see if you can optimize this without shorting the board like the last guy.”

He grinned. “A challenge. I accept.”

That was the first time she smiled at him. Not a big one—barely a twitch—but it counted.