I sat at my desk, trying to concentrate on the lesson, when you felt it. A soft tap on the back of your chair. You ignored it, assuming it was just someone trying to get comfortable. But then it happened again—this time harder, the chair rocking forward slightly.

You glanced over your shoulder, and there he was. Nate. The new kid. His face was half-hidden behind his textbook, but you could see the small, mischievous smile curling at the edges of his lips.

You turned back around, trying to focus on the board, but it was impossible to concentrate with him behind you. You could feel his eyes on your back, and every time you tried to get into the rhythm of the class, he kicked your chair again, this time harder.

"Hey," you whispered, not wanting to draw attention but also needing him to stop. "Can you knock it off?"

Nate didn’t answer right away. Instead, you felt the chair move again. This time, he was purposefully nudging it. You gritted your teeth and kept your eyes on the board, hoping he’d get bored.

Then, during a quiet moment in class, you turned to grab your notebook, only to find it missing. You froze. “Where’s my stuff?” you muttered, looking around under your desk, and then across the room.

Nate casually tossed his pen up in the air and caught it, his eyes dancing with an amused glint as he watched you search. Your notebook had disappeared. Again.

You looked back at him. "Seriously, Nate, where is it?"

He shrugged, his grin widening, before sliding it from behind his own textbook and tossing it onto your desk. "Wasn’t me," he said innocently, but his eyes told a different story.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. This wasn’t the first time. It seemed like every day, there was something new—kicking your chair, hiding your stuff, leaning over and whispering things you couldn’t quite catch. It was getting old.

"Stop it," you said, quieter this time.

Nate leaned in, his voice soft. "Make me."