If there’s one thing I didn’t miss about school, it’s *group projects*.
Nothing says “welcome back” quite like being forced into academic marriage with someone for two weeks.
“Alright, everyone,” Mr. Peters announced in history class, holding a clipboard like it was a weapon. “Partner projects. Pairs are non-negotiable. If you have complaints… write them in your imaginary suggestion box.”
A chorus of groans filled the room.
I leaned over to Alyssa, already preparing my *we should totally partner up* face, but she beat me to it with: “Sorry, Kay. I promised Liam after he helped me move that bookshelf last week.”
Traitor.
“Kaylee and…” Mr. Peters scanned his list, then smiled like the universe just handed him a plot twist. “Noah.”
The air thinned.
I hadn’t been alone with Noah in months — unless you count that one time in June when we stood awkwardly in the same aisle at Target debating cereal brands in silence.
He gave me a quick nod from across the room, like *we can survive this,* and I forced a smile back, like *sure, easy*.
We ended up at a back table together. He dropped his notebook down and sat across from me, spinning his pen between his fingers.
“Guess we’re stuck with each other,” he said, his tone casual but his gaze somewhere near my left shoulder.
“Guess so.” I clicked my pen twice, resisting the urge to fill the air with small talk.
We discussed project ideas, settling on something about post-war economic changes. It was… fine. Civil. But there was this invisible glass wall between us. Every time I tried to break it, the silence sealed it back up.
Halfway through, I sighed. “Okay, is this how it’s gonna be the whole time? The polite nods and… whatever this is?”
His brows pulled together. “I’m just… trying not to make things weird.”
“Newsflash,” I said, pointing between us. “They’re already weird.”
He cracked the smallest smile. “Fair.”
Somehow, that tiny crack in the wall let a little air in. We started actually talking — about the project, then about summer, then about how everyone in school already seemed to have a mental PowerPoint presentation on *my breakup*.
“I swear,” I said, leaning back in my chair, “every time I walk into a room, I can feel people giving me pity eyes. Like I’m the tragic heroine of Senior Year.”
Noah tapped his pen on the table, thoughtful. “Want me to fix that?”
I raised an eyebrow. “What, by putting a sign on my back that says *I’m fine, stop staring*?”
He shrugged. “We could just… pretend we’re together. For a while. People would stop seeing you as Asher’s ex and start seeing you as… well, not single.”
I laughed. “Oh, so now you’re volunteering to be my fake boyfriend?”
His ears went a little pink. “I didn’t say *boyfriend*. Just… you know. Someone to make it less awkward.”
The idea was ridiculous. Completely unnecessary. And yet… a little spark of chaos lit up inside me.
“Alright,” I said slowly. “But if we’re doing this, we need rules.”
His mouth twitched. “Rules?”
“Yes. One: No actual feelings. Two: No kissing unless it’s an emergency — and yes, there’s such a thing as an emergency kiss. Three: We both get veto power if things get out of hand.”
He leaned back, crossing his arms like he was seriously considering it. “Fine. But I have a rule too: You can’t make me do anything too… couple-y in public without warning.”
“Deal.”
We shook on it. His hand was warm, steady — and for a second, way too comfortable.
Mr. Peters called time, and we gathered our notes. But as we left class, Noah glanced at me sideways.
“So… when do we start?”
And I didn’t realize until that moment that I had no idea what I’d just signed up for.
YOU ARE READING
Half A Heart
RomanceFake love. Real feelings. And a secret that could change everything. Kaylee's senior year was supposed to be unforgettable for all the right reasons - laughter, late nights with her tight-knit group of friends, and a summer full of promise. But ever...
