Intersecting Paths

Chapter Two

History ends without anyone shoving me in a locker or asking me about my "Sweater Boy" reputation again, so I count it as a win. Barely.

I trudge my way up to Pre-Calc, the class that smells like a mixture of dry-erase marker, desperation, and regret. Mr. Langley, who thinks he's hilarious because he once made a pun involving Pi, is droning on about derivatives and why I should care about them. 

Spoiler: I don't.

I glance around. Some kids are furiously scribbling notes like their lives depend on it. Some are doodling stick figures that are clearly having a better day than I am. I doodle one too, stick-Luca dramatically fending off numbers with a pencil.

Halfway through the class, I hear the subtle scrape of a chair.

Of course. Rhett Sanders.

Somehow, by cruel scheduling magic, he's in the row right in front of me. Alone, as usual. But now his hood is down, and I can see his expression: calm, borderline intimidating, and mildly terrifying.

I try to focus on Mr. Langley, who is now explaining why the derivative of sine is cosine, but my brain refuses. I spend the next forty-five minutes alternating between writing down notes I'll never use and secretly observing Rhett like a very obvious spy.

Lunch can't come fast enough. I grab my tray, a soggy slice of pizza and questionable fries — and sit at my usual spot near the window. It's perfect: minimal human contact, fresh air, and the ability to watch the hall like a hawk.

Halfway through inhaling what counts as lunch, I see him again.

Rhett. Standing by the trash can, scanning the cafeteria like he's evaluating the human race for defects. And then, for a terrifying moment, our eyes meet.

I immediately look down. Too obvious, Luca. Way too obvious.

The rest of the day is a blur: surviving gym by "participating," which mostly consisted of my asking to use the bathroom and never coming back, nodding politely in English at classmates who think my cheekbones are conversation-worthy, and dodging overly friendly drama club kids.

Finally, the last bell rings. I grab my backpack, planning a stealthy escape. But then...

"Hey. Luca."

I freeze. My heart decides this is a perfect time to audition for a horror movie.

I glance down. It's Rhett. Walking beside me.

"I—uh...you forgot your notebook," he says, holding out a plain, unassuming notebook that somehow seems dramatic in his hands.

I take it, fingers brushing his for a fraction of a second.

"Thanks," I managed, because apparently my creativity just ran out the door.

"Yeah," he says, eyes already back on the floor, hood pulled up slightly as he walks away.

I stand there like an idiot, holding my notebook, realizing that surviving junior year just got way more complicated.