The Space Between

Theo

The room always smelled like melted pencil lead and cheap cologne. First period was the only time we were all still too tired to pretend. Prim was talking, as usual, about something no one asked about. Something she read or watched or dreamed, her words sticky-sweet and slow, like syrup running off the edge of the desk. None of us really listened. Not in the full sense. She was just... there. Pretty noise. Background music. Angie and Tally were shoulder to shoulder beside her, playing their usual game of pretend bickering. Silver and gold clinking as their rings collided. Angie wore nothing but gold, always had, like it was some kind of unspoken rule. Tally was silver, sharp, and cold. They looked like opposite ends of a coin. Tally leaned her head into Angie's shoulder, whispered something with a smirk. Angie shoved her gently, and they laughed under their breath. The kind of laugh you had to be close to understand.

And then the door creaked open.

He walked in like the bell had already rung five minutes ago. Tall, broad-shouldered, and sun-kissed like a farm boy out of a sad indie movie. Not a trace of apology on his face. Just a quiet kind of confidence, like he knew exactly how much space he took up and didn't plan on shrinking. His flannel looked like it had actually been worn for work. Stains on the cuffs. Dust on the boots. His hair, hay-blonde and messy, hung in loose strands over his forehead like it hadn't seen a comb since morning chores. He looked like he smelled like smoke and something earthy. Gasoline, maybe. Rust.

He scanned the room, and for half a second, his eyes landed on us.

And when I say "us," I mean me.

It was quick—barely a glance. But something flickered in his gaze, and for some reason, I felt it like a static shock in the center of my chest. Too brief to name. Too sharp to ignore.

"Take any open seat," the teacher said, not looking up from the attendance sheet.

Angie, naturally, was the first to speak.

"Hey," she called, already leaning forward in her chair. "You can sit with us if you want."

She smiled like she already knew him. Like she'd decided she liked him. Like he didn't have a choice.

He didn't smile back. Didn't say anything. Just nodded, slow, and walked over. Heavy boots. Lazy stride. Sat down in the empty chair beside her like he was meant to be there.

He didn't look at me again.

And I didn't say anything either, which wasn't like me. So I shifted in my seat. Slung an arm around Prim, whose story had derailed into something about her stepdad's new girlfriend.

"Damn, Angie," I said, loud enough to pop the bubble. "Leave the kid alone. He's probably terrified already. One whiff of your perfume and he's praying for transfer papers." The girls laughed. Even Tally cracked a smile, nudging her shoulder into Angel's. Prim leaned back into me, warm and soft and effortless. She always fit there, and I always let her. My hand settled on her waist. I knew it made me look comfortable. But the new guy, whoever he was, just stared at the desk. Like none of us were even worth the breath.

I didn't know his name.
But I already hated how curious I was.

I told myself I wasn't staring. But I was. Not in the creepy way. Not really. Just in the "I'm-curious-and-you-happen-to-be-in-my-line-of-sight" kind of way.
But then he kept looking back. It wasn't constant.
Just every few minutes, long enough for me to notice, short enough to pretend it wasn't deliberate. There was something magnetic about it, like a game neither of us admitted to playing. A glance. A twitch of the mouth. The shift of his jaw when he looked down again. And then nothing.

I started to enjoy it, whatever it was. Like maybe we were both bored, both tired of pretending not to notice things. But then I caught myself smiling. And that was enough to shut it down. I reminded myself. He's probably just weirded out. Or lost. Or one of those quiet types who looks at everyone like they're furniture. Not that I cared. I didn't. Obviously. The class dragged on, and I let the silence swallow me. But at the end, just before the bell, the teacher called roll again. Must've missed a name earlier.

"Griffin Haymond?"
He looked up from his desk and said,
"Here."

That voice.
Rough, low, the kind that sounds older than it should.
It was enough to make something stupid happen in my chest.
A thud that felt way too obvious.

Gosh. Embarrassing.
I felt the back of my neck flush and hoped no one noticed.

Prim did.
She didn't see me, of course. She saw him.

"Ohhh, Griffin," she said in that sing-song tone she used on waiters and cops.
She leaned toward him with a look that said you should fall in love with me now.
And he laughed.

Not hard. Just enough.
A chuckle, deep and warm, and he actually flirted back.
A half-smile and a "That so?" like he was already used to girls like her.

That's when I knew. There was nothing there. Of course, there wasn't.
Just another guy like every other guy in this nothing town with shoulders too broad and hands too big to hold anything soft. Only into girls. Prim roses and gold rings and perfume that sticks to the sheets.

But maybe
Maybe at night
Maybe when no one's looking
Maybe when the lights are off and everything feels a little less real, he likes boys, too.