Between The Lines

Names & Nerves

Isla - POV

I should've ignored it.
The shouting, the laughter, the smug faces lined up in Broncos polos. But no—my mouth had a habit of working faster than my brain, and now half the oval knew Book Girl had a name.

The students loved it. They were practically vibrating with pride, like I'd just scored a try for the school.

But the problem was him.

Kotoni Staggs hadn't stopped grinning since.

He whispered something to his teammates, shook his head at their laughter, and then—of course—started walking across the grass. Straight toward my stall.

Panic clawed up my throat.
Stay calm, Isla. He's just a man in a polo. A very broad-shouldered, unfairly charming, ridiculously famous man in a polo.

"Miss Bennett," Ethan whispered, eyes wide. "He's coming over here."

Yes. Thank you, Ethan. I'd noticed.

Kotoni - POV

I shouldn't.
I knew I shouldn't. The boys were still cracking up behind me, and I could practically feel Ezra recording me with his phone, waiting to post something in the group chat later.

But she'd clapped back like a pro. Cool, unshaken, sass sharp enough to slice through the noise. And I wasn't about to let that moment be the last word.

I slowed as I reached the stall, scanning the mess of novels stacked like wobbly towers. She looked up, folding her arms in that "teacher stare" that made my pulse trip faster than it should've.

"You really don't like nicknames, huh?" I asked, keeping my voice light.

"I like them fine," she said, tone dry. "When they're accurate."

A laugh escaped me before I could hold it back. "Fair enough. I'm Kotoni."

"I know," she replied, unimpressed. "Brisbane hasn't exactly been quiet about it."

I leaned an elbow on the edge of the table, lowering my voice so only she could hear. "So, what's yours then? Your name."

Her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile. "Isla."

Isla.
It rolled around in my head like a secret. And suddenly, Book Girl didn't come close.

Isla – POv

I tossed the same paperback across my bed three times before giving up on pretending to read it.

It wasn't the book's fault. It was my brain replaying the entire evening on a maddening loop.

The way he'd said my name—slow, deliberate, like he wanted to memorize it. The way my students squealed behind me the second he walked away, already plotting wedding hashtags.

I'd brushed it all off, of course. I was their teacher, not some lovesick teenager. But when I closed my eyes, I kept seeing the smirk tugging at his mouth, the way he leaned closer, the warmth in his voice when he said Isla.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from my best friend, Tess.

Tess: So... the Year 9s have already posted on Insta. Book stall. Broncos. You + Kotoni Staggs?? Spill.

I groaned, burying my face in the pillow.
This was going to get out of hand fast.

And yet, deep down, a traitorous part of me didn't mind.

Not one bit.