SPECTRAL.

† F I F T E E N †

     He turned his head slightly, his voice low but insistent. "It's fine. Hold on. Use my shoulders."

     The words carried no judgment, no impatience—just quiet reassurance. I looked at his face, the calmness etched there, and for reasons I couldn't understand, it unnerved me more than the night's terrors. Still, I obeyed, gripping his shoulders just firmly enough to steady myself as I swung my leg over and settled onto the seat behind him.

     The position was awkward. My body didn't know what to do, how close to be, how much space to leave between us. The leather of the seat creaked beneath us, the morning silence broken only by the faint murmur of birds.

     Then Troy glanced over his shoulder, meeting my eyes through the visor of the helmet. "You'll need to hold on tighter than that. Wrap your arms around my waist."

     Every nerve in my body stiffened, but I forced myself to lean in. My arms circled his waist, tentative at first, before finally securing themselves against him. The warmth of him seeped through his shirt, steady and real in a way that anchored me.

     "Better," he said, and then the engine roared to life beneath us.

     The bike jolted forward, and I clung tighter. The road unfurled beneath us, the wind rushing against us in powerful currents. The helmet muted the world, but I could still smell him—something subtle, clean, a scent that cut through the morning air and lingered in my mind. My chest pressed against his back, my arms tightening as the bike picked up speed.

     The breeze brushed against me like a thousand small hands, cooling my skin, lifting the heaviness that had weighed me down for days. It was liberating, almost intoxicating, and against my will, I let my head rest lightly against Troy's back. The steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath me was strangely comforting. For the first time in a long while, I felt safe in someone else's orbit.

     I couldn't see his face, but I swear I felt it—the subtle shift of his body, the quiet smile that tugged at his mouth when I leaned into him.

     The ride blurred past in a stream of trees and houses until finally, the familiar shape of the dorm building rose before us. He slowed, then stopped cleanly at the base of the steps. The engine cut, leaving the world in sudden silence again.

     He swung off the bike first, then turned to help me down. My leg trembled as I touched the ground, but his hand steadied me without hesitation.

     "Thanks," I said, unclipping the helmet and holding it out to him.

     He took it, returning my gaze with a smile that was startlingly genuine. "Happy to help."

     I turned to head up the stairs, but his voice caught me halfway. "Make sure you get that knee checked at the clinic later, alright?"

     I paused, glancing back. He stood beside his bike, the morning light cutting sharp lines across his face. Something in his eyes looked like hesitation, as though words hovered unsaid between his lips.

     I nodded. "I will."

     But I could tell he wasn't finished. I turned again, ready to disappear inside, when his voice followed me once more.

     "Summer."

     I stopped. Slowly, I faced him again. "Yeah?"

     He shifted slightly, his hand tightening on the helmet. His voice softened, almost uncertain. "Can I see you again?"

     The question froze the air around me. For a moment, I was silent, caught in the intensity of his gaze. There was nothing playful in it, no hidden smirk—just honesty, raw and searching. My chest ached under the weight of it.

     Finally, I found my voice. "I'll always be here if you need to see me again."

     The smallest smile broke across his face, but it wasn't small in meaning. It was genuine, bright in a way that cracked something open in me. "Okay," he said simply, and then mounted the bike, the engine rumbling back to life.

     I stood there, rooted to the spot, until he rode away and vanished down the street. Only then did I realize I was smiling too.

     The week that followed unfolded like a strange dream, stitched together with new routines and unexpected closeness. Troy kept his word—he came by the dorm nearly every day. He never once collided with McKayla, though I realized it was because she had buried herself in her studies, barely coming up for air.

     Each morning, he waited outside with that same bike, offering me a ride to campus. My knee, though healing, made walking a tedious pain, and his presence became both a relief and a strange comfort I couldn't explain. The wind in my face, the hum of the engine, his warmth steady in front of me—I began to crave those rides more than I should have. He promised to pick me up after classes too, and he always kept his promises.

     Whispers started. They spread fast, faster than wildfire, curling through hallways, classrooms, and cafeterias. Students turned their heads when I passed, their words brushing against my back like sparks. Was there something between us? Was Troy—Troy of all people—interested in me?

     That was when I learned who Troy was to everyone else. He wasn't just some boy with a bike. He was the boy, the one girls adored, the one who carried a quiet charisma that drew attention without him ever asking for it. I noticed it everywhere: the way their eyes lingered, the way their laughter sharpened when he walked past. He didn't return it though. Not really. His focus seemed fixed, and to my unease and secret delight, it was fixed on me.

     I told myself it was just friendship. A kindness I hadn't earned. But my heart said otherwise, louder each day.

     It wasn't long before McKayla heard the rumors. One afternoon, while she was gathering her books for class, she finally asked.

     "So…what's going on between you and Troy?"

     Her tone was casual, but her eyes gave her away.

     "Nothing," I said quickly, too quickly. "There's nothing going on."

     She zipped her bag with a shrug. "You know how fast words spread around here."

     I hesitated, then asked, "Would it be…a bad thing if it were true? I mean, you also said you weren't his girlfriend."

     She paused mid-motion, looking at me with a small smile. "It wouldn't be bad. But be careful, Summer. I've known Troy almost my entire life."

     Her words lingered long after she left. I wanted to press her, to ask what she meant, what history she shared with him, but she was in a rush. She left me sitting on my bed, staring at the door, the echo of her warning humming in my mind.

     And for the first time, I realized how tangled this all was becoming.