“Are you still mad at me?
Yes ☐
No ☐
Secretly yes but pretending not to be ☐”
Luca’s handwriting appears in the margin of my calculus notes like graffiti on a church wall. I glance sideways at him—he’s wearing that shit-eating grin that makes me want to both kiss him and throw my textbook at his head.
I check the third box.
“Knew it,” he whispers, nudging my foot under the desk.
“Stop,” I hiss back, but I don’t move my leg away. Because I’m apparently a masochist with zero self-preservation instincts.
“Stop what?” His voice is all fake innocence, but his fingers are creeping across the desk toward mine. “I’m being helpful. Educational, even.”
“You’re being a menace.”
“You love it.”
My pencil snaps in half. Luca full-on grins like he just won the lottery.
“Smooth, Linwood.”
“Fuck off.”
He slides his pen over, casual as breathing. His knuckles brush mine, and my brain short-circuits like a blown fuse. It’s nothing—barely contact—but my entire nervous system treats it like a five-alarm fire.
“You’re blushing,” he observes, way too pleased with himself.
“I’m having an allergic reaction to your cologne.”
“Liar.”
The bell rings before I can come up with a decent comeback. Luca follows me into the hallway like a loyal puppy, except puppies don’t make you question your entire sexual orientation with a single smirk.
“Walk you to debate?” he offers.
I should say no. Should put distance between us before I do something catastrophically stupid like confess my undying love in front of the trophy case.
“Fine,” I mutter instead.
Because I’m weak. And because he’s wearing that henley that makes his shoulders look illegal.
The whole walk, he’s in my space—bumping my shoulder, stealing my earbuds, making jokes that shouldn’t be funny but are. By the time we reach the debate room, I’m thoroughly convinced he’s doing this shit on purpose.
“See you later,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that makes it sound like a promise.
I spend the next hour pretending to care about foreign policy while replaying every micro-interaction we just had. Pathetic doesn’t even begin to cover it.
When the final bell rings, I’m already planning my escape route home. Then I see them.
Luca and Jace, posted up by the benches like they’re auditioning for a fucking Abercrombie ad. Luca’s arm is draped over Jace’s shoulders, casual and comfortable, while Jace leans into him like they’ve done this dance a thousand times.
My stomach drops straight to hell.
They look perfect together. All sharp jawlines and effortless charm, like someone’s idea of what teenage boys should be. Meanwhile, I’m standing here in my thrift store cardigan, watching my best friend flirt with the guy who’s made my life miserable since freshman year.
“Jesus, Noah.” My childhood friend Ezra appears at my elbow, following my line of sight. “You’re practically vibrating with tragic energy.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re really not.” He sighs. “Look, I love you, but this whole pining thing is getting painful to watch.”
“I’m not pining.”
“You’re literally staring at them like they kicked your dog.”
I force myself to look away. “It’s whatever.”
“Is it, though?” Ezra’s voice goes gentle, which is worse than if he’d just called me pathetic. “Because you’ve been walking around like a ghost for days, and now you’re torturing yourself by watching Luca do his thing with someone else.”
“His thing?”
“The flirting. The touching. The whole ‘I’m gorgeous and I know it’ routine he pulls with literally everyone.”
The words hit like a slap. “Everyone?”
“Noah.” Ezra grabs my arm. “He’s not serious about you. Or Jace. Or anyone. That’s just how he is.”
I know that. Rationally, I know that. But knowing something and feeling it are two completely different animals.
“I need to go,” I mumble.
But instead of heading to my car, I find myself walking straight toward them. Because apparently, I have a death wish.
Luca spots me first. His laugh dies mid-sound, and something shifts in his expression—surprise, maybe, or guilt. But he doesn’t move away from Jace.
“Noah,” he says carefully. “What’s up?”
Jace turns to look at me, that trademark smirk already sliding into place. “Well, well. Look who decided to join the party.”
“I need to talk to you,” I tell Luca, ignoring Jace entirely.
“Sure.” But he still doesn’t move.
Jace glances between us like he’s watching a tennis match. “This gonna get messy? Should I call someone?”
“You should probably leave,” I say flatly.
Jace’s eyebrows shoot up. “Damn, Linwood’s got claws today.”
“Jace.” Luca’s voice has an edge to it. “Give us a minute.”
Jace shrugs and pushes off the car. “Holler if you need backup, babe.”
The casual endearment makes my skin crawl, but Luca doesn’t correct him. Just watches him walk away before turning back to me.
“Okay,” he says. “Talk.”
Now that we’re alone, all my righteous anger evaporates, leaving me feeling exposed and ridiculous.
“You’ve been fucking with my head all day,” I say finally.
He blinks. “What?”
“The notes. The touching. The whole cute best friend routine.” My voice is getting louder, but I can’t seem to stop it. “And then I come out here and you’re all over Jace like I don’t exist.”
“It’s not like that—”
“Then what is it like?” I snap. “Because I’m getting seriously mixed signals here.”
Luca steps closer, and I can see the conflict in his eyes. “Noah—”
“Do you want me or not?”
The question hangs between us like a live wire. Luca’s mouth opens, closes, opens again. No sound comes out.
“Because I can’t keep doing this,” I continue, the words tumbling out faster than I can stop them. “I can’t sit in class while you play footsie with me under the desk, then watch you put your hands all over someone else five minutes later.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were.”
He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “It’s complicated.”
“It’s really not.” My heart is hammering so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t burst. “Either you want me, or you don’t. Either this means something, or it doesn’t.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
He stares at me for a long moment, and I can see him wrestling with something. The silence stretches until I’m ready to crawl out of my skin.
“I don’t know what I want,” he says finally.
The honesty of it hits me like a punch to the gut. At least when I thought he was just fucking with me, I could be angry. This is worse. This is him being real, and vulnerable, and completely fucking devastating.
He reaches for me, fingers barely grazing my wrist. “What are you doing to me?”
“Figure it out, Luca,” I whisper. “Because I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t matter to me.”