Lunch shifts are louder on Fridays.

Not in volume in energy.

There’s something about the end of the week that makes everyone a little reckless. Orders are faster. Laughter is sharper. Time feels shorter.

We’re mid-rush when the bell above the café door rings again.

I don’t look up at first.

“Next!” Blake calls, easy smile already in place.

Then the line parts slightly.

White cheer jacket. Ponytail high and deliberate. Confidence like it was stitched into her uniform.

Emma.

Cheer captain. Social gravity.

She steps up to the counter like she belongs there.

“Hey, Blake.”

Her voice is warm. Casual. Familiar.

Blake’s posture shifts subtly, but I catch it. Shoulders straighten. Smile tilts into something smoother.

“Hey, Em.”

Em.

Interesting.

“The usual?” he asks.

She nods. “Vanilla iced latte. Extra shot.”

“Bold choice.”

“I’m a bold person.”

He grins. “I’ve noticed.”

I keep my eyes on the register screen, even though Blake is the one taking the order.

I don’t need to look to know he’s leaning slightly on the counter.

I don’t need to look to hear the tone.

Jay glances at me from the back.

I don’t react.

Emma hands over her card. “Practice ran long. The coach is in one of those moods.”

“Yeah?” Blake says. “Ours too.”

She laughs. “Football boys always complain.”

He places a hand over his chest dramatically. “We suffer silently.”

“Sure you do.”

Their banter is effortless.

Natural.

Annoyingly fluid.

Lia approaches from behind the espresso machine, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Emma!” she says brightly.

Emma lights up. “Lia, hi!”

There’s something softer in Emma’s expression when she looks at Lia. Less performative. More genuine.

“How’s squad?” Lia asks.

“Chaotic. You should’ve been there yesterday.”

“I was there.”

Emma rolls her eyes playfully. “I mean actually paying attention.”

Lia laughs   not the exaggerated, performative one she uses with customers. A real one.

I didn’t know it was Emma who convinced Lia to join cheer until a few weeks ago. It fits, though. Emma has that kind of pull. That kind of magnetism.

Blake hands Emma her drink.

“Careful,” he says. “Extra shots might make you unstoppable.”

She takes it, fingers brushing him briefly. “That’s kind of the point.”

My jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.

It shouldn’t.

This is nothing.

It’s just flirting.

Normal. Harmless.

So why does it feel like something is slipping out of alignment?

Emma turns to leave, but not before nudging Lia lightly. “You’re coming to the game tonight, right?”

“Obviously,” Lia says.

“Good. We need to be loud.”

Emma glances once more at Blake. “See you around.”

“Count on it.”

The bell chimes as she exits.

And the café feels different.

Not emptier.

Just… rearranged.

It’s quiet for a moment after she leaves.

Then Jay leans across the counter toward Lia, lowering his voice.

“Sis,” he says conspiratorially, “you got the hots for the cheer captain.”

It is meant to be private.

It is not.

Lia spins toward him immediately, loud enough for the entire café to hear.

“You literally have a huge crush on that one football player.”

Silence.

Jay freezes.

Customers glance up.

I look between them slowly.

Blake blinks. “What?”

Jay’s face goes crimson. “I do not.”

“Oh my God,” Lia continues, unbothered. “You follow him on three different accounts.”

“That’s strategy!”

“Sure.”

I almost smile.

Almost.

Blake looks amused. “Which football player?”

Jay refuses to answer, grabbing a stack of cups and disappearing into the back.

Lia smirks, satisfied.

But something about the exchange lingers.

Seeds.

Planted quietly.

The rush dies down around 1:10.

I take advantage of the lull and pull my notebook from my backpack, flipping to a blank page behind the register.

“You’re working?” Blake asks, sliding beside me.

“I have to finish a script.”

“For?”

“Ethan.”

The name is casual.

Neutral.

At least, I intend it to be.

Jay, who had just re-emerged from the back, stops mid-step.

Freezes.

“Ethan?” Blake repeats.

“Yes,” I say, pen moving across the page. “He asked me to help him with something for the media club.”

Jay drops a sleeve of cups.

They scatter.

Lia stares at him.

Blake looks between the two of them, suspicious.

“Are you okay?” I ask Jay.

“I’m fine,” he says too quickly, crouching to gather the cups.

Interesting.

Blake nudges my shoulder lightly. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m writing.”

“No,” he says softly. “You’re quiet.”

I keep my eyes on the page.

He leans closer, lowering his voice.

“She’s so hot.”

There’s no hesitation in the statement.

He says it like an observation.

Like fact.

My pen pauses for half a second.

“Yeah,” I reply evenly. “She is.”

There’s a beat.

He watches me carefully now.

“You good?”

I nod once. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just ” He shrugs. “You seem off.”

I tap my pen against the notebook. “I told you. I need to finish this for Ethan.”

It’s not a lie.

It’s just not the whole truth.

Blake studies me for a moment longer.

Then he leans back slightly.

“Okay,” he says.

But he doesn’t sound convinced.

Across the café, Jay is very deliberately not looking at anyone.

Lia is pretending not to notice.

And I’m staring at a page of dialogue that suddenly makes far less sense than it did five minutes ago.

Emma is cool with Jay.

Cool with me.

Friends with Lia.

And apparently something else with Blake.

It shouldn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.

But as I write, I find my sentences sharper than usual.

More defensive.

More guarded.

And I realize something uncomfortable.

The jealousy isn’t loud.

It doesn’t storm or shout.

It sits.

Quietly.

Waiting.