(Adrian’s POV)

Monday mornings at school somehow feel more exhausting than café shifts.

At least at the café I’m getting paid to suffer.

The four of us walk through the front gates together while half-awake students drag themselves across campus carrying energy drinks and unfinished homework.

Jay is barely functioning.

“I’m gonna die,” he mumbles for the fifth time in ten minutes.

“You said that already,” Lia replies.

“I mean it more now.”

Blake walks beside me with one headphone hanging around his neck while lazily spinning a football in one hand.

I try not to notice how many people stare at him when we pass.

Keyword: try.

“Your bruise looks better,” Blake says casually.

Jay immediately turns around dramatically. “Awww, he noticed.”

“Shut up,” both me and Blake say at the same time.

Lia points at us. “That was terrifyingly synchronized.”

I hate this group.

The warning bell rings overhead.

Jay groans loudly. “If history class kills me, tell my mother I fought bravely.”

“She already knows you’re dramatic,” Lia says.

We split off toward our classes after that.

Blake bumps my shoulder lightly before heading toward the athletic building.

“See you at lunch, sunshine.”

I instinctively open my mouth to complain 

Then stop.

Because honestly?

I’m getting used to it.

Which feels dangerous.

“Bye, Blake,” I mutter instead.

His grin appears instantly.

And somehow that feels like losing.

By lunch, the campus is loud again.

The cafeteria buzzes with conversations while people crowd around tables, trading snacks and yelling across the room like every high school movie ever made.

Our group claims the same table near the windows like always.

Jay immediately steals fries off Lia’s tray.

She slaps his hand.

“Die.”

“Worth it.”

Blake drops into the seat across from me while Ethan slides into the chair beside him a second later.

Ethan Carter.

Quarterback.

One of Blake’s teammates.

And somehow also one of the biggest theater kids I’ve ever met.

Nobody understands it.

Not even the football team.

“You look alive today,” Ethan says to Blake.

“Barely.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Before Blake can answer, another voice cuts in.

“Hey, Blake.”

Emma Smith walks up to the table carrying a sports drink and flashing that perfect head-cheerleader smile she always has.

Blonde ponytail. Perfect makeup. School spirit practically radiating off her.

The entire cafeteria notices her immediately.

Blake looks up. “Hey, Emma.”

“You ready for Friday?” she asks.

Blake leans back in his chair. “Yeah. Coach has us dying at practice though.”

“As he should,” Emma says. “We’re not losing to Westview again.”

Jay whispers toward me, “She scares me.”

“She scares everybody,” Lia whispers back.

Emma hears them anyway.

“I heard that.”

Jay points at her. “See?”

Emma rolls her eyes with a smile before looking back at Blake again.

“You better win,” she says.

“We’ll try not to disappoint you.”

“Oh, you definitely will disappoint me somehow.”

“Wow. Supportive.”

Their banter is easy.

Natural.

And for some reason, it irritates me more than it should.

I stab my fries harder than necessary.

Lia notices immediately.

Again.

Because apparently everyone in my life enjoys observing me like a zoo animal.

Before she can say anything, Ethan suddenly points at Blake.

“Oh right Coach wants mandatory practice after school every day this week.”

Blake groans dramatically. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish.”

“We already practice every day.”

“Now we practice harder every day.”

“That sounds illegal.”

“Take it up with Coach.”

Blake drops his head onto the table. “Tell my family I died for football.”

“Your dad probably would frame the jersey,” Ethan says casually.

The joke lands weirdly.

At least for me.

Blake laughs anyway, but it sounds thinner than usual.

Before I can think about it too much, Ethan turns toward me instead.

“Oh Adrian, thanks again for that script rewrite for drama club.”

I blink. “Oh. Yeah, no problem.”

Emma looks confused. “Wait, you helped with the drama script?”

Lia answers before I can. “Adrian basically saved their entire production.”

Ethan points at me proudly. “He fixed our second act.”

“Your second act was terrible,” I say flatly.

“Exactly.”

Jay leans back in his chair dramatically. “It still makes no sense to me that the star quarterback is a drama kid.”

Ethan gasps. “Athletes can have depth.”

“You sing show tunes during practice,” Blake says.

“And?”

“You tackled a guy while humming Hamilton.”

“That sounds iconic actually,” Lia says.

“It WAS iconic,” Ethan agrees.

Emma shakes her head. “Coach is still convinced theater corrupted you.”

“It did,” Ethan says proudly.

Blake finally lifts his head from the table. “Honestly, the theater kids are scarier than football players.”

“That’s because they bite,” Lia replies.

“Emotionally,” Jay adds.

“Sometimes physically,” Ethan says thoughtfully.

The table erupts into overlapping conversations after that.

Emma arguing with Ethan about choreography.

Jay trying to steal more fries.

Lia threatening violence.

Blake laughing so hard he nearly chokes on his drink.

And somewhere in the middle of all of it 

I catch myself staring at him again.

Not in the casual way I usually do.

Different.

Because now I can’t stop hearing Jenna’s voice in my head.

You two have been in love with each other since middle school.

I glance away immediately.

But the damage is already done.

Because now every little thing feels louder.

The way Blake leans toward me naturally when he talks.

The way he always notices when I get quiet.

The way he smiles first whenever I laugh.

And worst of all 

The terrifying possibility that maybe Jenna’s right.