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When we get to the school, I’m quick to say goodbye and jump out of the car. I barely have any time to spare. I march right into my physics class.

Margo is sitting in her spot, but it seems like we’ve switched personalities. I’m ready to take on the day, and she’s resting her head on the table. Her skin is a little pale, and her eyes are heavy, but she’s still as pretty as ever. She doesn’t have to try, she just is.

My heart flutters with nerves, and there’s a little tremor in my hands as I walk toward her.

I can be the guy she wants.

Margo sits up, and I set the papers on her desk, trying to be as obvious as possible, then sit down.

Her brow furrows. “What is this?”

“It’s my homework.” I try to stay calm and not let my nervousness show, but at the same time, I’m not trying to be discreet. I’m trying to tell Margo I like her. I want her to know.

She touches the corner of the paper. “It’s your homework,” she says, like she’s trying to convince herself it’s actually in front of her.

“It is,” I whisper.

Mrs. Wilkson begins teaching, and I take out a notebook.

“What are you doing?” Margo asks.

I take my pencil and sharpen it before writing down the date on the page. “Taking notes.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

She crosses her arms. “What happened to sleeping during class?”

I tap the pencil on the desk. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

“Margo,” our teacher says. “Do you plan on paying attention?”

“Sorry,” Margo says, sitting up straight.

Mrs. Wilkson continues talking, and I keep taking notes.

Margo’s eyes narrow, and her stare burns into me the whole time. I don’t know if this is helping my case, but one thing is for sure—I have her attention, and I like having it.

Not used to writing so much, my hand starts to cramp, but I power through until the end of the lecture. I close my notebook and set it in my bag.

Margo’s jaw clenches down. I don’t know if she’s trying to look mad, but she looks like a pouting puppy. “I don’t like this,” she says.

“What?”

She rolls her eyes, twisting in her seat to face me. She gestures to me. “Whatever you’re doing. You’re not acting like yourself. You never do your homework. Why now?”

I bite at my smile before leaning in. I get close enough to whisper in her ear. “You like guys who do their homework.”

Her jaw drops as the bell rings.

I stand up and walk into the hallway, a smile breaking across my face. I melt into the crowd of seniors heading to their next class.

“Hold up,” she says, running out of class. She chases after me and tugs on my arm.

I turn to face her. “Yes?”

She puts her hand on her hip. Her brown eyes are giant. I want to lose myself in them. “Are you flirting with me?” she asks.