Third period was the worst. I caught myself writing Hayes in the margins of my notebook like a lovesick idiot. Just his lastname, looping it in cursive like some ridiculous high school cliché. The second I realized what I was doing, I ripped the page out and shoved it deep into my backpack like it was incriminating evidence. Which I guess, technically, it is.
And Sal? She’s been watching me all day like I’ve grown a second head. Kept nudging me in the lunch line, whispering comments about how I’m zoning out more than usual. I didn’t clue her in at all, just shook my head and blamed it on not getting enough sleep.
But she knows me, and she’s not buying it.
Sure enough, when I make it out to my car after the final bell, she’s already there. Leaning against the passenger side door, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on her head like she’s about to conduct a full-on interrogation.
“Lake?” she asks, and there’s zero room for negotiation in her tone. “I want answers. With a side of weed and sunset reflection time. Let’s go.”
I sigh, unlocking the door. “Get in. I’ll tell you everything.”
She grins as she hops in. “Knew you were hiding something.”
The drive out is quiet. The kind that feels like home, the silence of two best friends who know each other better than they know themselves. Sal doesn’t push. She just rolls the window down, lets the wind whip through her curls, and waits.
By the time we get to the lake, my chest feels tight. The closer we get to our usual spot, the more real it all feels. The dock stretches out into the still water, sun hanging low behind it, casting everything in burnt orange. It’s quiet here. Our sacred space. A place the rest of the world can’t reach.
We kick off our shoes and walk barefoot down the worn planks, the wood cool and rough underneath our feet. I drop my bag and flop down near the edge, legs dangling just above the surface. Sal settles next to me, hurriedly pulling a joint from her jacket like she’s been waiting all day to light it.
We pass it back and forth in silence, the smoke easing tension from our shoulders as the sky fades slowly from peach to violet.
Eventually, she speaks. “Okay, I’ve given you time to breathe. Now you need to talk.”
I glance at her and bite the inside of my cheek. Then I take a deep breath and look up at the sky.
“You remember the guy from the bar?”
“Yeah,” she chuckles, “it’s hard to forget with the way you’ve been obsessing over him.”
“Well,” I say, my face turning red.
Her head snaps toward me so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t get whiplash. Her eyes go huge. “No way.”
“Yeah.”
“Sophie. No. Don’t say it.”
“It’s him. Mr. Hayes.”
She grabs my arm. “Are you saying the mystery man from the bar—the one with the voice and the hands—is our teacher?”
I drop my face into my hands and groan. “Why do you say it like that?”
“Because that’sinsane. That’s like... textbook forbidden romance shit.Literallytextbook. You can’t make this stuff up. Well, someone probably could, but still.”
“Sal—”
“No, wait. You didn’t know. Right? He didn’t know. You had a moment. A magical, once-in-a-lifetime bar night where the vibes were immaculate. Then boom. Plot twist. He walks into your classroom and suddenly he’s Mr. Hayes.”
I shoot her a look. “Are you done?”
She just stares at me, wide-eyed. “I don’t know. Maybe. Did he recognize you?”
“Immediately.”
“Did he say anything?”
“No. But I saw it in his face. It was like he’d seen a ghost.”
