Mrs. Donovan is scribbling on the board, her chalk squeaking like nails on a chalkboard, when a folded scrap of paper lands on my desk. Vincent. Of course.
I unfold it under the table. His messy handwriting makes me grin instantly:So... you looked like you were about to pass out earlier. Nervous? Or... jealous?
I shoot him a glare across the aisle, but he just raises his brows, smug as hell. I grab my pen and scribble back:
Neither. My blood sugar was low. Lucky for me, I had Snickers.
I flick the note back, brushing his hand on purpose. He doesn’t look away from the board at first, pretending to be all serious about Mrs. Donovan’s lecture, but when he opens the paper, his lips twitch like he’s fighting a laugh.
A moment later, it comes sliding back my way.
Right, because your glare at Sarah definitely screamed: “I need chocolate.”
I stifle a laugh, cover it with a cough, and write back quickly:
Sarah’s sweet. I like her. Don’t twist it. I was glaring at you, actually. And anyway, how do you even know I was staring when your back was turned? When you turned around after breaking her heart and saw me, you looked like you’d just seen Ghostface.
That makes him grin outright when he reads it. He leans closer, his shoulder brushing mine, and whispers, “Glaring at me? That’s even worse. Means you were jealous. And for your information, I’ve got eyes in the back of my head.”
I snicker under my breath. “Like Cousin Itt from the Addams Family?”
He doesn’t even pause. “Yeah, except way more attractive. And with better hair.”
I swat him with my notebook, cheeks blazing. “Shut up.”
“Make me,” he shoots back instantly, his voice low and teasing, that crooked smile tugging at his lips.
I try to glare at him again, but it only makes him smirk wider, like he knows exactly how rattled I am.
Max groans from the desk next to us, dragging a hand down his face. “If you two start turning Addams Family references into foreplay, I’m moving seats.”
That sets me off laughing for real this time, and Vincent only shrugs, smug as ever—like making me smile means he’s already won.
Max rolls his eyes. “You two seriously think you’re being subtle? Mrs. Donovan’s gonna bust you in about five seconds.”
“We’re studying,” Vincent says innocently, like he hasn’t just been caught red-handed passing me a love note in the middle of class.
Max lifts a brow. “Studying? Oh yeah? What exactly?”
Vincent doesn’t even hesitate. “The tragic love triangle between Shakespeare, Nova, and chocolate.”
I choke on my own spit. “That’s not even—”
But Vincent is already putting on his best fake-Shakespeare voice, speaking just low enough for only us to hear: “Shall I compare thee to a Snickers bar? Thou art more sweet, less likely to melt in the sun. Thou dost not crumble like cookies in my pocket, But thou endurest, my everlasting one.”
I slap my hand over my mouth, trying so hard not to laugh, but a very undignified snort escapes anyway.
Mrs. Donovan whirls around, glaring daggers at the back of the room. “Something amusing back there?”
“No, ma’am,” Max answers smoothly before I can say anything, looking way too pleased with himself.
Vincent is struggling not to laugh beside me, his shoulders shaking. When Mrs. Donovan finally turns back to the board, he leans just close enough that only I can hear.
“You laughed. Which means I win.”
I snatch the paper and write one last line, sliding it back to him.
Don’t get cocky. Spring ball’s coming up. I’ll destroy you on the dance floor.
