Not embarrassment.
Anger.
“You’re watching her?” she says quietly.
The livestream keeps playing.
Stella high-fives a teammate.
I pull the earbud out.
“It’s a good game,” I say.
Isa stares at me like she’s trying to solve a puzzle.
“Right.” she retorts as her chair scrapes back.
She grabs her bag.
And walks out.
I’m on my feet before I think about it.
“Isa!”
The hallway outside the lecture hall is crowded with students flooding between classes.
She moves fast.
Long athlete strides.
I catch up near the stairwell.
“Isa, wait.”
She turns.
Her cheeks are flushed.
Eyes bright with something sharp.
“Are you in love with her or something?” she demands.
The question lands harder than expected.
“No.”
I shake my head immediately.
“No. We never even dated.”
“Then why do you look like that when you watch her?”
I open my mouth.
Close it again.
Because I don’t have a clean answer.
