Third period was five minutes from ending, and Mrs. Aldridge’s history lecture droned on like a distant lawnmower. Most of the class had their eyes glazed over, pens moving lazily across notebooks.

Except for the seat two rows ahead and one to the left.

Then the door creaked open. Late. Of course.

Drew Carter stood in the doorway, hockey bag slung over one shoulder, his blonde hair still damp from the morning practice. His green eyes swept the room once, twice, landing on the empty seat beside you.