I had a free period after lunch and nothing better to do, so I wandered into the library. Mostly empty. Quiet. Peaceful enough to help me forget I'd just survived verbal warfare in a science lab.
I sat near the window, dropped my bag on the table, and pulled out my notebook. Figured I'd scribble down some ideas, maybe even journal about the chaos queen I was somehow falling for.
But when I flipped my notebook open… I froze.
Right there, wedged between two pages I knew I hadn't touched, was a folded sheet of paper.
I glanced around.
No one near my table.
No Zaria.
No clique lurking in the shadows.
Just me, the paper, and an eerie silence.
I slowly unfolded it.
Handwritten. Slanted cursive. Lavender ink. Definitely not mine.
> "You talk a little too much for someone who thinks he's mysterious.
But I'll admit…
You're fun when you fight back.
—Z"
I stared at it for a full minute, reading and re-reading. No emoji. No heart. No follow-up.
Just that.
A note.
In my notebook.
Which meant at some point between class and now—Zaria had gotten into my stuff. Silently. Casually. Like it was a joke.
And the wild part?
I liked it.
I leaned back in the chair, smirking to myself. So this was the game now? Cool.
She wanted to play like that?
I'd write back.
That note stayed in my pocket all afternoon like a secret burning through the fabric.
"You're fun when you fight back."
She really had me out here walking the halls like I was in a spy movie.
Zaria had vanished after science class—nowhere in the library, not in the cafeteria, not even her usual locker post-up.
But I wasn't giving up.
When I finally spotted her, it was outside the art room—gold hoops in her ears, phone in hand, leaning against the wall like she belonged there. Alone. Calm. Deadly.
I walked over, heart calm but pulse fast. I wasn't nervous—I was anticipating.
She looked up without surprise. Of course she knew I'd find her.
"You left me a note," I said, pulling it out like it was Exhibit A.
She eyed it, then shrugged. "You read it?"
"No, I framed it and hung it in my museum of emotional damage."
That earned me a smirk.
She tucked her phone in her bag slowly, like she had all the time in the world.
"What do you want, Nathan?"
Her tone was light but laced with challenge. I stepped closer.
"I want your contact. IG. Number. Snap. Twitter. Burner account. Your Spotify playlist. I'll take anything at this point."
She laughed—genuinely this time. "So desperate."
I raised an eyebrow. "Nah. I just figured if you're gonna poison me, I should at least be able to text you my last words."
Zaria pulled her phone back out, tapped the screen, then held it toward me. It was open on her Instagram page.
"Follow first," she said. "Then maybe I'll reply."
I took out my phone and scanned her username fast. Click. Followed.
"You're private," I said.
She looked up with a sly smile. "Exactly."
Then she turned and walked away, adding one final blow over her shoulder:
"Don't be boring in my DMs."
I stood there, staring at her disappearing braid swing and that dangerous little strut.
She gave me nothing.
And everything.
Yeah... I was definitely down bad.
But I had her handle now.