First message
I didn’t notice her at first.
Too much noise. The guys from the gym packed around the table, replaying rounds, arguing over nothing. I’m half listening, half somewhere else.
Then I hear it.
A whistle. Low. Ugly.
I look up and she’s standing two tables over, tray balanced on her palm. Ponytail loose. Smile tight. I’ve seen her in the halls for years — bright, untouchable. Never this close.
One of the older men reaches for her wrist when she sets down a drink.
My chair scrapes back.
She pulls away. “Please don’t.”
They laugh and I’m already there.
I stop at the edge of the table, hands at my sides. Calm. Controlled.
She said don’t.
The guy looks me over like I’m something stuck to his shoe. “Relax, kid.”
I hold his stare.
Don’t blink.
The room shifts. My friends go quiet behind me.
After a second, he drops her wrist. Leans back like it was all a joke. I don’t move until she steps away. When I pass her, our shoulders almost brush. She exhales like she’s been holding it.
I stay standing, finally looking over at her, assessing for any shift on her flawless face.
You alright?