· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍
୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 classroom buzzed with the usual low hum of chatter, pens scratching against paper, and the occasional shuffle of a chair.
The scent of stale coffee and whiteboard markers hung faintly in the air. Chance sat near the back, her notebook open to a blank page, the pen in her hand hovering just above it.
Her focus wasn't on the lesson. It hadn't been since she walked in and saw Justyn.
He was sitting a few rows ahead and slightly to the left, his profile perfectly visible from where she sat. But he wasn't alone.
Tasha, the cheerleader who had been orbiting Justyn lately, sat right beside him. Brown skin glowing under the fluorescent lights, her long goddess braids swept over one shoulder, Tasha leaned in close, laughing at something Justyn had said.
Her perfectly manicured nails tapped lightly on his arm, and she tilted her head in a way that made the small silver hoops in her ears catch the light.
Chance tried to focus on her notebook, willing her eyes to stay on the page. She tapped her pen nervously against the paper, her pulse quickening every time she caught the sound of Tasha's laugh.
"Are you even listening?" Dior's voice cut through Chance's thoughts.
"Huh?" Chance glanced to her right, where her best friend sat with her legs crossed, one eyebrow arched in amusement.
"I said," Dior repeated, lowering her voice "you've been zoning out since we got here. What's up with you?"
"Nothing," Chance replied quickly, too quickly.
Dior followed Chance's line of sight, her eyes narrowing slightly when they landed on Justyn and Tasha. "Ah," she said knowingly, dragging the word out. "That's what's up."
Chance rolled her eyes and looked back at her notebook. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure, you don't," Dior said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
Chance felt her cheeks grow warm but refused to look at Dior. Instead, she forced herself to focus on the lesson. The teacher was droning on about some historical event, but the words blurred together in her mind.
When she finally gave in and glanced up again, Justyn was leaning back in his chair, his body turned slightly toward Tasha. His face was relaxed, a small, easy smile tugging at his lips as she spoke to him.
Chance quickly looked away, her stomach twisting.
It didn't mean anything, she told herself. Justyn had always been friendly, and Tasha was just... Tasha. The kind of girl who could light up a room without even trying, whose confidence drew people to her like moths to a flame.
But despite the logic, Chance couldn't ignore the ache in her chest.
"Okay, foreal," Dior whispered, leaning in closer. "You're gonna break your neck from all that looking away. What's the deal?"
