Malik Johnson was 13, five-foot-nothing, and the proud owner of a Rubik's Cube YouTube channel with 128 subscribers. Life was simple — until he caught feelings for Layla Martinez, aka the undisputed baddie of Jefferson Middle. She had AirPods in during math, 10k on TikTok, and a walk that made the hallway freeze like a Disney movie.
He first noticed her during lunch, when she turned down hot Cheetos because she "already had enough spice." Malik nearly dropped his Lunchables.
That night, he made a decision. No more watching from afar. It was time for Operation Rizz.
The training was brutal.
Jamal, his best friend and unofficial hype man, oversaw the operation. "You can't approach a girl like Layla with zero charisma, bro. You out here built like a Pokémon NPC."
So Malik trained. Every day after school, they studied pickup line compilations like game film. He practiced eyebrow raises in the mirror. Watched YouTube tutorials titled "Rizz 101: How to Go From Mid to Main Character." He even tried compliments on random objects.
"Yo, vending machine, you really keep it stocked."
Progress was slow. But steady.
Finally, the day came: Jefferson's Spring Fling. The gym was filled with dollar-store streamers, neon lights, and middle schoolers pretending not to care about everything they deeply cared about.
Layla was by the punch table, laughing with her friends, looking like she belonged in a music video. Malik's palms were sweaty. Knees weak. You know the rest.
"Go," Jamal whispered.
Malik approached.
"Hey," he said. Simple. Clean. Not trying too hard.
Layla looked at him. "Hey."
"You poured that punch like you've done this before. Like… professionally. Bartender-level precision."
She blinked, then laughed. "That might be the weirdest compliment I've ever gotten."
"Good," Malik said, shrugging. "I specialize in weird. Nerd stuff, mostly. You into Rubik's Cubes?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Like... the cube thing?"
"I can solve one in under 30 seconds."
"Okay, that's lowkey impressive."
They kept talking. Joking. Laughing. Malik told her about his channel. She told him she had a secret Animal Crossing island named "HotCheetoLand." She subscribed to his YouTube before the dance ended.
By the time the slow song came on (a censored version of "Peaches" by Justin Bieber), they were just sitting near the bleachers, sharing Starbursts and rating teacher outfits like fashion critics.
It wasn't fireworks. It wasn't a movie.
It was better.
Because it was real.
From that day on, they texted. She sent voice notes with sleepy "good mornings." He helped her study for algebra. They weren't dating — not officially — but Malik didn't care. He wasn't just the kid who "rizzed up" the baddie.
He became her friend. Her safe space.
And maybe someday, something more.
But for now?
He just smiled every time her name popped up on his phone.
Because real rizz isn't about being smooth.
It's about being yourself—and not being afraid to show it.
At Jefferson Middle School, social status wasn't earned through grades or athleticism alone. No, power was built on lunch table seating charts, Friday hallway fits, and the ever-elusive art of rizz. And no one had more than Layla Martinez—the walking myth.
She was a triple threat: captain of the step team, undefeated in hallway roast battles, and the only eighth grader allowed to wear Crocs in sport mode and still look elite. The school called her "Layla the Baddie." Teachers called her "Layla, please put your phone away." Either way, her legacy was sealed.
Malik Johnson, on the other hand, was known for two things:
Solving Rubik's Cubes during indoor recess,
Accidentally making eye contact with teachers during awkward silence.
He wasn't invisible, but he wasn't him either. Until that one moment in the cafeteria changed everything.
The Inciting Incident
It started on a regular Tuesday. Layla was arguing with Dante, the school's top sneakerhead and her on-again-off-again hallway boyfriend. He'd tried to flex some fake Jordans, and Layla flamed him in front of half the 8th grade.
"You got those from Walmart, Dante. They ain't retro, they're rollback."
The whole cafeteria erupted.
Malik, halfway through his juice pouch, choked laughing and accidentally snorted a fruit snack. Layla looked over. Saw him. Smirked.
That smirk lived in Malik's brain rent-free for weeks.
The Training Begins
Enter Jamal, Malik's right-hand dude. Wore fingerless gloves in the spring "for aesthetic," and spoke exclusively in anime references.
"Listen, bro," Jamal said. "You wanna pull Layla? You need an arc. You need to transform."
So began Malik's rizz boot camp.
He trained like it was a montage:
Practicing compliments in the mirror: "Your energy's unmatched. Like... Wi-Fi with no lag."
Studying her social media posts like sacred scrolls. (She once posted "Catch me vibin or catch me not at all" under a pic of her holding a Capri-Sun.)
Learning the five types of hallway nods: the "What's up," the "Keep it movin," the "Yo I see you," the "We don't talk but we acknowledge," and the legendary "Slow Nod of Interest."
Jamal even introduced him to Ari the Oracle, a 7th grade theater kid who ran the school's gossip network. Ari gave him the inside scoop:
"She likes confidence. Don't try too hard. Compliment something no one else notices. And don't, under any circumstances, call her 'shawty.' She hates that."
The Battle of Spring Fling
Spring Fling was the biggest event since the Fire Drill of '24. Everyone came dressed to slay. Malik showed up wearing his cousin's gold chain, a pressed hoodie, and a pair of clean white Forces he kept in the box all year for this moment.
He spotted Layla near the snack table. Her hair was curled, nails done, and she wore a shirt that read "Main Character Energy."
Malik wiped his palms on his jeans. "This is it."
He walked up, heart racing like he was about to face a gym boss.
"Hey," he said.
Layla looked at him, blinking once. "Hey."
"I just wanted to say... the way you popped Dante with that rollback line? That was art. Like Shakespeare meets Wendy's Twitter account."
Layla burst out laughing. "Okay, that's original."
"I try," Malik shrugged, casually picking up a bag of Skittles. "I also solve Rubik's Cubes in under thirty seconds, have a YouTube channel, and lowkey made the school's unofficial website."
Layla tilted her head. "Wait... that was you? The site with the fake 'Which Teacher Are You' quiz?"
"Yep. You got Ms. Chandler, didn't you?"
"I did!" She grinned. "That was disturbingly accurate."
They talked. And kept talking. And danced awkwardly during the last song (a clean version of "Snooze" by SZA). By the end of the night, she followed him on Instagram, liked two old posts, and sent a DM that read:"You're actually mad cool, cube boy 😎"