"My apologies, Mr. Archie," Mateo says smoothly. But he's not even looking at the teacher. His amuses eyes are trained on me like he knows he's already won something. I immediately drop my eyes and stare down at my notebook like it's the most fascinating thing in the world.
Please don't sit next to me. Please don't sit next to me.
I start repeating the silent prayer like a mantra in my head, clutching my pen tighter as if that'll ward him off.
It doesn't.
Because, of course, the universe hates me. A chair scrapes beside mine, and before I can even mentally brace myself, Mateo is sliding into the empty seat next to me like it was always meant to be his.
"Fancy seeing you here," he says casually, leaning back in his chair like we're old friends. "Miss me much?"
I don't answer. I don't even look at him. I try to focus on the screen at the front of the room, where Mr. Archie is now explaining the basics of the human nervous system. The irony doesn't escape me. My own nervous system is really freaking out rn.
Beside me, Mateo pulls out his phone and starts mindlessly scrolling, completely ignoring the lesson. I do my best to ignore him, copying down bullet points from the slides, even though my handwriting's turning shaky and uneven.
All around us, other students are slipping into side conversations. No one seems remotely interested in the biology slideshow. Mr. Archie keeps talking, but the room is full of quiet chatter and zero focus.
And then Mateo speaks again, voice soft and confident like he knows exactly how much space he takes up in my brain.
"You can't ignore me forever, Blueie," he says. "You're coming to my party tonight."
He doesn't ask. He states it. Like it's already been decided for me.
I grit my teeth and finally glance his way, narrowing my eyes. "And what exactly makes you think that?"
His lips twitch upward, dangerously close to a grin.
Without warning, he grabs me by the collar of my oversized shirt and leans in, his face mere inches from mine. His breath is warm, his voice a whisper low, rough, and way too intimate.
"Because I said so."
Mateo's fist is twisted in the front of my shirt, pulling me so close that I can feel the heat of his breath against my face. His knuckles press hard into my chest, and I have to fight the sudden and overwhelming urge to either punch him—or pass out.
I take a breath so sharp it nearly cuts my lungs. It's more of a gulp, really—one of those dramatic, cartoonish ones you think only exist in movies. But the fear bubbling in my stomach is very real. So is the infuriating flicker of something else I don't want to name, something electric and wrong and terrifyingly addictive.
My heart is pounding so hard it physically hurts. It feels like it's trying to slam its way out of my ribcage. I can't even hear the slideshow anymore, just the blood rushing through my ears. Funny how my heart's been doing this since I got to the school.
I realize I'm chewing on my bottom lip, a nervous habit I thought I'd outgrown years ago. Well, apparently not.
And then, finally, because I don't have the courage to say anything better. I mumble the one word I can manage: "Okay."
It sounds pitiful coming out of my mouth. Small. Defeated. But I mean, come on, what else am I supposed to say to someone who's clearly not operating under the rules of normal human decency?
"Text me when you're on your way tonight," Mateo says smoothly, like he didn't just yank me around like a rag doll. "Party starts at ten-thirty."
Then, just like that, he lets go.
I stumble slightly as my feet hit the ground again. I hadn't even realized he'd lifted me partially off the floor until I felt the weight return to my legs. My hands are shaking as I grab my notebook, and I force my eyes forward, away from him, pretending like we didn't just have a weird, intense, borderline-threatening moment in the middle of Biology class.
Mateo leans back in his chair as if nothing happened. As if we're just two kids watching a slideshow on neurons (a nerve cell). His arms cross behind his head. He looks relaxed. Bored, even.
And me? I'm a damn mess. As anyone would expect.
I try to focus on the slides again. They're still flipping through one after another, the soft hum of the projector filling the silence Mr. Archie's snoring leaves behind. The words on the screen might as well be in another language. I blink a few times, trying to steady my breathing.
One slide. Two slides. My heart is still hammering. By the fourth, I can almost feel my pulse calming. Barely.
Eventually, when I'm back to a reasonable level of anxiety and no longer on the verge of vomiting, I glance at Mr. Archie, just in time to catch him fully asleep at his desk. His head is tilted back, mouth slightly open, completely unaware of the absolute circus that's been unfolding in his classroom.
The slideshow keeps going, flicking past images of the brainstem and spinal cord, oblivious to its audience of one: me. Or, well, me and Mateo. Though I doubt he's paying attention.
Thirty painfully slow minutes drag by. No one else in the room is even pretending to care. The second the bell rings, the class erupts into motion, everyone just grabs their bags like the room's on fire and bolts for the door.
I stay seated a second longer, because Mateo's still sitting next to me, and I don't want to brush against him while leaving.
He stands, slinging his bag over one shoulder, and says in that same low, smug voice, "Don't be late."
And just like that, he disappears.
My entire nervous system seems to short-circuit all over again.
It's actually ridiculous how this guy, who I've known for less than a full school day btw, can manage to hijack every single one of my bodily functions. My heart's racing. My hands are clammy. I swear I'm sweating through my shirt. And the worst part? I hate how much space he takes up in my head.