The walk to his next class felt different. The familiar hallways of Northwood High seemed to hum with a new, secret frequency that only Leo could hear. The navy blue sketchbook in his hands was no longer just a lost item; it was a key. He held it carefully, aware of its weight and significance.
He had History with Mr. Davison next. He scanned the room as he slipped in, just before the final bell. And there she was. Lia Campbell. In the back row, by the window, as always. Her head was bent over her notebook, a few strands of honey-brown hair escaping from behind her ear and curtaining her face. She looked small, trying to make herself smaller still.
Leo usually sat near the front with a couple of guys from the team. Today, he didn't. He walked straight to the back of the class. He saw a few curious glances follow him, but he ignored them.
The empty seat next to Lia was usually empty by unspoken agreement. Today, Leo slid into it.
He felt her tense up immediately. She didn't look at him, but her shoulders crept up towards her ears, and her knuckles, gripping her pencil, turned white. The message was clear: You are in my bubble. Please leave.
The teacher began droning on about the Treaty of Versailles. Leo leaned over slightly, just enough to be in her periphery.
"Hey," he whispered, his voice low.
Lia flinched as if he'd shouted. She finally chanced a glance at him, her eyes wide and startled, the color of warm cedar. They were full of pure, unadulterated panic. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a very unexpected, very shiny truck.
"You left this by the field," Leo said softly. He slid the blue sketchbook onto the space between their desks.
Lia's gaze dropped to the book. Her face, already pale, went ashen. A wave of pure dread visibly washed over her. Her breath hitched. This was it. Her worst nightmare. Her private world, her secret heart, had been discovered by its very subject. The humiliation was so complete, so absolute, she looked like she wanted to vanish into the floorboards.
Leo saw the terror in her eyes and rushed to speak, his voice still a hushed, urgent whisper. "Wait, before you… freak out. It's… it's amazing. Seriously. I've never seen anything like it."
She just stared at him, frozen, clearly not believing him. She was waiting for the punchline, the mockery.
"I'm not kidding," he insisted, his tone earnest. "The way you drew the light on the tree… and Mrs. Gable in the cafeteria… you made her look like a queen." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "And the drawings of… well, me…" He saw her flinch again and hurried on. "They're not creepy. They're… cool. You made me look way more interesting than I am."
A faint, confused frown touched her lips. This was not going the way she had scripted this particular nightmare.
Leo saw his opening. This was the moment. He took a breath.
"Look, I have a proposition. A trade." He kept his voice light, non-threatening. "I need to not fail Art. Coach's orders. Keep the GPA up. And I'm honestly, truly terrible. Like, 'stick figures are a challenge' terrible."
He gestured with his chin toward the sketchbook. "You're obviously a genius. So, you tutor me in Art. Save me from flunking. And in return…" He gave her his best, most disarming sunny smile. The one she had drawn so often. "I'll tutor you in… well, not being terrified of everything. I'll help you break out of this shell. We can call it a cultural exchange."
Lia's mouth actually opened slightly. No sound came out. She looked from him, to the sketchbook, and back to him. Her brain was clearly short-circuiting, trying to process the absurdity of the offer. The most popular boy in school, the star athlete, wanted to make a deal with her? To be her… what? Social tutor?
She finally found her voice, though it was barely a breathy squeak. "Why?"
The question was simple, but it held a universe of confusion.
Leo's smile softened into something more genuine. "Because I think it would be a shame if the only person who gets to see the world through your eyes is you. And because I want to know how you do it."
The teacher's voice cut through their bubble. "Mr. Vargas? Is there something you'd like to share with the class about the political climate of post-war Germany?"
Leo leaned back, effortlessly slipping into his public persona. "Just agreeing that the terms were overly harsh, sir. Set the stage for future conflict." He flashed the teacher a charming grin that usually got him out of trouble.
Mr. Davison just sighed and continued.
Leo turned back to Lia. He tapped the cover of the sketchbook once. "Think about it." Then he gathered his things and, as the bell rang, moved back to his usual seat near the front, leaving her alone with her thoughts and her returned treasure.
Lia stared at the sketchbook. Her heart was still hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She slowly, carefully, pulled it into her lap, holding it tightly. She felt exposed, raw. But beneath the terror, a tiny, fragile spark of something else flickered.
Curiosity.
He hadn't laughed. He hadn't shown his friends. He'd called her a genius.
And he'd asked for her help.
The world, which had felt so dangerously upside-down a minute ago, seemed to tilt again, but this time, just maybe, in a fascinating new direction.