I didn’t just fall for bread.

I ache for him.

It’s the way his hand brushes mine in the hallway and lingers half a second too long. The way he looks at me when I’m talking, like he’s not just listening — he’s studying me. Memorizing me. And when he smirks? God. I forget how to breathe.

I catch myself imagining pulling him closer instead of pretending we’re just friends. Letting my fingers hook into his hoodie. Leaning in so he can feel how fast my heart is racing. Whispering, “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Tomorrow, I’m done playing innocent.

When we’re alone after school, I’m stepping into his space. Close enough that he has to decide — step back or pull me closer.

“bread,” I’ll murmur, eyes locked on his, “let me take you out.”

And if he looks at my lips the way I think he will?

He won’t need to answer.

-rep good teammate