How could he act like their shared past was nothing more than a blurred memory? How could he brush off their history with a simple "I don't remember," while she remained trapped in the wreckage, unable to find the exit?

The rumors that Eden Anderson and Lucas Powell couldn't stand each other had become common knowledge by the start of their freshman year. At first, it was just idle gossip about why they were so distant, but as the academic rivalry between the elite Class 1 and the standard Class 7 intensified, the truth became clear: the school’s golden girl and its most sought-after heartthrob were at war.

Their homeroom teachers, Alicia Robinson of Class 1 and Virginia Rogers of Class 7, were just as competitive. While Eden consistently topped the academic rankings, her strength wasn't in the sciences—it was in English and Literature. She consistently edged out Lucas, who sat comfortably at second place. Virginia, who taught biology to both tracks and served as the department head, was notorious for playing favorites. She used every opportunity in her lectures to subtly demean Eden and shower praise on Lucas. Naturally, the two classes became bitter rivals, and the cold shoulder between Eden and Lucas became the social standard.

After midterm exams, the school board decided to overhaul the morning assembly, replacing the standard calisthenics with ballroom dancing. To prepare for an upcoming inspection by district officials, their gym instructor, Trevor Campbell, turned the usual free-play gym sessions into rigid dance training.

Due to a scheduling shift, Class 7’s Friday morning gym class was moved to the afternoon, forcing them to share the gymnasium with Class 1. Trevor, overseeing both, made the call: they were dancing together.

The directive was clear: choose one boy and one girl who "looked the part" to lead the choreography at the front of the formation. Eden, poised and precise, was chosen immediately. For the boy, Trevor scoured the gym before landing on Lucas—a student who couldn't lead a dance to save his life, but looked the part perfectly.

In the center of the brightly lit gymnasium, Eden and Lucas stood front and center, under the microscopic scrutiny of their peers.

Flashback: Three years ago. He’d laughed under the pressure of classmates teasing them, his eyes bright with a silent question, waiting for her approval. He was clumsy back then, always stepping on her toes or tripping over his own feet, grinning that lopsided grin and whispering, "Don't worry, I'll be the one to look like an idiot."

That was a version of him she could never get back.

The music cut through the silence. Lucas reached out. Eden hesitated, her lungs feeling tight. She couldn't bring herself to take his hand properly, so she curled her fingers tentatively around the fabric of his sleeve instead.

The music ground to a halt. Trevor’s whistle shrieked.

"Are you kidding me?" Trevor stomped over, his face reddening. "We’re holding hands, not wrestling with spiders! And you—Eden! You’re standing a mile away. How are you supposed to lead anything from that distance?"

Chastised, Eden stepped forward. She reached out, hooking her finger onto his, avoiding his eyes. She felt his hand tremble—just a ghost of a movement—under her touch.

"What is this, a feud?" Trevor roared, losing his patience. "You two act like you’re trying to avoid the plague."

The gymnasium erupted in giggles and whispers.

"They really do hate each other."

"Look at Eden’s face; she looks like she’s being interrogated."

"Hey, if the school's golden boy can't do it, maybe I should step in for him?"

"Enough!" Trevor strode between them, forcibly clenching Eden’s hand into Lucas’s palm. "This is how you hold hands. Keep them locked for ten minutes. I don't care how uncomfortable you are—figure it out!"

He walked away to drill the rest of the students, leaving them stranded.

The late autumn air was biting, but the heat from Lucas’s palm, wrapping around her ice-cold fingers, was electric. The warmth crawled up her arm, settling in her chest like a slow-burning ache.

*I'm so glad the seating chart didn't change! We can keep sitting by the window.*

*What's so great about the window?*

*There's a heater! You can put your hands on it while you study. They won't be so cold anymore.*

*Why do you care?*

*Because every time we dance in gym class, you turn into a block of ice! I'm holding a popsicle, Eden!*

*Your hands are the popsicle!*

*No way. I'm the hand warmer. I'm here to melt you.*

The memories hit her like a physical blow. The boy from the past and the teenager standing before her melded into one. Her vision blurred, a sharp, stinging pain rising in her nose. She tipped her head back, desperately trying to swallow the tears, but Lucas caught the shift in her expression.

He looked at her, his eyes filled with a sudden, profound confusion.

That only made the dam break. Why? Why did she have to be the one trapped in these memories while he walked away clean?

The dismissal bell rang like a gunshot. Eden yanked her hand back, covered her face, and bolted for the restroom.

She slammed the tap open, splashing cold water against her skin until her face felt numb. It didn't work. The heat radiating from her face was internal, an emotional fever she couldn't wash away.

When she finally emerged, Shelby Rivera was leaning against the wall, waiting.

"You okay?" Shelby asked.

Eden bit her lip, shaking her head.

"Let's go," Shelby said, nudging her toward the cafeteria.

The walk outside was brutal. The late afternoon wind cut through her clothes, leaving her shivering.

"Just so you know," Shelby murmured, "Lucas went to the teacher earlier. He told him he couldn't do it and asked if someone else could take his spot."

Eden’s heart gave a violent, painful stutter.

"He probably saw you were miserable. The teacher didn't have enough guys in our class, so he borrowed some from Class 7. Lucas is moving to the back row with the rest of them. He’s going to be paired with Molly Lee instead."

Eden didn't speak. Her expression remained a frozen, impenetrable mask.

"Eden," Shelby asked softly, "do you really hate him that much?"

"Yeah," Eden said, her voice cracking like dry glass. "I really do hate him."