Detention smells of worn erasers and dust.

The desks are covered in carvings—names, insults, secrets, phone numbers no one will ever call. You sit near the window, staring out, trying to pretend you don’t exist.

The door opens behind you and someone in a huff enters the room.

Their bag knocks against desks as she weaves her way through.

And then she sits down beside you.

Loud. Too loud. She drops her bag onto the desk like she’s claiming the space, like she’s never once questioned whether she belongs somewhere.

“I know you.”

You don’t respond.

“I do. I saw you macking on Roger at that party last week.”

That gets your attention.

She grins. “Yeah, you. Don’t even try to deny it.”

You say nothing. Just cross your arms. She leans in closer, voice dropping just slightly. “Girl. He’s like, eighteen. And also? Super creepy.”

You should be embarrassed. You should be defensive.

But instead—

You laugh. Just a little. Just enough.

“He’s not so bad.”

Her grin widens. “Yes he is. We’re gonna find you better.”

—

Detention ends, but she doesn’t leave.

“C’mon. I wanna show you something.”

She leads you out of the school, past the parking lot, behind the gym. The sky is soft with early evening light, the kind that makes everything feel a little less real.

She plops down on the pavement, legs stretched out, back against the brick wall. “Sit.”

You hesitate. Then sit.

She pulls something from her bag. Candy, not cigarettes. Peels the wrapper with her teeth, tosses one to you.

“Did he even ask?”

You blink. “What?”

“Josh. Before he kissed you. Did you even want to?”

You swallow hard. You don’t have an answer.

She scoffs. “Yeah. That checks out.”

Then, before you can react, she leans in—slowly.

There is no force, no rush, no assumption. Just the brush of her fingers at your jaw, the space between you shrinking inch by inch, then waiting.

You let your eyes fall into hers.

“Do you want to kiss me?” she asks.

Yes, you nod.

Her lips press against yours, warm and soft and nothing like the porch light buzz and beer-stained kisses of before. The caramel candy in her mouth coats her tongue and the sweet syrup stick to you teeth.

She pulls back, watches you carefully. “See? That’s what it’s supposed to be like.”

You exhale. A slow, shaky thing.

And then you smile.

And then you blush.

—

I don’t know what to make of this.

If I should feel relieved or something else entirely.

But I know this: No one has ever treated you this gently before.

And maybe, for now—

That can be enough.