Cable-Knit Confidence

Marcus stood in front of his mirror, hands shaking slightly. The orange cable-knit sweater his grandma had made him hung loose around his frame—exactly the kind of thing that would get him roasted at Northwood High.

"You look like a walking traffic cone," his little sister announced from the doorway, not looking up from her phone.

Marcus sighed. Today was the day—he was finally going to talk to Skylar, the girl who sat behind him in AP History. The one who always doodled cats in the margins of her notes and smelled like vanilla and old books. He'd been working up his courage for weeks.

The school hallway was packed, everyone rushing to lunch. Marcus spotted Skylar at her locker, struggling with a tangled mess of charger cables.

"Need help?" The words came out before he could overthink them.

Skylar looked up, surprised. "Oh my god, yes. This is a disaster."

His fingers worked quickly, untangling the knots. The orange sweater suddenly felt less ridiculous.

"Thanks," Skylar said, smiling. "I'm Skylar, by the way."

"Marcus."

"I know," she said. "You're the guy who saved that cat from behind the gym last week. My friend posted about it on her story."

Marcus felt his face heat up. "It was just stuck. Anyone would've—"

"No one else stopped though," she said softly. "That was really cool."

The bell rang, but neither moved. For the first time all year, Marcus didn't feel like background noise.

"Hey," Skylar said, pulling something from her bag. "My cat had kittens. Want to see pictures?"

"Absolutely," he said, grinning.

Walking away, Marcus tugged at his orange sweater. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all. Sometimes the things that made you different turned out to be exactly what made you noticeable—in the best way possible.