Grass Stains & Ghost Screens

I felt like a zombie from exam week—three days of Red Bull and zero actual sleep. My makeup was doing something weird, and I was pretty sure my outfit screamed trying too hard.

"You good?" Marcus asked, scrolling through his iPhone like his life depended on it.

"Never been more alive," I lied.

We were at Chloe's party, which was mostly her older brother's friends talking absolute bull about college. Some guy named Brad was holding court about how he'd definitely get into Stanford, meanwhile I'd seen him use ChatGPT on every assignment since September.

Then my phone buzzed. Tyler.

Hey, you here?

My stomach did that embarrassing flippy thing. Tyler, who'd sat behind me in bio since September. Tyler, who I'd successfully made zero moves on all year.

Outside, I texted back. Yeah. Behind the barn.

The night air hit me like something I actually wanted to breathe. Tyler appeared through the darkness, hands in pockets, looking unfairly cute.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

"Brad in there talking about his GPA again?"

I laughed. "Some things are universal."

Then we heard it—snorting, heavy breathing, something crashing through the woods.

"What the—"

"Is that a bull?" I whispered.

"Chloe's family has cows, but..."

We scrambled up the nearest fence just as a massive bull stampeded past, snorting and very definitely real.

We sat on the fence rail, thighs barely touching, adrenaline making everything sharp and bright.

"Well," Tyler said, grinning. "This is definitely more interesting than Brad's stories."

"10 out of 10, would recommend getting chased by livestock over listening to bull about Stanford applications."

He laughed, and then he looked at me—really looked at me—and I thought maybe exam week zombie mode was worth it for this moment exactly.

"Wanna stay up here?" he asked. "Just in case he comes back?"

"Yeah," I said. "Just in case."