SCENE: 3rd Period – Art Class

The scent of glue sticks, old wooden desks, and cheap acrylic paint filled the air. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the art room, dancing across the paint-streaked floor and bouncing off the glittery stickers someone had haphazardly stuck to the edge of the sink. It was one of those warm Fridays where the teacher just kind of gave up halfway through class and let everyone “freestyle.” Most students were either gossiping or pretending to paint while sneakily scrolling through their phones under the tables.

But not Ivy.

No, Ivy Bloom was on her stomach on the floor, tongue poking out in concentration, surrounded by construction paper like a pastel explosion. She was making a vision board. Not because it was an assignment—just because she thought it would be “good for the soul.” Glitter glue in one hand, safety scissors in the other, she was humming softly to herself and carefully gluing down a cutout of a flower crown when—

thud.

Someone walked in late. The door squeaked on its hinge.

Ivy’s head popped up like a curious puppy.

It was her. The girl she'd been crushing on for months.

Ivy made the exact same face as a cartoon character who just got hit in the face with a pie. Her eyes went huge, her cheeks went pink, and her scissors fell to the floor with a clatter that was way louder than it needed to be.

Her friends, sitting at the next table over, all turned to look at her immediately.

Marcy elbowed her. “Oh my god, Ivy, breathe.”

Ivy slapped both hands over her cheeks like a Victorian widow fainting in a garden. “I am breathing. Totally. Totally breathing. That’s my hobby. Breathing.”

“You’re making it obvious,” hissed Marcy.

“I am obvious!! I’m an open book!! A romance novel!! With badly written metaphors and a shirtless cover model!!” Ivy whisper-screamed, collapsing against her friend’s arm. “Don’t let me look—STOP ME FROM LOOKING.”

She looked.

The girl was wearing her hoodie half-zipped and had earbuds in one ear. She looked tired. Cool. Perfect. She sat at the far table by the window and dumped her sketchpad onto the desk, flipping it open with one hand while holding a pencil in her mouth.

Ivy audibly whimpered.

“Be cool,” Marcy warned.

“I don’t know what that means,” Ivy said in a shrill whisper.

She immediately stood up like her knees had minds of their own and went to the supply shelf—aka, the one next to the girl’s table.

As Ivy reached for a glue stick she didn’t need, her body betrayed her with a sneeze. A loud, chirpy, adorable sneeze that caused the entire table of football boys nearby to turn around and say, “Bless you.”

Except Ivy’s body double-crossed her. Because she sneezed so hard...she tooted. Like, the smallest squeaky little sound ever—but it echoed in her soul.

She froze.

The glue stick dropped from her hand and rolled—straight under the girl’s table.

She stared at it like it had just declared war.

Oh no. No no no no.

Ivy slowly bent down to grab it—but it was already too late. Her hand bumped against a boot.

The girl’s boot.

She gasped so dramatically you’d think she was choking.

She stood up again—too fast—and bonked her head on the underside of the table.

“Ah—I’m fine! I’m so fine! That’s just how I get my ideas going! Head trauma and glue sticks!” she yelped, not even looking up.

Marcy looked ready to die of second-hand embarrassment. The football boys were howling. Even the teacher looked up from her phone to watch the disaster unfold.

Ivy turned, now red from forehead to chest, holding the glue stick in a death grip. She nodded once. “I’m gonna go... stand somewhere else.”

She marched back to her seat and sat down.

Immediately, she leaned forward and smacked her head into the table.

“I want the earth to eat me. I want a meteor. I want the school to spontaneously combust,” she whispered into the wood.

“Girl... she didn’t even look at you,” Marcy replied sympathetically.

“That’s the worst part,” Ivy groaned.