The desks had been shoved to the sides of the classroom, leaving a makeshift "stage" in the center. Their classmates crowded along the edges like gleeful spectators, whispering and chuckling as if they'd come to see a comedy show instead of a rehearsal.
"Okay, leads to the front!" their class rep called again, clapping her hands like a director who had far too much energy.
Eli groaned under his breath but forced his feet to move, dragging himself to the center where Kai was already standing. The difference between them was night and day: Eli looked like a prisoner walking to his execution, while Kai looked… well, calm. Almost annoyingly composed.
The script in Eli's hands was covered with his messy handwriting, corrections scrawled in the margins. It wasn't polished—not even close—but it was enough to test the first scene. Just a simple meeting. Just a handful of lines. It should have been easy.
But nothing ever felt easy when Kai was standing right there.
"Alright, Eli, you start," someone prompted.
Eli lifted the paper, throat tight. He opened his mouth—only for his voice to crack in the middle of the first sentence. A wave of laughter rolled through the classroom.
"You sound like a dying duck!"
"Try not to look like you're about to faint!"
"Shut up!" Eli snapped, burying half his face behind the script. His ears burned hot, and he wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole.
Meanwhile, Kai said his first line like he'd been rehearsing for weeks. His voice was steady, his expression serious, and when his eyes locked onto Eli's, it was as if the chaos of the room didn't exist at all.
Eli froze. The words on his paper blurred. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, completely blank.
"You're supposed to say your line," Kai murmured softly. He didn't sound annoyed. If anything, his tone was almost patient, coaxing.
"I know!" Eli blurted, heart racing. "Stop staring at me like that!"
The class erupted, laughter bouncing off the walls. Some even clapped like it was part of the performance. Eli wanted to crawl under his desk and never come out.
The rehearsal stumbled on like that—Eli tripping over his lines, Kai delivering his with that same frustrating calm. By the time the rep declared a break, Eli collapsed into his chair, burying his face in the desk.
"I can't do this," he muttered into the wood. "I'm doomed. Totally doomed."
"You're not that bad," one of his friends teased, patting his back. "More like… entertainingly bad."
"Gee, thanks," Eli said flatly, sitting up only to glare at the notebook that contained his cursed script.
He shoved his things into his bag with more force than necessary, ready to escape before anyone made another joke at his expense. But just as he slung the strap over his shoulder, a quiet voice stopped him.
"You dropped this."
Kai stood there, holding out Eli's notebook. For a second, Eli was too distracted by how casually Kai carried it, like he hadn't just been the cause of Eli's public humiliation. He reached out quickly, fingers brushing against Kai's as he took it. The touch was fleeting—so quick it could've been an accident. But it lingered, sharp and warm, in Eli's chest.
"Thanks," he mumbled, staring at the notebook instead of Kai's face.
Kai didn't answer right away. His lips curved faintly, the kind of smile that wasn't loud or showy but still managed to make Eli's pulse jump.
Like he knew something Eli didn't.
Like he'd already read a line from a script Eli hadn't written yet.
And that, Eli thought miserably, was the scariest part of all.