The Boy Next Door
Monday came quickly. The California air was cooler than usual, the kind that carried nervous excitement. Fabiola adjusted her backpack strap as Jayden parked the car in front of their new school — Crestwood High.
"Ready?" he asked.
"No," she said honestly, earning a laugh from him.
Inside, the hallways buzzed with chatter and laughter. Everything felt too loud, too alive. But when she walked into her new class and saw Ben sitting near the window — his familiar brown hair catching the sunlight — her nerves melted into something else entirely.
"Hey, new girl," he said with a grin as she hesitated by the desk next to his. "That seat's free if you want it."
She blinked. "You don't mind?"
"Not at all. Maybe you can help me stay awake in math."
She smiled — the kind of smile she didn't even realize she was wearing.
Over the next few weeks, Fabiola found herself slipping into a rhythm she hadn't expected. She made friends — Elena, the confident, warm-hearted girl who instantly took her under her wing, and George, Elena's easygoing boyfriend who always teased Ben about "finally smiling again."
Fabiola didn't understand that last part, but she noticed that when Ben looked at her, something in his eyes softened.
They started studying together. Ben would lean over her notebook, laughing when she mixed up formulas. "You're hopeless," he'd tease gently, and she'd stick her tongue out at him.
Sometimes their hands brushed, and neither of them would move away.
Elena noticed, of course. "You like him," she said one afternoon in the cafeteria, smirking.
"What? No, I—"
"Please," Elena laughed. "You stare at him like he hung the stars himself."
Fabiola blushed furiously, but Elena just grinned. "Don't worry. I think he likes you too."
Ben did like her — though he didn't say it out loud. He liked the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous. He liked the way she listened — really listened — when people spoke. He liked that she wasn't trying to impress anyone.
But he also knew how fragile first love could be. So instead of confessing, he kept things easy — laughter, friendship, late-night texts about homework and music.
Still, one night when Fabiola messaged him, "Thanks for always helping me. You're really kind," he stared at the screen for a long time before typing back,
"You make it easy"