This is the first post in a new series I’ve been working on. It’s loosely autobiographical, inspired by real experiences and memories from my past. Some events, timelines, and characters have been blended or changed to protect the privacy of the people involved. I plan to share one post each week. I hope you enjoy— and thank you, as always, for reading along.
🫶, SF
It’s 2:45 on a Friday. Final block of the day. Physics.
The kind of hour where everything starts unraveling a little.
The classroom smells faintly like dry erase markers, old textbooks, and teenage body spray. Half the class is slouched over their desks pretending to listen while Mr. Brown tries to push through the rest of the lesson before the bell saves us all.
I haven’t absorbed a single word he’s said.
Earlier that class, he announced we were getting new seats.
“Too much talking in here already for it to only be the third week of school,” he warned while we all dragged ourselves out of our chairs and gathered around the black science lab tables.
I remember wondering why he didn’t just project the seating chart onto the board like every other teacher.
But honestly, I didn’t mind.
This way took longer.
And longer meant more time to stand around each other, joking and watching and enjoying being watched.
There are only eight girls in the entire class. The rest are mostly upperclassmen lacrosse players who travel in a pack and already know each other well. My best friend Brianna and I are both sophomores. From the first day of school, we understood the social dynamics immediately.
“Oh my God,” she mouthed to me after the bell rang that first week, glancing around the room.
I tried not to laugh.
Physics was going to be fun.
Mr. Brown starts calling names.
One by one, people split off toward different tables while the room buzzes with low conversations and fake complaints about who got stuck where.
Then I hear my last name.
“Uffman.”
I grab my binder and head toward one of the tables on the right side of the room, sliding into the seat closest to the window. The black lab stools squeak against the tile floor as everyone shifts around behind me.
I’m already assuming Mr. Brown is about to pair me with someone quiet. Someone safe.
I’d already gotten in trouble multiple times for talking too much in my old seat. Surely he wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
Then Mr. Brown looks down at his sheet.
“Greene.”
The room reacts before I do.
Not loudly. Just enough.
Enough for me to feel the energy shift.
Jackson Greene.
Junior. Lacrosse player. Green eyes, dark curls, lethal smile. The kind of guy who carried himself like he knew exactly what effect he had on people.
And unfortunately for me, he did.
Jackson pumps his fist dramatically from across the room.
“Let’s gooooo,” he says under his breath, dragging out the words while a few guys laugh.
I feel butterflies hit my stomach instantly.
Not because boys made me nervous.
Most didn’t.
But Jackson Greene was different.
For weeks now, we’d been orbiting each other in tiny, dangerous ways. Standing a little too close during group projects. Catching each other staring. Finding reasons to keep conversations going longer than necessary.
There was already something there.
Something both of us were pretending not to notice.
And the worst part was that we were both dating other people.
Jackson walks toward the table smiling, carrying almost nothing besides a thin binder with a couple loose sheets of paper shoved inside. No pencil pouch. No textbook. No real concern for physics as a subject.
He slides into the seat beside me like he’s won something.
Mr. Brown pauses.
His eyes move between the two of us.
“Wait,” he says slowly. “Is this going to be a problem?”
A few people nearby laugh quietly.
Jackson and I both shake our heads immediately, trying a little too hard to look innocent.
“Nope,” I say.
“Not at all,” Jackson adds.
Mr. Brown keeps staring for another second like he doesn’t believe either of us.
Then finally he sighs and keeps going.
The second he turns around, Jackson leans closer to me.
Close enough that I can smell his cologne.
“I think it might be for me,” he whispers.
I look over at him and roll my eyes, trying not to smile.
But it’s too late.
Because now he’s smiling too.
And just like that, physics becomes the class I look forward to most.
When the bell rings an hour later, I walk out of the room still buzzing.