The clock in the math room seemed to be ticking louder than usual, each second thudding into my ears like a small threat.
Like spiders.
Everyone says eighth grade is supposed to be...well...unforgettable.
Right now, it mostly feel like I'm trapped here, slowly dying while Ms. Everett talks about "building community" and "preparing for the transition to high school."
Like please, we still have like...what? One and a half year until we go to high school. Thats 16 months, rounded off to 69 weeks, which is more than 480 days.
I tap my pen against my desk, staring at the back of Luka Novak's head. His dark hair falls into his eyes again, and he brushed it back with the kind of quick, annoyed qesture that makes my stomack do a weird little flip.
I've had a crush on him since seventh grade - and he knows. Everyone does.
Maybe its the fact that I'm horrible at hiding secrets, or maybe its the fact that I wanted to him to know.
Luka is...different. He doesn't joke around with the loud kids or fake-laugh at teachers' jokes. He's always focused, always concentrated on his work, always always very serious. He scribbled equations like the world might end if he stops thinking for even a second.
And somehow, that made me like him even more.
I sigh and glance down at the corner of my notebook, where I've been doodling a tiny paper airplane. Not drawing one this time.
Making one.
I peer around. Ms. Everett is distracted by a pil eof test papers. Everyone else either looks fast asleep or is screaming at the top of their lungs.
Now or never.
I tear out a scrap of paper, fold it carefully, and - heart pounding - scribble a question across the middle:
"If you could say one thing without fear, what would it be?"
I fold it into a wonky little plane. It's not perfect. It doesn't have to be.
When Luka leanes closer over his math book, I flick the paper plane towards him. It wobbles towards the air and lands - almost miraculously - right on the edge of his desk.
I duck my head fast, pretending to study the inside of my textbook like it holds the secrets of the universe.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him notice it.
I hold my breath.
He hesitates. Then slowly unfolds it.
For a second - just a second - something in his face softens.
He doesn't smile. He doesn't laugh. He just...reads it. Like it means something.
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard it almost hurts. What if he thinks it's stupid? What if he shows it to someone else and laughs?
But when the bell finally rings and Luka carefully tucks the plane into his book instead of crumpling it up and tossing it, I feel a tiny, secret spark light inside my chest.
Maybe - just maybe - he understood.
Maybe next time, he'd fly a paper plane back.