It starts with my leg.
It always starts with my leg.
A nervous bounce, like my body's trying to escape without me. Left foot tapped against the concrete under the stairs. Knee jittering like it's got a song to finish before the rest of me catches up.
I hate that it gives me away. Makes my anxiety visible, twitchy, stupid.
Today was bad. Bad in the shoved note in your locker that says "Scholarship Trash" kind of way. Bad in the two girls whispering in the hallway while fake-laughing and glancing at your hair like it personally offended them kind of way.
I didn't even eat lunch. Just sat in the bathroom stall with my sandwich on my lap like it might comfort me.
Now I'm under the stairs.
My place. Our place.
And my leg won't stop shaking.
Luca slides in a few seconds later, hair messy like he ran across campus. Tie loose. Blazer unbuttoned. He smells like peppermint and highlighters.
He doesn't say anything at first.
Just sits beside me, drops his bag, and pulls out a pack of apple slices like this is the most normal meeting spot in the world. Like I'm the most normal person in the world.
And that's why I say nothing.
Because I'm two seconds away from crying and he'd just - he'd look at me with that soft face he does and I'd break.
So instead I bounce my leg. Harder.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Like Morse code for please don't talk about it.
He doesn't.
But he notices.
And then...
Then he starts bouncing his leg, too.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
In sync.
I glance at him, confused.
He grins. "I thought this was the drum solo part. Are we not doing the band rehearsal thing today?"
I blink. "What?"
He nods, serious now. "You're obviously doing hi-hat. I'll do kick drum."
He taps his foot in perfect time with mine.
Then switches rhythms dramatically.
Boom-boom-tap. Boom-boom-tap.
I try not to smile. I fail. My lip twitches.
"What are you doing?" I ask, almost laughing.
He leans in. "Senna. We are practicing for our secret hallway concert. Obviously. We're about to go platinum under these stairs."
My laugh escapes before I can catch it.
A full one. Loud and stupid and real.
I shake my head and cover my face with my hands. "You're the dumbest person I've ever met."
He gasps. "You take that back. I'm a musical prodigy. I was going to bring a tambourine tomorrow."
"Don't you dare."
"Oh, it's already packed."
And just like that, I'm not thinking about the locker note. Or the whispering. Or how my stomach's been in knots all day.
I'm thinking about how Luca turned a panic tic into a private concert.
How he noticed me without needing an explanation.
How he made it funny instead of fragile.
---
I lean back against the wall, leg still bouncing - but slower now. Calmer. He taps his shoe beside mine, matching again.
We don't talk for a while.
But the silence doesn't feel empty.
It feels like breathing.
Like being allowed to just exist.
---
Eventually, I whisper, "Thank you."
He doesn't look at me. Just nudges his apple slices toward me and says, "You're the hi-hat, Senna. You hold the beat."
I roll my eyes. But I take a slice anyway.
And I let myself smile.
For real.
For once.