Notes in the Margins
Nico and Ren had shared the second-to-last row in AP Chemistry for a full semester without saying more than ten words to each other. Nico was on the track team, always running slightly late with a messy backpack, while Ren was the quiet class representative who kept his color-coded notes impeccably organized.
Their unannounced routine started with a mistake. Nico, completely lost during a lecture on thermodynamics, scribbled a tiny, frantic help me in the margin of the shared lab manual they passed back and forth.
To his surprise, Ren didn't ignore it. Underneath, in neat, compact print, Ren had written: Page 142. Look at formula 3. Stop panicking.
By November, the margins of their textbook had turned into a private, running commentary.
Is Mr. Harrison wearing the same tie again? — Nico
Yes. It’s his Tuesday tie. Focus on the equation. — Ren
You're no fun. — Nico
You're going to fail the midterm. — Ren
Not if you study with me. — Nico
The scribble sat there for three full minutes while Mr. Harrison talked about enthalpy. Nico watched out of the corner of his eye as Ren read the line, his pen hovering over the paper. Slowly, Ren turned his head, his dark eyes meeting Nico’s.
"The library," Ren whispered, his cheeks flushing a faint, unmistakable pink. "After practice. 5:00 PM."
Nico grinned, tapping his pen against Ren’s desk. "It’s a date, partner."
Ren looked down at his notebook, hiding a small, rare smile behind his hand as he wrote one last note in the margin: Don't be late.
