The Space Between Us

The days that followed slipped into a quiet routine.

Reese still sat behind me, and though we didn’t talk constantly, our conversations grew naturally—small at first, then a little more. She always initiated them: a casual question about homework, a comment whispered during attendance, a light tap on my shoulder when she wanted my attention.

Nothing too familiar.

Nothing too bold.

Just enough to acknowledge me.

And I let every moment sink deeper than it should.

---

Lunchtime

Lunch at Hanridge was always loud—chairs dragging across the floor, desks being pushed together, wrappers crinkling, someone laughing too loudly over a joke they barely finished telling.

It was easy to blend into the noise.

Chloe and I always sat near the window, eating quietly. She ate slowly, neatly, and spent most breaks reading or sketching something in her small notebook. I usually pretended to scroll my phone, even though my attention drifted elsewhere.

The basketball court.

Reese was almost always there—hair tied loosely, shirt slightly untucked from running around, her laugh carrying across the open space. She played like she didn’t care about winning, only enjoying the moment. The boys on the court treated her like one of them; the girls hovering nearby watched her with an interest they didn’t bother hiding.

She wasn’t the most skillful player, but she was confident.

Confident enough that even missing didn’t embarrass her.

“What are you staring at?” Chloe asked one afternoon, leaning sideways to follow my gaze.

My mind blanked.

My mouth acted on instinct.

“The… nature.”

Chloe blinked.

We both stared at the two half-dead trees by the court.

Her lips twitched.

“That ‘nature’ is dribbling a basketball.”

I almost choked.

We burst into quiet laughter, trying not to attract attention.

She didn’t tease further.

She didn’t ask the real question.

That was the thing about Chloe—she always knew when not to push.

---

Small Moments

Reese wasn’t always loud.

Sometimes she came into class tired, dropping into her seat with a groan.

Sometimes she ignored everyone and stared out the window.

Sometimes she was so full of energy she talked to three different people at once.

But every day, without fail, she tapped my shoulder at least once.

A question.

A comment.

A joke whispered too close to my ear.

Nothing important.

But enough for me to feel her presence.

The distance between us didn’t shrink quickly.

It just… shifted little by little.

---

An Unexpected Free Period

One Wednesday, the classroom buzzed with rumors that our third-period teacher was absent.

Five minutes passed.

Ten.

Fifteen.

Then the announcement came through the hallway speaker:

“Math class is canceled for today. No substitute available.”

Chaos.

Someone blasted music from their phone.

A group immediately formed a circle on the floor to play cards.

Half the class left to wander the corridor.

Someone started shaking a desk just to annoy everyone.

Chloe quietly pulled out her book.

I flipped open my notebook, pretending to study.

A chair scraped behind me.

Then footsteps.

Then a soft thud as someone dropped into the seat beside mine.

“Stephani.”

Reese.

She slid her math workbook toward me, the page filled with numbers scratched out so aggressively that the paper wrinkled.

“Tell me you understand this,” she said, pointing at a problem with her pencil. “Because I swear I’ve tried everything except contacting a spirit medium.”

I stared at the question.

Then at her handwriting.

Then back at the question.

“You’re… stuck on this?”

“Obviously,” she said, dead serious. “It’s evil.”

It wasn’t.

It was actually simple.

But I bit back a smile. “It’s not evil. You just used the wrong formula.”

Reese groaned, letting her head fall dramatically onto her folded arms.

“Great. Math hates me. Life hates me.”

Her voice was loud enough that a few students turned, but she didn’t care.

She never cared who was watching.