Chapter 8: Straightening His Collar
"I'll go pack up my bag first. Catch you in a minute."
"Yeah… today's not your cleaning shift, right?"
"Nope, no way I'd get stuck with that every single day. I'm out."
When Julian reached the doorway of Class Four, he turned inside while Margaret continued straight on toward the Class Three room up ahead.
The basketball game had wrapped up in the afternoon, right at dismissal. The classroom buzzed with kids shoving books and notebooks into backpacks, the usual end-of-day chaos filling the air.
A few of the guys he knew were hanging by the windows. They had watched Margaret walk past outside, then their eyes swung straight back to him. The second he got close enough, the teasing started.
"Man, Julian, you're living the dream. Water hand-delivered by Margaret Monroe herself—bet it tasted extra sweet, huh?"
"It's just regular water. Nothing special," Julian answered flatly, leaving the guys momentarily speechless. His completely unbothered tone caught them off guard, like the whole thing was no big deal.
"Hey, that's not even what I meant… Forget it. I saw a ton of girls trying to bring you bottles earlier. You really stole the show out there."
"Oh, did I?"
He gave a half-hearted reply, brushing it off completely. Stuff like that didn't register. Someone who had to scrape together every meal on his own didn't have the headspace or interest for pointless attention. Life had already slammed him hard enough—broke, no extras, no right to drag anyone else into his mess.
"…Sure, whatever. You didn't notice because you were too busy with her, right?"
"I really didn't. Honest."
"…Hey, you do you."
One of the guys slung his backpack over his shoulder, gave up on the conversation, and waved as he headed out.
The water bottle in Julian's hand had warmed up, no longer icy against his palm, and the heat from the game had finally left his body. He dropped into his seat and started sorting through his bag. Not much to take home—the homework was already finished in study hall, and he wouldn't have time for anything extra tonight anyway.
He stuffed a couple of textbooks inside anyway, zipped the bag, and slung it over his shoulder before heading out. Margaret was waiting right outside the door like always, right where she always stood.
The flow of students leaving had thinned out, but he could still hear scattered whispers about the two of them as they walked. Margaret didn't seem to mind. In fact, the way her lips curved suggested she actually liked hearing people assume they were a couple. It sent a clear message to anyone watching: hands off.
She hadn't made any real moves yet. She was just waiting—waiting for him to sink deeper, little by little, until her face was the only one he saw, until he couldn't imagine a single day without her. Until he needed her the same desperate way she needed him.
Her clean, fresh scent reached him first. Margaret was tall for a girl—only half a head shorter than he was—so when she tilted her chin up just slightly, their eyes met easily.
She noticed the state of his uniform right away. The collar was crooked and rumpled from the game, his shirt dusted with court grit, hair sticking up in dry, chaotic spikes like wild grass on an empty field.
Those shallow girls out there had only seen the flashy version of him on the court—the one who lit up under the lights. The second the game ended, they scattered. But Margaret was still here, noticing every messy detail, the version of him that wasn't shining for anyone.
"Your collar's a total disaster. Didn't even try to fix it?" she scolded lightly, reaching out with careful fingers to smooth the wrinkles along the front.
The space between them vanished. They were practically chest to chest. Her gaze dipped just enough to catch the faint line of his collarbone inside the open neckline—smooth, pale skin still warm from exertion.
She finished the front and moved to the back, rising onto her toes. Her arms circled his neck as she reached around, her body pressing closer, her face inches from his. The air between them thickened, heavy and charged.
"You don't have to go that far," Julian muttered, turning his face away and trying to sound casual. "It's not like I'm greeting customers or anything."
Her chest was still developing, but the soft curves were impossible to ignore now that they brushed against him. That light, clean scent drifted straight into his nose, stirring something shy and restless in his stomach that he hated noticing.
Margaret brushed a few specks of dust from his shoulders, her eyes tracing upward until they locked on his face.
He kept his head turned, cheeks burning, the flush crawling from his neck all the way to his ears.
Idiot, she thought, a small smile hidden behind her calm expression. She shifted just enough to meet his eyes directly. "Actually, you do. Customers at Fast Feast could see you too. If you show up looking like this, it'll ruin the diner's whole image."
The red on his face deepened. He couldn't hold her stare. "It's not that serious… Why are you being so…"
"So what?" she asked, her smile turning playful, a hint of teasing underneath. "And your hair's still a mess."
She reached up again, fingers sliding through the tangled strands at the sides, smoothing the stubborn pieces down until everything lay neat and tidy.
The last of the nearby students had already cleared out before she touched him. She knew that. Handing him water could still pass as friendly, but this… this crossed into different territory. She didn't mind the rumors at all. But since he had shut them down before, she wouldn't push him into an awkward spot.
"Too bad we don't have more time. I would've made you wash up properly."
"It's fine, seriously. Come on, we're gonna be late."
Julian took off at a fast walk, almost a jog, his steps clumsy with embarrassment.
"Slow down! Wait for me!"
She caught up only once they reached the school gates. He matched her pace without thinking, not noticing how the usual careful distance between them had disappeared. She walked right beside him now, close enough that their arms nearly brushed.
"Take it easy. We're not late," Margaret reminded him gently. "Besides…"
"Hm? Besides what?"
"Besides, there's still this little piece sticking up." She reached over one last time, tucking the final stray lock of hair back into place, then gave a satisfied nod.
Out on the sidewalk the street was busy—people heading home, shops lining both sides, cars rushing past with their engines humming under the mix of voices and footsteps.
The small touches looked casual from the outside. Anyone passing would just see two high-school kids in the first awkward stages of dating. Nothing unusual. Julian couldn't exactly stop and explain it to strangers, so he let the misunderstanding hang in the air.
"Your face is still dirty too," she said, wrinkling her nose in mock disapproval. "That's a health-code issue waiting to happen. Can't be sloppy about it."
"Yeah, yeah, I got it. When did you turn into such a nag? You sound exactly like my mom." He paused, then added with a half-laugh, "Next you're gonna tell me I'll never find a girlfriend looking like this, right?"
Her footsteps stopped dead.
Julian turned around. Margaret had fallen a couple of paces behind, half-hidden in the flow of pedestrians. He couldn't read her expression clearly, but a cold, heavy feeling suddenly pressed in from every direction, seeping straight into his bones.
"Margaret?" he called.
No answer. She started walking again, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on him so completely he couldn't move forward or back. He could only wait.
"Margaret?" he tried again, pushing away the weird thoughts crowding his head and telling himself she was fine. "You okay?"
She stopped just inches away and stared straight into his eyes. "Julian… you want a girlfriend now? Someone specific in mind?"
"Of course not. I was just kidding." He scratched the back of his head, answering without hesitation. "With the way things are for me right now, I'd only be dragging someone else down."
"What if someone likes you anyway? I saw plenty of girls trying to give you water earlier. You're… kind of popular."
"Doesn't matter. I'm not paying attention to any of that."
"What about the one I gave you?"
"You?"
Julian's thoughts tangled. She was still so close. That faint scent kept drifting around him. He couldn't quite follow where she was going with this. "I'll remember it. I'll find a way to thank you properly later."
"Will you?"
Margaret stepped past him, moving ahead on the sidewalk. Her voice floated back, soft and light, almost swallowed by the breeze.
"Then you'll have to thank me with the one thing I want most…"