Back in math class,

John’s knee kept bumping Grace’s under the desk. Her socked foot brushed his ankle, warm through the fabric.

“You’re sweating,” Grace whispered, nudging him with her elbow.

John wiped his palms on his jeans. “It’s hot.”

Grace snorted, low and quiet. “Uh-huh.” Her pencil tapped against her notebook—tap-tap-tap—like she was counting seconds.

John’s phone buzzed violently in his pocket, the vibration rattling against his thigh hard enough that Grace raised an eyebrow. He yanked it out—unknown number.