Day at school

Riley sat at the lunch table under the pergola, salad mostly untouched, thumb hovering over the send button on her phone. Sofia and Mia were watching like hawks, half-grinning, half-egging her on.

“Rip the Band-Aid,” Mia said. “You’re never gonna know if he’s a weirdo or a snack unless you hit send.”

Riley exhaled through her nose, heart doing a stupid little flutter. She finished the message she’d been rewriting for the last five minutes:

Riley: Hey, this is Riley. My mom said you thought I was hot yesterday She grabbed your number for me. Kinda bold of her lol. Who are you?

She hit send before she could delete it again.

The three dots appeared almost immediately. Riley’s stomach flipped.

Unknown: Hey Riley. Yeah, your mom wasn’t wrong—I couldn’t stop looking. Thought you two were sisters at first. Name’s Alex. I don’t actually go to HW, was just there picking up some paperwork for a family thing. Saw you walking in and had to ask around.

Riley bit her lip, a grin creeping across her face. Suave. Confident. Not some awkward senior fumbling for words. She liked it.

Riley: Alex huh? Smooth. What kind of paperwork requires stalking cute girls in the parking lot?

Alex: The boring kind. Trust me, the view was the only thing worth the trip. That school uniform looks way too good on you, by the way. Skirt just short enough to be dangerous.

Riley’s cheeks warmed. She glanced down at herself—still in the Harvard-Westlake uniform: crisp white blouse tucked into the pleated navy skirt, knee-high socks, blazer slung over the back of her chair now that lunch had started. She’d rolled the sleeves up and unbuttoned the top two buttons earlier, but the outfit still screamed “private school princess.” The compliment landed perfectly—flirty, specific, not creepy.

Riley: You noticed the uniform? Pervert

Alex: Guilty. But only because it’s on the right girl. You pull it off better than anyone I’ve seen. Confident walk, legs for days. Hard not to stare.

Riley showed the screen to Sofia, who whistled low.

“Girl, he’s good,” Sofia said. “And he’s already thirsting over the uniform. Go off.”

Riley typed back, pulse quickening.

Riley: Maybe. Depends if you’re as smooth in person as you are over text.

Alex: Challenge accepted. Tell me what you’re into. I’ll make it worth your while.

The rest of the day blurred into a constant stream of notifications. In fifth period English, Riley kept her phone under the desk, sneaking glances every time it buzzed—still in her uniform, skirt riding up slightly as she crossed her legs, blouse now untucked for comfort.

Alex: What’s your type? Tall? Tattoos? Older guys who know what they’re doing?

Riley: All of the above tbh. You?

Alex: Confident girls who aren’t afraid to say what they want. You seem like you fit the bill. Especially in that little skirt.

In the hallway between classes, she leaned against her locker, smiling at her screen like an idiot, the pleated navy fabric swishing against her thighs as she shifted her weight.

Riley: Bold assumption.

Alex: Not an assumption. An observation. You walk like you own the place. Sexy as hell. Bet that uniform gets you attention all day.

By last period—study hall—she was fully hooked. Every compliment landed perfectly: teasing but not pushy, flirty but classy, always circling back to how good she looked in the school uniform, how the skirt hugged her hips, how the blouse clung just right when she moved. He asked about her favorite music (she said alt-R&B and indie rock; he said he had a playlist ready), her go-to coffee order (iced oat latte with vanilla; he promised to buy her one soon), even what she was wearing under the uniform today (she teased him with “Wouldn’t you like to know” and left it at that).

Alex: Damn. Now I’m picturing it. Looking forward to seeing the rest in person.

Riley laughed under her breath, thighs pressing together under the desk. She didn’t even question why a guy picking up “paperwork” was so available all day. Didn’t wonder why he never sent a selfie or mentioned friends at school. She was too caught up in the rush—the way he made her feel desired, pursued, like she was the center of someone’s world for once.

The final bell rang. She grabbed her bag, still texting as she walked to the pickup line, uniform skirt swaying with each step.

Riley: Gotta run—mom’s probably waiting. Talk later?

Alex: Count on it, gorgeous. Don’t keep me waiting too long.

Riley slid into the passenger seat of Julia’s Urus a few minutes later, face flushed, phone clutched like a secret. Julia glanced over as she pulled away from the curb.

“Good day?”

Riley nodded, biting back a grin. “Yeah. Really good.”