To be clear, Lily did not go to the library to fall in love.

She went because her mom canceled their Wi-Fi for the third time this semester and she had exactly two days to finish her book report on Frankenstein, which she definitely had not started. Also, she needed air-conditioning. Desperately.

She didn’t expect to find someone sitting in her favorite beanbag chair.

He was tall. Well, tall-ish for um a guy. Definitely taller than her, but most people were. He had a mop of curly hair that looked like it lost a fight with a hairdryer and was currently reading a graphic novel upside-down.

“Uh, that’s my chair,” Lily blurted before her brain caught up.

The boy looked up. “Oh no, did you invent it?”

“What? No, I—wait. That’s not how chairs work.”

He grinned. “True. But you sounded pretty emotionally attached.”

She blinked. “It’s just… very cushiony, okay?”

He moved over slightly. “We can share. Unless you bite.”

Lily raised an eyebrow but sat. He smelled faintly like popcorn and fabric softener, which was confusing but not unpleasant. She opened her Chromebook, already regretting everything.

“I’m Jack,” he said after a moment with a smirk on his face.

“I’m Lily. I’m stressed, socially awkward, and currently failing English.”

“Wow. You’re like a character from one of those teen TV shows where everyone has amazing skin and trauma.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “You’re weird.”

“Thanks. I try.”

\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*

Over the next few weeks, Lily started accidentally going to the library more. Like, a lot more. Jack was always there, reading weird books, offering half-baked advice, or arguing passionately that pineapple on pizza should be a crime.

“You’re wrong,” Lily said one day. “Pineapple is God’s fruit.”

“God’s fruit belongs in fruit salad, not on a cheese circle of chaos.”

He was ridiculous. And funny. And smart. And very annoyingly good at Monopoly, which he insisted on playing every Friday at the teen table like it was some sacred tradition. Also to note that he was horridly handsome, (except the author doesn't know what that phrase actually means).

One Friday, after a particularly aggressive game where Jack bankrupted her with a hotel on Boardwalk, Lily sighed dramatically and slumped over the table.

“I’m doomed. Broke. Emotionally shattered.”

Jack leaned in, smirking. “Wanna go get some ice cream and pretend you’re rich again?”

“Only if you’re paying.”

“Deal. But it’s a date.”

She froze. “Wait, is it?”

“I mean, unless you’re emotionally attached to the friend zone like you are to beanbags.”

Lily stared at him, then burst out laughing.

“Fine. It’s a date. But I get to pick the ice cream flavour.”

“Even if it’s pineapple?”

She grinned. “Especially if it’s pineapple.”

Moral of the story: Never underestimate the romantic potential of beanbags, bad Monopoly skills, and fruit-based pizza arguments.

Lily had exactly three rules for first dates:

Don't get ice cream if you’re lactose intolerant (learned that one the hard way).

Don’t let your mom talk to them.

Definitely, absolutely, under no circumstances should you catch actual feelings.

By 9:17 p.m., all three rules had exploded like a science fair volcano.

Jack had left an hour ago, still smelling like chocolate fudge and teenage confidence. And Lily? She was lying face-down on her bed, re-living every word they’d said, every weird moment, and that one time she accidentally called him “bro” during a laugh fit.

“Bro,” she muttered into her pillow. “Who says that on a date?!”

Her cat, Lasagna, blinked at her from the windowsill like even he was judging her life choices.

*********************

The next morning at school, Lily tried to be chill.

By "chill," she meant sprinting past Jack at his locker and pretending to be very interested in a flyer for the Chess Club Bake Sale, which sounded like a trap for introverts with weak willpower.

“Lily!” Jack called out. “Wait up!”

She considered jumping into a nearby trash can.

Instead, she turned, smiled (probably too wide), and waved like a malfunctioning robot.

“Hey!” she said, voice three octaves too high. “Fellow person! How are you... existing today?”

Jack looked at her like she had spontaneously grown another head. “Uh, I’m good. Are you... okay?”

“Me? Totally fine. Normal. Alive. Not overanalyzing every moment of last night or anything. Haha.”

Jack grinned. “So you were overanalyzing.”

“I—WHAT? No! I don’t do that! I’m a cool and mysterious woman of mystery!”

He leaned against the locker with a smirk. “You’re literally wearing socks with cartoon waffles on them.”

“I contain multitudes,” she muttered.

---

As they walked to homeroom, Jack nudged her shoulder. “So... did you have fun? Like, real fun. Not ‘my mom made me be nice’ fun.”

Lily bit her lip. “Yeah. It was... nice.”

“Nice?” he said, pretending to be deeply wounded. “You wound me, Waffle Socks.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay. It was better than nice. It was fun. Great, even. Possibly magical. You have been upgraded to ‘good at fake dates’ level.”

“Wow. High praise. What’s the next level?”

“‘Boyfriend material,’” she said quickly—and then immediately wanted to disintegrate into molecules.

Jack blinked. “Oh. So... that’s a level I can reach?”

Lily froze.

“Well,” he added quickly, “not saying I have to reach it. I mean, unless you want me to. Not that I—ugh, why are words so complicated?!”

They stopped in the middle of the hallway, both red-faced and trying not to combust.

Then Jack laughed.

Like, really laughed. Loud and warm and unbothered.

“You know what?” he said. “Let’s pretend we’re both bad at flirting. It’ll be less pressure.”

Lily grinned. “Deal. Like a truce for emotionally stunted teenagers.”

“Exactly.” He offered his hand like a knight or a dork or both.

She shook it. “Agreed. From this moment forward: zero expectations, infinite sarcasm, and waffles forever.”

Jack nodded solemnly. “And maybe another date. Someday. Maybe.”

“Maybe,” she echoed, trying not to smile too hard.

But she totally was.

Lily's goal for third period biology was simple:

-Do not look at Jack.

-Do not think about Jack.

-Do not draw hearts in the margins of your notes like a Disney princess with a gel pen addiction.

Spoiler alert: she failed all three goals by minute six.

He sat next to her as usual—same hoodie, same smell of mint gum and boy-shampoo, same habit of balancing his pencil across his upper lip like a moustache while the teacher wasn't looking.

“Pssst,” he whispered. “Are mitochondria still the powerhouse of the cell, or did that get canceled like everything else?”

Lily snorted and scribbled in her notebook:

> Mitochondria \= overachievers. Like me. Before feelings happened.

Jack peeked over her shoulder and grinned.

“I saw that,” he mouthed.

Mr. Thompkins, their forever-exhausted teacher, trudged in with a stack of worksheets and a large mug that said “I Teach, What’s Your Superpower?” except someone had scribbled "Regret" underneath it in Sharpie.

“All right, children of chaos,” he muttered. “Pop quiz.”

Half the class groaned. One kid actually wept into his hoodie. Jack whispered, “We live in a society.”

Lily scanned the quiz.

Name three parts of a plant cell.

What is osmosis?

Why do I hear screaming in my soul?

Wait. That last one was in her brain. Not on the paper.

********************

Halfway through the quiz, Lily caught Jack tapping his pencil in a rhythm.

Tap... tap-tap.

Tap... tap-tap.

She glanced at him. He raised his eyebrows and pointed at her quiz with a subtle nod that screamed:

“I have no idea what I’m doing, please send help or answers or snacks.”

She rolled her eyes and silently mouthed, “Chloroplast.”

He mouthed back, “You're my hero.”

She rolled her eyes again but her cheeks were doing that warm blushy thing that needed to chill.

******************

After class, Jack held the door open and said, “You saved my grade. I owe you.”

“You owe me so much,” Lily said. “Like, ten friendship points minimum.”

Jack nodded seriously. “I shall repay my debt in the currency of cafeteria fries and bad jokes.”

They started walking to lunch together, and Lily found herself… smiling.

A real one.

Not a fake “yes I understand mitochondria” smile, but a real, actual, goofy one.

Because for the first time ever, class wasn’t just boring and stressful and filled with Latin words she didn’t care about.

It was kind of… fun.

Because Jack was there.

And Jack? Jack made everything more complicated and chaotic and kind of—ugh amazing.

***************

Lily had a favorite lunch table.

It was near the window, next to the weird radiator that hissed like a grumpy teapot, and it had just enough distance from the chaos of the popular kids to avoid being hit by rogue ketchup packets. It was her fortress. Her safe space. Her spot.

But today?

Jack was already there.

Feet on the bench. Tray balanced like a three-year-old with no spatial awareness. He was lounging.

“Oh no,” Lily said, setting her tray down dramatically. “You’ve colonized my table.”

Jack grinned. “It was unoccupied when I got here. That makes it fair game.”

“You were here seven seconds before me.”

“Seven seconds in cafeteria time is like three years in real life. That’s basically squatters’ rights.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Jack blinked. “What?”

“NOTHING. I SAID CRUTE. LIKE… LIKE A CRUMBLY FRUIT.”

“Did you just invent a word mid-sentence to avoid emotional vulnerability?”

“Yes. Let me have this.”