# Between the lines

Clara's POV-

They posted the project list just before second period.

Group assignments. Topics. Deadlines.

I didn’t rush, didn’t need to. I walked straight through the crowd, glanced at the board, and there it was:

Clara Drexler / Jarel Reidl

Topic: “Social conformity in school environments.”

I stared at it for three seconds.

Then smiled. Perfect.

...----------------...

He was half-asleep near the window, as usual. Arms crossed, eyes half-lidded like the walls were more interesting than people.

I dropped my notebook onto his desk.

“We’re meeting after class. Library. We have a project.”

He looked at me like I’d interrupted his retirement. “I saw.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Didn’t seem urgent.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re lucky I don’t strangle you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “For caring less?”

“For acting like you care less.”

...----------------...

The library. Same spot. I got there first again.

He arrived two minutes late, sat down without a word, and opened his laptop like we’d already been working for an hour.

I shoved a paper at him. “Topic: social conformity in school. You got any opinions, Mr. Doesn’t-Speak?”

He skimmed it. “People follow to avoid judgment. School just amplifies it.”

“That’s not bad.”

“I know.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, then. Hypothesis?”

He leaned back, still typing. “The more academically competitive the environment, the stronger the pressure to conform.”

“Examples?”

“Dress code. Grades. Who you’re seen talking to.”

I blinked. “You’ve been paying more attention than I thought.”

“I observe. You just talk faster.”

I ignored that. “You know we have to do a five-minute presentation, right? With graphs.”

“You can talk. I’ll do the analysis.”

“You’re really pushing the whole ‘silent genius’ brand, huh?”

“It works.”

He said it like it wasn’t even up for discussion.

I leaned forward. “Do you even like group projects?”

“No.”

“Then why aren’t you fighting me on everything?”

“Because you’re competent.”

That caught me off guard.

“Oh,” I said. “Thanks?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

...----------------...

We worked for a while. He typed without pause. I made a bullet list. He glanced at it once and added two corrections without asking.

“Your formatting’s rigid,” he said. “Makes it hard to pivot.”

“Your face is rigid.”

He didn’t even blink. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means you’re annoying.”

“I can live with that.”

I groaned and dropped my pen. “Do you talk like this to everyone?”

“No.”

“Then why to me?”

“Because you push back.”

I stared at him.

He stared back.

Then we both went back to work.

...----------------...

It was raining again when we left. No umbrella. Just the two of us walking the same sidewalk, three steps apart.

“You always this difficult?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “Just consistent.”

“You ever get tired of being unbothered?”

“Do you ever get tired of overexplaining?”

“Touché.”

We reached the corner. I stopped. He didn’t.

“You’ll send me the data analysis?” I asked.

“Tonight.”

“No last-minute bail?”

“I don’t bail. You do the talking, I do the numbers.”

I hesitated. “Fair enough.”

He nodded once and turned down the next street.

Not a single goodbye.

Not that I expected one.

Later that night, the doc updated on its own. Jarel had already input the framework, attached links, and set up a graph template.

Everything precise.

No notes. No message.

I stared at it for a second.

Then started typing.

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