Page 30 of Wild Card 13

“You passed,” she said softly.

I barked out a laugh. “Shortcake, I dominated.”

Peterson pinched the bridge of his nose instantly. “Please do not make me regret this.”

“I’m serious.” I pointed proudly at the giant red grade sitting at the top of the page. “This is academic excellence.”

“You still spelled photosynthesis wrong twice.”

“Okay, nobody’s perfect.”

Lucy laughed beside me, quieter this time, but warmer somehow. More relaxed. And suddenly I wanted to keep hearing that sound for the rest of my life. The thought hit so fast and so unexpectedly I almost physically recoiled from it.

Jesus Christ.

Sixteen-year-old me was clearly handling this relationship very normally.

I looked back down at the paper before my brain could continue spiraling into insanity.

There were red marks all over the pages, but far fewer than usual. Actual correct answers circled throughout the test. Notes in Peterson’s handwriting pointing out where I’d improved. Even the stupid cellular respiration section I thought for sure had murdered me somehow had partial credit all over it.

“You really studied,” Peterson said again, sounding faintly surprised now that the evidence physically existed in front of him.

I shrugged, suddenly weirdly embarrassed by how much effort had gone into this stupid thing.

Lucy shifted slightly beside me, the sleeve of her coat brushing lightly against my arm in the process. Tiny contact disguised as complete psychological destruction.

“You’re welcome,” she said lightly.

I looked over at her. At the flushed cheeks she was still trying to hide. The tiny proud smile she kept unsuccessfully suppressing. The way she stood closer to me now than she had before without seeming to realize it.

And for the first time in my entire life, school stopped feeling like the place where I was constantly disappointing people.

Peterson took the test back before I could wrinkle it beyond repair and shoved the rest of the stack beneath one arm with the exhausted efficiency of a man done dealing with teenagers for the day. “Well,” he said dryly, “now that Burns has achieved the impossible, I’m going home before he says something that lowers my life expectancy.”

“That feels dramatic.”

“You called me Petey.”

“Affectionately.”

“I would rather walk into traffic.”

Lucy laughed again beside me, softer now, and I swear to God the sound alone could’ve carried me through the next five hockey seasons.

Peterson pointed vaguely in our direction while backing toward his classroom door. “Do not make me regret encouraging this academic miracle.”

“No promises,” I replied honestly.

The classroom door shut behind him with a heavy click, leaving the hallway suddenly quieter than before.

For a second neither Lucy nor I moved.

Winter sunlight stretched pale gold through the long hallway windows, catching dust in the air and turning the empty corridor soft around the edges. Somewhere in the distance, the gym doors slammed followed by the echo of shouting from practice ending downstairs.

But here? It felt weirdly still.

Just me and Lucy standing too close together outside a biology classroom while my entire life quietly rearranged itself around her.