Those lashes ?

...stares out the window, barely hearing Miss Gallant drone on about irregular verbs. Her thoughts keep circling back to Off Black's message. "We need to talk. Not about Instagram. About everything else. If you care, that is." The words gnaw at her, and she can feel her frustration bubbling over again.

Aniah nudges her gently. "Hey, focus. Miss Gallant's gonna notice you're zoned out."

Aubrey shakes her head, snapping out of it. "I'm fine," she whispers, though her tone isn't convincing.

Miss Gallant, still oblivious to the side chatter, claps her hands to get everyone's attention. "Alright, who wants to try conjugating the verb entender on the board? Aubrey? You've been awfully quiet. Come up and show us."

Aubrey freezes, her face twisting with irritation at being called out. She stands slowly, the sound of her chair scraping the floor drawing even more attention.

"Sure," she mutters, walking to the board.

As she begins writing, Nigglet leans over to Aniah, smirking. "Girl's not thinking about verbs—she's thinking about that walking temper tantrum named Off Black."

Aniah suppresses a laugh and elbows him lightly. "Shh. You're gonna make her mess up."

Aubrey, hearing their faint giggles, tightens her grip on the chalk. She finishes the conjugation quickly, writing the forms with sharp, aggressive strokes, and steps back.

Miss Gallant examines the board, nodding. "Adequate, I suppose. But let's not take out our teenage angst on the chalk next time, hmm?"

The class snickers, and Aubrey exhales sharply as she returns to her seat, ignoring the eyes on her.

Nigglet, ever the instigator, leans over again. "Don't let her talk to you like that, bestie. You should've conjugated 'petty.' That's what she really wanted."

Aniah swats his arm playfully, whispering, "Let her be."

As Miss Gallant moves on, Aubrey pulls out her phone under the desk and stares at Off Black's message again. Her fingers hover over the keyboard, debating whether to respond. Her gut tells her to leave it alone, to not feed into whatever he's feeling, but part of her wonders if clearing the air might actually make things easier.

She types out a response but deletes it. Then another, and deletes that too. Finally, she writes something short and hits send before she can overthink it.

Aubrey (text): "There's nothing to talk about. Let it go."

Meanwhile: In Carpentry Class

The tension between Off Black and Persuasion lingers even after the bell. As the group shuffles to their next classes, Persuasion walks beside Mucho Gusto, shaking his head.

"Man's acting like I proposed," Persuasion mutters, smirking.

Mucho Gusto chuckles, but his tone is thoughtful. "You sure you're not messing with him? Feels like you enjoy stirring the pot."

Persuasion shrugs. "Not my fault he can't handle a little Instagram drama."

Behind them, Triple G catches up, placing a hand on Off Black's shoulder. "Bro, you gotta chill. You're letting this eat at you for no reason."

Off Black shrugs him off, his jaw tight. "You don't get it."

Triple G sighs. "No, I get it. You're spiraling because you think this means something it doesn't. Just talk to her. Like a normal person."

Off Black doesn't respond, his eyes dark with frustration. But as they head toward their next class, he checks his phone and sees Aubrey's message. Her words—"Let it go"—ignite something inside him, a mix of anger and hurt.