The bell rings and the crowds clamber out into the hallways.

At my locker, I thumb the padlock and pull it open with a solid click. I take off my fedora, the rim leaves a pink horizontal indent on my forehead, and I stuff it onto the top shelf as I pretend to rummage through my locker, but really I'm just waiting for Nadia whose locker is two away from mine. I glance side to side, waiting to catch a tall brunette in my peripherals. And then it happens. I see her.

Hashtag oh no, here she comes. Watch out boy, she'll chew you up.

"My lord," says Nadia, thumbing her padlock and glancing at me sideways.

"My lady," I say.

She laughs at my Sriracha t-shirt.

"Ha! That's hilarious!"

Last week she even snort-laughed when she saw my Backstreet Boys tee that said Metallica. Oh Nadia Ricci. Nadia who can name every character in the Marvel Universe including their super powers. Nadia whose favorite character in Game of Thrones is Little Finger which makes her the hottest thing alive.

Her shirt folds in a weird way and I can see between two buttons from my side angle. Oh em gee, I can see her bra. I look away like it's the sun.

"What does Ygritte call Jon Snow's penis?" she faces me.

"What?"

Nadia leans into me and talks directly into my ear. "A snow cone," she whispers. I feel her breath and it gives me goose bumps.

Connor sneaks up behind Nadia and pokes her side. She jolts back and spins to meet him.

"Hey," she kisses him, and he ignores me like I'm not even there. Click fuck you.

Connor wears a white t-shirt hanging to his knees and a flat-billed Cincinnati Reds cap. Everything he wore fit the trends, except for his bracelet. I stared at it, hanging from his wrist. It was a band of stainless steal braids wrapping around his wrist but not quite completing a circle, like a metallic letter 'c' clasped to his wrist. I recognize the bracelet from late night infomercials on Saturday where an overly excited bearded guy claims the bracelet can give the wearer super human balance. Only someone like Connor would believe that. It's "you're" not "your", Connor.

Without even acknowledging me, Connor turns her around and is about to usher her away with his bracelet hand pressing against the small of her back.

"Wait!" she pushes her padlock up until it clacks then peeks back at me with the corner of her eye. She smiles her crooked smile and disappears with Connor into a sea of walking white polo's and neckties.