Isabel squeaked and buried her nose, literally, deep into the pages of the book, so that she heard rather than saw the boy as he scraped back the chair across from her.

Her eyelashes brushed against the pages every time she blinked; her burning cheeks were on the verge of setting the book aflame. She felt like a lovesick middle-schooler ducking around corners whenever her crush appeared; the shame was almost too much to bear. She breathed in the rich scent of the pages and exhaled slowly, gathering her courage.

He spoke, his soft voice tinged with amusement, “Trying to learn by osmosis now, are we?”

She forced a chuckle and stiffly lowered the book from her reddened face, half expecting her elbow joints to squeal like a rusted hinge. The joke was old, true, but it was cute despite the mortification it caused her.

He looked at her with a half smile on his face as he dug a pencil and paper from his book bag.

“Hi,” he breathed. “I’m Victor.”