I manage a small smile. “It’s tough to spin that boy positively.” I take the seat next to him and breathe deeply, trying to calm the nervousness running throughout my body. It feels like there are Pop Rocks in my blood. I set my bag down at my feet and adjust my skirt.

I always try to dress extra nice for presentations and tests. Dress for success, as they say. Or in this case, I’m dolled up for my own funeral.

Other groups file in, some carrying big signs and posters for their projects. Most are talking to each other quickly and loudly, the whole group eager and engaged, like a well-oiled machine. Few look worried.

My phone buzzes.

Yaz: Good luck today, superstar!

I smile. I had mentioned how busy we were with the project, especially with midterms for other classes coming up. I start to type a reply to explain how bad things have gotten, then sigh and delete it. I decide on a simple Thanks we need it instead. Her typing bubble pops up right away, but I click my phone on airplane mode before she sends the reply. I can’t handle disappointing Yaz right now, on top of everything else.

I will just text her after.

“I think I may throw up,” I whisper to Robbie.

“Really?” His eyes go wide.

“Yeah.” I half laugh. “You might want to sit far away from me.”

“Nah.” He smiles. “Just, you know, try not to.”

My eyes flicker toward my lap, and he reaches for my hand.

At his warm touch, my heart speeds up. A different kind of nervousness. The emotion is so overwhelming and unfamiliar that my initial thought is to pull my hand away. To use it to cover my now-red face. But something about the stakes of the day makes me bold. Instead of pulling my hand away, I lean over and rest my head on his shoulder.

“It’s going to be fine,” he says. “You’re brilliant, and you built something brilliant.”

“We built it,” I correct. I look at his hand, woven in mine, and suddenly my nervousness starts to dissipate.

“Yeah, let’s just hope Braden remembers to present it though,” he says. “There’s only five minutes until class starts.”

Aaaaand the nervousness is back. “I’m going to kill that boy.” I look back toward the door. “You may actually witness a murder.”

“Witness? Who says I wouldn’t help you?”

Seconds before class starts, the door in the back of the classroom swings open, and Braden saunters in, wearing a suit but no tie and holding a laptop under his arm.

“Didn’t want to cut it a little bit closer?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“I like the suspense,” he says, shimmying into our row. He stares at our still-interlocked hands as he passes. “All right then.” He raises his eyebrows.