Chapter 3 Partner Panic

When I walk into Honors Core the next morning, nothing looks different, but the room feels aware. Conversations continue, chairs shift, someone laughs near the windows, yet there is a pause as I pass the first row. It lasts less than a second, just long enough to register. 

I take my seat in the second row from the back, left side, where I can see the board without being centered in anyone’s line of sight. My bag slides to the floor and I open my notebook to a blank page. Across the aisle, two girls lean toward each other.

“That’s her,” one murmurs.

“Smith,” the other confirms. Their eyes lift, then drop like they are evaluating. Krizzy settles into the seat beside me.

“You good?”

“I’m fine.” She studies me, then lets it go.

The bell rings and our teacher enters with a stack of folders.

“Before we begin,” she says, placing them on her desk,

“Founder’s Week is approaching. The honors track will be presenting research projects at the Academic Showcase.”

The shift is immediate, because Founder’s Week is not just another school event but an occasion where parents and alumni, the same ones who fund entire buildings, come to watch and evaluate.

“This project will run for several weeks,” she continues.

“You will work in pairs. Your presentation will factor into your final evaluation, and recommendations will reflect your performance. You may choose your partners and choose carefully. Once assigned, changes will not be permitted.”

A ripple moves through the room, quiet but sharp and chairs scrape back almost at once.

“Isaac, we should pair now,” a girl near the front says, turning halfway around in her seat.

“Wait, we already talked about doing policy reform,” another cuts in quickly. Jacob laughs from across the room. 

“Relax. It’s a project, not a board meeting.” Jake stands and spreads his arms. 

“Applications for brilliance are open.” Someone groans. 

“Sit down.” Franco stays seated, watching the room instead of joining it.

Two girls angle their desks toward the back where Isaac sits. One smooths her hair without realizing she is doing it. A boy leans toward Jacob, speaking fast and low. Voices overlap, alliances forming in real time.

“Smith scored highest, didn’t she?” someone says behind me.

“Yeah, but,” another voice replies, softer. Krizzy leans closer. 

“We could pair,” she says lightly, it is generous and also visible.

“I’m thinking,” I answer. Across the room, Isaac has not moved. He remains seated, calm, as if the outcome does not require urgency. The noise grows sharper and a chair nearly tips. Someone laughs too loudly but I stay where I am.

If I move toward someone, it becomes my intention. If I look toward the back, it becomes speculation. If I volunteer, it reads as ambition. If I wait too long, I risk being assigned in a way that looks careless. There is no version of this where I disappear.

I keep my hands folded on my desk and watch the room settle into pairs. The options narrow by the second. Every choice carries a headline I do not want. Krizzy shifts beside me but does not push again. I tell myself that stillness is control and I am not sure that is true.

“Miss Smith.” My name cuts through the noise and I lift my head.

“You have not selected a partner.” 

The room quiets just enough, Jake looks openly curious, Jacob seems ready to offer something helpful and Franco watches without expression. A few girls glance toward the back row.

“I was considering my options,” I say. A faint smile touches the teacher’s mouth. 

“We need to finalize the pairings.” Her gaze moves across the room, calculating and the silence tightens.

I become aware of how many people are waiting to see where I land, who claims me, and what that will mean. The choice is no longer private, it is a decision that will be read, discussed, and remembered and I am still standing alone.

Before the teacher continues surveying the room, a chair shifts in the back, quiet but enough to redirect attention as Isaac straightens in his seat. His gaze moves once across the room and settles on me, steady and direct, as if confirming something already decided.

“Smith,” he says.

The room stills, it is not how he says my name but it is that he says it at all and a pause follows.

“She ranked first,” he adds, his tone even. “Efficiency makes sense.”

There is no smile, no challenge, no invitation in his voice, only reasoning laid out plainly. The teacher glances down at her roster, then back up.

“That would be an excellent pairing.”

A few whispers ripple outward, someone exhales sharply. A girl near the front shifts in her seat, controlled but tight but Isaac does not look away.

“You.”

The word lands before I have time to prepare for it. Krizzy’s hand brushes my arm under the desk, a quick squeeze that feels more like a warning than congratulations. Jacob leans back with open interest, and Jake lets out a low whistle before pretending he did not.

Across the room, the two girls who angled their desks toward him exchange a look that disappears as soon as it forms. A few students glance down at their phones, already typing as the teacher writes on her roster.

“I’m marking Isaac and Clara as partners. That’s final.”

“Final,”  there is something about hearing it said aloud that makes it feel permanent. I gather my notebook and stand because staying seated would look reluctant. The walk across the room is short, but it feels watched from every angle. Conversations resume in lower voices, softer but sharper, and I can hear my name threaded through them. Scholarship girl paired with Isaac Fletcher — Chosen.

Someone near the windows says, “Of course,” under their breath. I stop beside his desk, and up close he looks the same as he did from a distance. Calm and unreadable, already thinking about the project instead of the moment. 

He shifts his notebook slightly to make space without being asked. He looks at me for a second, just confirming that the decision fits. This is not random, He made the choice, and now everyone has seen it.