The Way They Look At Me

Nora’s P.O.V

I stared into the mirror like it might crack. My black tank top clung to damp skin. Waves of wet black hair stuck to my shoulders. My green eyes stared back, sharp and restless. Graduation was next week, but it didn’t feel real. Nothing did lately.

Nick leaned against the doorframe, tossing an apple in the air. “You going to Amelia’s after school?”

“Maybe. Depends how annoying she is in third period.”

He smirked. “Leo’s picking me up. Want a ride?”

“I’ll walk.”

“Suit yourself.” He disappeared like always.

I grabbed my bag and stepped outside. Warm air wrapped around me, the kind of summer morning that felt like a promise. Sunlight spilled across cracked sidewalks and faded cars.

Then came the rumble—low, dark. Leo’s car turned the corner like it owned the block.

He got out.

Black shirt. Ink-wrapped arms. That lazy, dangerous confidence that didn’t have to try. His icy-blue eyes cut through me.

“Hey, Nora.”

God, his voice.

“Hey,” I managed, pulse tripping.

He smirked, and it hit me low, where reason never reached. Leo always looked like trouble—but the kind you touch once, even if it burns. Nick’s best friend. Off-limits. I told myself that every time.

It never worked.

I kept walking. The school came into view—busted brick, chipped paint, doors that never closed right. I slipped through the crowd like smoke. Unseen. That’s how I liked it.

Until she found me.

“Dark angel vibes today.” Amelia, flawless and grinning, fell in beside me. Blonde hair, cheer uniform, mischief in her eyes.

“It’s just a black tank top.”

“Exactly. Boys love mystery. Especially a mystery with a body like yours.”

“Not trying to impress anyone.”

“Oh yeah? Tell that to your face every time Leo looks at you.”

I didn’t answer. Because she wasn’t wrong.

I slid into the back row just as the bell rang. Mr. Jacobs was already mid-rant about Shakespeare being underappreciated, but I wasn’t listening. I could feel Leo before I saw him.

He dropped into the seat behind me. Didn’t say anything. Just existed—loudly.

His knee brushed my chair once, casual. I didn’t move. Neither did he.

Halfway through the lecture, I tilted my head, pretending to adjust my ponytail. His eyes were already on me.

When class ended, he leaned forward just enough to make me forget how to stand.

“You got something on your face,” he said, voice low.

“What?”

He lifted his hand, slow, deliberate. Fingers brushed my jaw—barely a touch, but enough to send heat racing through me.

“Ink. From your marker.”

I froze as his thumb dragged lightly across my skin, wiping the smudge like an excuse. His gaze stayed on mine.

“There,” he murmured. “Got it.”

My skin burned where he’d touched me. His small, dangerous smile told me he knew exactly what he’d done.

Second period dragged. Numbers blurred, formulas mocked me. Every time I blinked, I could still feel his touch.

The bell finally rang. Biology next—with Amelia.

She poked my arm as soon as I sat down. “You and Leo in first together? Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill.”

“Did he say anything?”

“He said I had ink on my face.”

“And then?”

“He wiped it off.”

She went still. “He wiped it off? Nora, that’s hands-on, jaw-touching, smudge-slowing-down-time level flirting.”

I rolled my eyes, smirking despite myself. Then the lights dimmed for some grainy evolution video, and we stopped talking—but not thinking.

The day blurred—countdowns, chaos, seniors half gone. I leaned against my locker while Amelia ranted about a creepy sub.

“I’m telling you,” she said. “No one blinks that slow unless they’ve buried something.”

“Maybe he just hates this place as much as we do.”

Then a shadow fell across us.

Dylan, I think. Tan, casual, too much cologne.

“Bonfire at the lake Friday,” he said. “You and Amelia should come.”

“Uh. Okay?”

He winked and walked away.

Amelia gasped. “We’re going. You need to get out. Maybe hook up with a hot stranger.”

“Not interested.”

She gave me a look. “Leo might be there.”

I didn’t answer. I was already thinking about firelight and Leo.

I looked up—and there he was.

Leaning against his locker. Girls orbiting him like planets—but he wasn’t looking at them.

He was looking at me.

Heat crawled down my spine. I looked away, but I felt it. Every inch.

Last period couldn’t come fast enough. I changed quick—black shorts, tank top, hair tied back, earbuds in—and hit the track.

I ran until the world fell away. Just breath, sweat, rhythm.

Then—a hand on my arm.

I turned fast, heartbeat in my throat.

Leo.

Too close. His gaze locked on mine like I was the only thing worth watching.

“You scared the shit out of me,” I said, pulling out one AirPod.

He smiled. “Didn’t mean to.”

“You did.”

“You didn’t look like you were stopping.”

“I wasn’t. Running helps me think.”

He nodded, gaze dipping—legs, hips, back up. “You’re fast.”

“You watching me?”

“Maybe.”

It made me blush. I hated that.

“What are you doing out here?”

He shrugged. “You going to that bonfire?”

“Maybe.”

“Why not?”

“Not really my scene.”

“Still. Might be worth showing up.”

“Why?”

His eyes met mine. “Because I want you there.”

My heart stuttered. “I’ll think about it,” I said, turning before he could see.

But I felt his eyes on me the whole way down the track.

This was new. We’d never really talked before. Just passing words. But today? That was not nothing.

The bell rang across the empty field. Most students had gone. Laughter drifted from the parking lot. I slowed near the bleachers, chest rising hard.

When I looked back—Leo was gone.

Or I thought he was.

Then I saw it. His car. Parked at the far edge of the lot, engine idling, headlights off. He sat behind the wheel, elbow on the window frame, eyes on me even from a distance.

Watching. Waiting.

The air grew heavier.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Friday. Don’t run from me this time.

No name.

But I didn’t need one.