3. Buzz #2
Threatened violence at least twice a study session.
But underneath all of it, she acted like she genuinely expected me to understand eventually. Like failing wasn’t inevitable just because science made my brain want to leave my body.
I stared at the grade another second longer before laughing under my breath in complete disbelief.
Lucy was already smiling before our eyes met fully, and the second they did, her whole face lit up in this quiet, proud way that hit me harder than the grade itself.
“You passed,” she said softly.
I barked out a laugh. “Shortcake, I dominated.”
Peterson pinched the bridge of his nose instantly. “Please do not make me regret this.”
“I’m serious.” I pointed proudly at the giant red grade sitting at the top of the page. “This is academic excellence.”
“You still spelled photosynthesis wrong twice.”
“Okay, nobody’s perfect.”
Lucy laughed beside me, quieter this time, but warmer somehow. More relaxed. And suddenly I wanted to keep hearing that sound for the rest of my life. The thought hit so fast and so unexpectedly I almost physically recoiled from it.
Jesus Christ.
Sixteen-year-old me was clearly handling this relationship very normally.
I looked back down at the paper before my brain could continue spiraling into insanity.
There were red marks all over the pages, but far fewer than usual.
Actual correct answers circled throughout the test. Notes in Peterson’s handwriting pointing out where I’d improved.
Even the stupid cellular respiration section I thought for sure had murdered me somehow had partial credit all over it.
“You really studied,” Peterson said again, sounding faintly surprised now that the evidence physically existed in front of him.
I shrugged, suddenly weirdly embarrassed by how much effort had gone into this stupid thing.
Lucy shifted slightly beside me, the sleeve of her coat brushing lightly against my arm in the process. Tiny contact disguised as complete psychological destruction.
“You’re welcome,” she said lightly.
I looked over at her. At the flushed cheeks she was still trying to hide. The tiny proud smile she kept unsuccessfully suppressing. The way she stood closer to me now than she had before without seeming to realize it.
And for the first time in my entire life, school stopped feeling like the place where I was constantly disappointing people.
Peterson took the test back before I could wrinkle it beyond repair and shoved the rest of the stack beneath one arm with the exhausted efficiency of a man done dealing with teenagers for the day.
“Well,” he said dryly, “now that Burns has achieved the impossible, I’m going home before he says something that lowers my life expectancy. ”
“That feels dramatic.”
“You called me Petey.”
“Affectionately.”
“I would rather walk into traffic.”
Lucy laughed again beside me, softer now, and I swear to God the sound alone could’ve carried me through the next five hockey seasons.
Peterson pointed vaguely in our direction while backing toward his classroom door. “Do not make me regret encouraging this academic miracle.”
“No promises,” I replied honestly.
The classroom door shut behind him with a heavy click, leaving the hallway suddenly quieter than before.
For a second neither Lucy nor I moved.
Winter sunlight stretched pale gold through the long hallway windows, catching dust in the air and turning the empty corridor soft around the edges. Somewhere in the distance, the gym doors slammed followed by the echo of shouting from practice ending downstairs.
But here? It felt weirdly still.
Just me and Lucy standing too close together outside a biology classroom while my entire life quietly rearranged itself around her.
She glanced up at me finally, still smiling a little. “B plus,” she muttered. “I’m honestly kind of impressed.”
“Kind of?”
“You still thought mitochondria were a government conspiracy three weeks ago.”
“In my defense, science sounds fake sometimes.”
Lucy rolled her eyes, hugging the books tighter against her chest as she tried not to laugh again.
Every tiny reaction she had around me suddenly felt like winning something.
I shifted closer before I could overthink it and gently took the books from her arms.
Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “What are you doing?”
“Celebrating.”
“With my textbooks?”
“With you.”
The words came out easy.
Lucy blinked at me once like the answer caught her off guard.
“Come on,” I said, hooking my thumb toward the front entrance already. “We’re getting food.”
“What kind of food?”
“The best kind.”
“That tells me literally nothing.”
“You ask too many questions.”
“You answer too few.”
“That’s part of my charm.”
Lucy snorted softly under her breath as we started down the hallway together, our footsteps echoing lightly across the tile.
And then came the new problem.
Hands.
Specifically—what the hell was I supposed to do with mine now?
Because technically she was my girlfriend. Which meant holding hands probably made sense.
Right?
But there had to be timing involved.
A system.
A smoothness factor I absolutely did not possess at the moment.
I glanced down subtly as we walked side by side toward the front doors.
Lucy’s hand brushed lightly against the back of mine. My entire nervous system lit up like somebody hit a power switch.
Absolutely unreal. What the fuck is this girl doing to me?
Outside, cold air hit immediately as we stepped into the parking lot. The sky had already started shifting toward early evening blue-gray while snowbanks lined the edges of the pavement in dirty frozen piles from weeks of storms.
My truck sat parked near the back row, exactly where I’d abandoned it that morning after almost hitting a snowbank trying to park one-handed while eating a breakfast sandwich.
Lucy noticed the state of it immediately. “You park like you’re fleeing a crime scene.”
“Betsy likes creative freedom.”
Lucy shook her head slowly, smiling despite herself while I jogged ahead to yank open the passenger door before it could freeze halfway again.
Cold air and peppermint hit immediately from inside the cab along with the faint lingering smell of hockey gear and drive-thru fries.
Lucy climbed in carefully around a stack of practice jerseys shoved into the backseat.
“You live like this?” she asked.
“I’m an athlete.”
“You’re a disaster.”
I slammed the door shut behind her and rounded the hood quickly before climbing into the driver’s seat beside her.
The truck roared to life loud enough to rattle slightly beneath us while heat blasted aggressively through the vents approximately two seconds later because Betsy believed in immediate suffering before comfort.
Lucy laughed quietly, pulling her scarf closer around her neck while I backed out of the parking space.
“Where are we going?” she asked again.
“You’ll see.”
“That’s suspicious.”
“It’s romantic.”
“You’ve known me for years. I don’t trust you enough for mystery destinations.”
Fair.
Snow crunched beneath the tires as we pulled out of the school parking lot and onto the main road cutting through Northbend.
The city always looked different in winter.
Streetlights glowing against snowbanks. Downtown storefronts throwing warm yellow light across frozen sidewalks.
People bundled into heavy coats moving quickly between restaurants and shops while old brick buildings trapped heat and music and life inside them against the cold.
Lucy watched quietly through the passenger window while I drove. Most people filled silence because they got nervous inside it.
Lucy didn’t. And somehow that made me less nervous.
I tapped the steering wheel lightly as music crackled low through the old truck speakers before the next song shifted in.
The opening guitar notes hit first.
Soft.
Warm.
Instantly recognizable. Something by The Beatles.
I glanced toward the stereo automatically just as Lucy looked over too.
Then both of us laughed quietly at the exact same time.
“Your dad listens to this constantly,” she said.
“My dad thinks music peaked in 1973.”
“He might not be wrong.”
I grinned slightly and turned the volume up a little.
Something settled differently inside the cab as the song played. The kind of moment you don’t realize matters until much later when it’s already attached itself to you permanently.
Lucy leaned back slightly against the seat, watching snowy downtown streets blur past outside while the song drifted softly between us.
And somewhere halfway through the chorus, she started absentmindedly singing under her breath. Quiet enough she probably didn’t realize she was doing it.
I looked over at her instinctively. Then immediately forgot how breathing worked again.
Because she looked happy. Just Lucy sitting in the passenger seat of my truck with flushed cheeks and winter light catching against her hair while The Beatles played softly through blown speakers.
By the time we pulled into a parking spot outside Matt’s, snow had started falling again.
Soft flakes drifting lazily through the yellow glow of the streetlights while downtown Northbend settled into that strange in-between feeling winter evenings always carried. Busy without rushing. Cold without feeling empty.
Lucy looked up at the old brick building through the windshield. “This is where we’re celebrating?”
I looked over at her like she’d just insulted my entire bloodline. “Watch your tone.”
She laughed quietly. “I’m asking a question.”
“You’re questioning greatness.”
The red awning stretched over the entrance exactly the same way it always had, faded around the edges from years of weather and Minnesota winters that apparently tried to destroy everything equally.
Matt’s didn’t look impressive from outside. That was part of the point. No giant signs. No trendy downtown energy. No polished restaurant aesthetic trying too hard to convince people it mattered.
Just an old Northbend bar that had existed forever and fully intended to outlive everyone currently inside it.