The Smallest Things
The apple sat on the corner of Amanda’s desk all day. Students came and went, dropping assignments, whispering about lunch plans, dragging their backpacks across the tile floor. None of them noticed the way Amanda’s eyes kept drifting toward that apple like it was some kind of beacon.
It wasn’t about the apple, of course.
It was about the fact that someone had seen her. Really seen her. And hadn’t demanded anything in return.
By the end of sixth period, Amanda found herself turning the apple over in her hands during a planning block, the cool skin smooth beneath her fingers. She didn’t bite into it. She just held it, grounding herself in the simple fact of its existence.
She was still staring at it when a soft knock at her doorframe pulled her from her daze.
Angela.
Of course.
Amanda set the apple down quickly, smoothing her hands over the skirt of her dress as if she could wipe away the evidence of… whatever that moment had been.
"Hey," Angela said, leaning against the doorframe with casual ease. "You busy?"
Amanda hesitated. She had a stack of essays to grade, emails to answer, a lesson plan half-finished.
"Not really," she heard herself say.
Angela’s smile widened like she’d been hoping for that answer. "Good. Come rescue me. I'm hosting 'after school study hall' in the library, and if I have to explain exponents one more time, I might actually throw myself into the nearest recycling bin."
Amanda huffed a laugh despite herself.
"Bring your grading," Angela added, jerking her head toward the hallway. "Moral support counts as a community service, right?"
Amanda didn't let herself think too hard. She scooped up her laptop and a red pen, tucked them under one arm, and followed Angela down the hall.
The library was mostly empty, save for a handful of students hunched over textbooks, whispering urgently about math problems. Angela led her to a table tucked away in the far corner, out of sight of the main doors. A little island away from the chaos.
Amanda settled into a chair, arranging her papers in precise, neat stacks. Angela sprawled across from her, balancing a calculus textbook on one knee while scrolling through her phone.
For a while, they worked in comfortable silence. Amanda marked essays in red, her pen gliding over the paper with mechanical focus. Angela occasionally muttered under her breath about "the absolute scam of imaginary numbers," making Amanda bite back smiles behind her coffee cup.
At one point, Amanda glanced up and caught Angela watching her—not in a way that demanded anything, but in a way that simply… noticed.
Their eyes met. Held.
Angela didn't look away.
Amanda's heart thudded once, hard, against her ribs before she forced herself to return to her grading.
It was nothing. It was everything.
Later, when the clock crept past five and the last student finally packed up and left, Angela stretched, arms over her head, shirt riding up just slightly.
Amanda looked away so fast she almost gave herself whiplash.
"Come on," Angela said, grabbing her coffee cup and jerking her head toward the door. "I’ll walk you out."
Amanda gathered her things, heart beating unsteadily. As they moved through the empty hallways, Angela's shoulder brushed lightly against hers.
It could have been an accident.
It could have been something else.
Amanda didn’t move away.
Outside, the air was brisk, the last gray light of day fading into night.
They paused by Amanda’s car, the engine ticking quietly as it cooled. Angela shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket, rocking on her heels.
"Text me when you get home," she said. "Just so I know you didn’t, like, get ambushed by feral seventh graders on your way out."
Amanda laughed, low and breathless.
"Okay," she said. "I will."
Angela smiled, easy and open. She didn’t move closer, didn’t ask for anything more.
She didn’t have to.
Amanda drove home that night with her phone sitting in the passenger seat, the apple still tucked carefully in her bag, and something warm and terrifying blooming quietly in her chest.