Tabitha had been slowly but surely worming her way into Reid’s heart.
She knew she could’ve sped things up by simply confessing her feelings outright, but that would’ve been the worst strategy imaginable. A guy like Reid, who didn’t trust people easily—especially girls—would imdiately go on the defensive.
If she blurted out, "I like you!" he’d probably treat her like so kind of undercover agent sent to lure him into a prank or sothing.
Besides, she wasn’t exactly the type of girl guys lined up for—chubby, loud, and with a personality that could bulldoze through walls. But she wasn’t in a rush. Instead, she focused on building sothing deeper, sothing real.
One afternoon, as they sat in Reid’s study room—well, his study room, but her snack bar—Tabitha casually threw a question at him. "So . . . has anyone ever confessed to you before?"
Reid barely looked up from his book. "Yeah."
Tabitha blinked. "Wait, really?"
"Why do you sound surprised?"
"Well . . . not to be an, but you’re, uh . . ." She gestured vaguely at him. "You’re a bit . . . brainy. And people can be jerks about that."
Reid sighed, setting his book down. "Yeah, well, they were jerks. Turns out the confession was a prank."
Tabitha’s eyes narrowed. "What did they do?"
Reid shrugged like it was ancient history. "They lured behind the school near the flagpole. The girl approached with a love letter said to et up after school."
Tabitha winced. "Oh no."
"Oh yes," Reid said flatly. "Next thing I knew, a bunch of guys jumped out, stole my clothes, and left tied to the pole in my underwear."
Tabitha’s jaw dropped. "They what?!"
Reid casually flipped a page. "It was winter too."
Tabitha gasped so loudly it could’ve shattered windows. "You were half-naked in winter?!"
Reid nodded. "Yeah. Coldest day of my life. Literally."
"What kind of monsters—"
"It’s fine." He waved her off. "I was young. I doubt anyone even rembers it anymore. Plus, I changed schools after that, so it doesn’t really matter."
Tabitha clenched her fists, looking like she was about to march out and find those bullies years later just to deck them. But instead, she inhaled deeply, exhaled through her nose, and calmly said, "Okay. Noted. We are never speaking of this again."
Reid huffed a laugh. "Why? Does the ntal image bother you?"
"No," Tabitha lied. "I’m just respectfully choosing to erase it from existence."
"Good luck with that," Reid said, flipping another page.
And just like that, the topic was closed. But in the back of her mind, Tabitha made a silent vow: if she ever caught anyone ssing with Reid like that again, they were going down together with their pants.
=== 🖤 ===
One afternoon, Reid was heading to the club, feeling an unusual sense of anticipation. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but he was actually looking forward to seeing Tabitha.
Their conversations, as chaotic as they were, had beco sothing he enjoyed—against all logic and reason. She could take the most mundane topics and twist them into ridiculous debates, sohow making even math tolerable.
He had even thought of a few topics to throw at her today: the psychology behind pranks and why people feel the need to humiliate others, or maybe sothing fun like the probability of surviving a zombie apocalypse.
He was also mildly curious about the science of luck, considering how Tabitha always managed to avoid trouble while causing chaos. However, when he reached the clubroom, expecting her usual loud presence, he found soone else instead—Gwendolyn. And she was crying.
Reid stopped dead in his tracks. Oh no.
He could analyze complex equations, explain quantum chanics in painful detail, and recite the periodic table backwards, but comforting a crying person? That was not in his skill set.
His brain scrambled for a rational approach—statistical probabilities of what could have made her cry, maybe?
No, that wouldn’t help. Should he walk away? Pretend he never saw her? But before he could decide, Gwendolyn turned, red-eyed, and looked right at him.
Now he was trapped.
For once, he wished Tabitha were here—not just because she had a way of handling social situations, but because she’d probably make so absurd joke that would sohow, inexplicably, make everything better.
"Gwen, you’re here," Reid said, then imdiately cleared his throat, realizing how obvious that statent was. "Uh—w-why are you here? Wait, that’s stupid. You’re a mber, of course you’re here. But you haven’t been here for days, so I kind of assud you wouldn’t be. But now you are. And . . . you’re crying. Which, uh—was not part of my calculations." He paused, then awkwardly gestured at her face. "Is this a ’soone stole your lunch’ level of crying, or a ’my entire life is crumbling’ kind of situation? Because my emotional support skills are . . . well, they’re non-existent."
Instead of answering, Gwendolyn launched herself at Reid, burying her face in his chest. Reid froze, his arms awkwardly hovering in the air like a malfunctioning robot.
Physical contact? Unexpected. A crying girl? Even worse.
His brain imdiately went into overdrive, running possible escape routes, but before he could calculate an exit strategy, Gwendolyn sobbed,
"Oh, Reid . . . it’s Roman!"
At the ntion of that na, Reid snapped out of his internal crisis. His awkwardness evaporated, replaced by a sharp frown. "What? What did he do? Did he hurt you?"
"He . . . He kissed . . ."
". . . What?"
"He stole my first kiss! That brute!" Gwendolyn wailed, gripping his shirt tighter as she cried harder.
Reid blinked. Then blinked again. Then adjusted his glasses like his brain needed ti to reboot. "That’s . . . that’s tragic. But statistically speaking, he didn’t steal your first kiss."
Gwendolyn jerked her head up, her tear-filled eyes full of betrayal. "What do you an?! That was my first kiss! Are you taking his side?!"
Reid held up his hands in surrender. "No, no! I an, biologically speaking, your first kiss always belongs to your parents. Think about it. When you were a baby, you were basically a potato—tiny, bald, and constantly drooling. Every adult in your vicinity, especially your parents, couldn’t resist smothering you with kisses. Forehead, cheeks, hands, feet, probably even your belly—scientifically, there was no escape."
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