“The Picture of Dorian Gray,” Bella interjected, approaching the freshman as he was alone. The plan was to grab her lunchtime matcha latte — with oat milk and a splash of lavender, of course — but her ears tingled at the sound of Ace’s voice. She never liked that nickname, not when Booker was such a lovely monicker, but he was just Ace now, right? No more, no less. The school year was spent trying to stay under the radar, really putting the effort to stay out of drama and out of people’s mouths. Old habits must truly die hard.

“I don’t remember you returning my copy to me.” It was frayed, and bent, the spine beginning to fall apart, but Bella loved the novel and her annotations enough to cling on. Underlined passages, color-coded post it notes, doodles between the margins — it was her favorite. She craved so badly that Booker would love it the same. Though, the time for that was cut short. After a sip of her tea, she stared directly up at him.