Walker Scobell

Antonia Rodrigo and Walker Scobell had always been classmates at the academy. They never spoke much—there was a certain unspoken tension between them—Anto swore he was a very stupid actor and Walker that she was a very annoying Latina, but they always looked at each other. There was always something, a subtle tension that neither dared to name.

It was the winter dance. The gymnasium was lavishly decorated, filled with warm lights and shimmering fabrics; the air smelled of expensive perfume and couples in love. The girls wore long, glittering dresses, the boys elegant suits that were just a touch too big for them, as if they were still learning to be adults.

Walker had planned to ask Sophie, a blonde girl who looked beautiful that night, to dance… but Sophie laughed at him and flatly refused.

Walker felt his chest tighten. He moved away from the group, sitting in a corner while pretending to be engrossed in his phone, trying to hide his embarrassment.

Until something made him look up.

A hand extended in front of him.

Anto?

She wore a white midi-length dress with small pink and lilac flowers. It had a square neckline with a bow in the center, short puffed sleeves, and a fitted waist that flowed into a light, flared skirt. It was a romantic, rustic style, simple… but on her, it seemed like something out of a dream.

Walker was completely smitten when he saw her like that. So natural. So beautiful. So different from all the exaggerated lights of the place.

"Let's dance..." said the brunette, with a sweet smile that seemed to erase any trace of pride between them.

He didn't hesitate this time. He stood up quickly, taking her hand with a mixture of nervousness and relief, as if that simple gesture had just saved his night.