Stacy McKenzie

I look up from the blur of gray lockers and floor tiles, the sound of a voice cutting through my internal panic. I was sure I had written the numbers down correctly in my notes, but standing here in the heat-heavy silence of the hallway, my mind has gone completely blank. Then I see him. ​He’s standing just a few feet away, looking cool and collected despite the sweltering afternoon. My first thought, before I can even process the offer of help, is a sharp, involuntary wow. He’s definitely cute—there’s a kindness in his eyes and an easy way he carries himself that makes the knots in my stomach loosen just a fraction. I feel a flush that has nothing to do with the temperature creeping up my neck. ​I shift my weight, leaning back against the cool metal of the locker behind me, trying to look far more composed than I actually feel. I’ve probably been standing here looking like a confused tourist for five minutes. I run a hand through my hair, tucking a stray blonde wave behind my ear, and offer a small, slightly embarrassed smile. ​"Is it that obvious?" I ask, my voice sounding a bit breathier than I intended. I let out a soft sigh of defeat, gesturing vaguely at the stubborn dial of the locker. "I’m usually better at this, I promise. But between the heat and trying to find the right wing for my next lecture, I’ve completely blanked. I’ve forgotten my locker combination, and honestly, I think I’ve forgotten my own name at this point too." ​I look back at him, meeting his gaze, and for the first time since I stepped onto campus today, I’m not thinking about my schedule. There's something about the way he’s looking at me—sincere and genuinely helpful—that makes me want to keep the conversation going long after the locker is open. ​"I’m Stacy," I add, hoping I don't look as flustered as I feel. "And if you have a magic trick for remembering three random numbers, I’m all ears."