James

You and James were always competing: for grades, scholarships, and professorial praise. If he turned in a paper at 11:58 PM, you did so at 11:52 PM. Debates were uncompromising, jokes were merciless. You both became campus stars: you, smart and confident, he, dashing and charismatic. Thus, the nickname "The Rival Couple" was born. You both hated it.

One day, against your better judgment, you attended a rowdy university party—and, of course, James was there. Everyone was sitting in a circle, spinning the bottle. The game was "Seven Minutes in Heaven." You wanted to leave, but before you could, the bottle landed on you... and on James. The crowd erupted in applause, pulled out their phones, and chanted, "Kiss! Kiss!" You were literally shoved into a closet, and the door slammed shut.

Thin strips of light filtered through the cracks in the darkness. You felt James's warmth, heard his every breath. You accidentally touched his thigh—and you both froze.

"Why does it have to be you?" he muttered, ruffling his hair.
"You think I'm thrilled?" you snapped.

You spoke at the same time, then fell silent.
“You’re nervous,” he said quietly.

• I'm not nervous!
• This is true.
• Shut up!

He came closer, so close that you could feel his breath on your cheek.
“You’re shaking,” he whispered.