The First Meeting

The lunch bell rang across the school grounds, and the hallways began to fill with the usual noise—a blend of hurried footsteps, conversations, and a few shouted jokes from boys who were too full of energy to walk calmly back to class. Mike was one of them. With his backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, he marched down the hall with an easy swagger, his thoughts still on the prank he'd pulled on his best friend, Ryan, just a few moments ago. Ryan would forgive him, of course—he always did—but the look on his face had been priceless.

Mike was in no rush to get back to class. In fact, if he had it his way, he'd spend the entire afternoon in the cafeteria, hanging out with his friends or sneaking out behind the school for a quick game of soccer. But even he knew there were limits, and skipping out on the first few days of 7th grade might land him in more trouble than it was worth.

"Come on, Mike! You're gonna be late!" Ryan called from down the hall.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Mike replied with a lazy wave, not really picking up his pace. Ryan, ever the cautious one, was already halfway down the hall, making a beeline for their classroom.

As Mike approached the door, he paused for a moment, scanning the room. Most of the seats were filled, and there was the usual chatter of kids trying to catch up on homework or gossiping about the latest rumors. He saw a few familiar faces—friends he'd known since primary school, some of whom were already giving him nods or smirks, waiting for him to come join them in the back of the class where they could joke around unnoticed.

But something, or rather someone, caught his attention. A girl was sitting by the window, completely lost in whatever she was drawing on the corner of her notebook. Her dark hair fell over her face as she bent over her sketch, her pencil moving quickly and confidently, as if she were in her own little world.

Mike tilted his head, curious. He hadn't seen her before. She wasn't one of the usual quiet kids who faded into the background, but she also didn't seem to be one of the popular girls who always made a point to stand out. No, this girl seemed different—creative, focused, and perfectly fine with being by herself.

He smirked to himself. That was exactly why she'd caught his eye.

Without even thinking it through, Mike walked over to her desk and, in one smooth motion, nudged her sketchbook off the edge with his elbow.

"Oops," he said with mock sincerity.

The sketchbook hit the ground with a soft thud, and the girl looked up, blinking as if she were coming out of a trance. Emi, as Mike would soon learn her name to be, stared at the sketchbook for a moment before lifting her gaze to meet his. Her eyes were wide, surprised but not angry, as if she were trying to decide whether this was a joke or if he was just being rude.

"What the—" she started, her voice soft but incredulous.

She bent down to pick up the sketchbook, carefully brushing off the cover. Her half-finished drawing, a detailed sketch of a landscape, was slightly smudged from the fall. She frowned, her lips pressing into a thin line. It wasn't ruined, but it wasn't perfect anymore either.

"Are you serious?" she asked, her tone more curious than accusatory.

Mike leaned against the edge of her desk, arms crossed, as if he hadn't just knocked over her sketchbook on purpose. "You looked like you were bored," he said, shrugging. "Thought I'd give you something else to focus on."

Emi raised an eyebrow, still unsure if he was messing with her or just plain irritating. "And you thought the best way to do that was by wrecking my sketchbook?"

Mike grinned, unfazed by her sarcasm. "Wrecking's a bit of an exaggeration. It's still there, isn't it?"

Emi stared at him for another long moment before shaking her head, clearly done with the conversation. She opened the sketchbook again and resumed her drawing, ignoring him as best she could.

Mike, however, wasn't done. He leaned in slightly, his grin widening. "I'm Mike, by the way. You know, in case you want to thank me later for keeping things interesting."

She didn't look up from her sketch. "I wasn't bored."

"Really? You looked like you were a million miles away."

She sighed, finally glancing up at him again. "Maybe that's because I was. Drawing helps me think. Or it did, until someone decided to crash the party."

He chuckled. "Come on, it wasn't that bad. Besides, I'm just trying to get to know my new classmates."

Emi paused, studying him for a moment, as if trying to figure out if he was serious or not. Then, with a small smile playing on her lips, she said, "Well, next time you could just try saying 'hi' instead of knocking stuff off my desk."

Mike straightened up, clearly enjoying himself. "Where's the fun in that?"

This time, Emi let out a soft laugh. "I'm Emi," she said, her tone still teasing, but there was a hint of warmth in her voice now. She held out her hand, a challenge in her eyes.

"Mike," he replied, shaking her hand firmly. "Nice to meet you, Emi the Artist."

Emi blinked, caught off guard by the nickname. "The Artist?"

He pointed at her sketchbook. "You're always drawing, right? Seems fitting. Plus, it's better than just Emi."

She stared at him for a second, as if considering whether or not to argue, but then she just shook her head, amused despite herself. "Well, Mike the Annoying seems like it suits you pretty well."

"Touché," Mike said with a grin.

Before either of them could continue, the classroom door opened, and their teacher walked in, prompting everyone to hurry to their seats. Mike winked at Emi before slipping into the desk behind her. She felt a twinge of annoyance, but there was also a flicker of curiosity. Who was this guy, and why did he seem so interested in bothering her?

As the lesson began, Emi tried to focus, but every now and then, she could feel Mike's eyes on her, as if he was still trying to get a reaction. After a few minutes, she noticed him making exaggerated faces at her from behind his textbook, clearly trying to distract her. She ignored him at first, determined not to give him the satisfaction.

But by the third or fourth face, she couldn't help it—she let out a soft laugh, quickly covering her mouth with her hand.

Mike, catching her reaction, grinned triumphantly. He leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself.

"Gotcha," he whispered under his breath, not caring if anyone overheard.

Emi rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. As annoying as he was, there was something kind of... fun about it.

By the end of class, she had almost forgotten about the incident with her sketchbook. Mike had teased her a few more times throughout the lesson, but there was no malice behind it. He was playful, irritating at times, but not mean. And for some reason, that made it hard to stay mad at him.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the day, Emi gathered up her sketchbooks and slid them into her backpack. She was just about to head for the door when she felt a light tap on her shoulder.

Turning around, she found herself face-to-face with Mike again, that same lopsided grin on his face.

"You know," he said casually, "for someone who claims to not be bored, you sure looked like you were having fun."

Emi raised an eyebrow. "And for someone who spends most of his time goofing off, you sure seem to notice a lot."

Mike shrugged. "I've got skills. Full of surprises."

He paused, his grin softening just a little. "See you tomorrow, Emi the Artist."

Before she could respond, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving her standing there, half amused and half confused.

Emi smiled to herself as she watched him leave. Maybe Mike was right. Maybe this year would be more interesting than she had expected.