23

Prototype - Outkast

Mariah pov.Professor Harris' Class 8:32 am

The classroom was settling into its usual rhythm—the faint rustle of pages, the hum of quiet chatter, and the low drone of Kamala's voice filling the space as she laid out today's topic. I had my notebook open, pen poised, but my attention snapped when the door opened quietly and a new presence stepped inside.

She didn't hesitate or look around nervously like most new students. Instead, she walked in with a calm confidence, brown skin glowing softly under the fluorescent lights, and long curly hair pulled back loosely, a few rebellious strands framing her face. Her clothes were casual—a baggy, t-shirt paired with black jeans and clean sneakers. A scent—soft and floral—floated briefly as she passed, unexpected and almost out of place against her strong vibe.

Our eyes meet for a split second, and she gave me a small, knowing smile.

"Hey," she said as she approached the empty seat beside me, her voice low but friendly.

I blinked, a little caught off guard. "Uh, hey."

She dropped her bag with a soft thud and settled in. "Michelle," she offered her hand.

"Mariah," I said, shaking it. Her grip was firm but not rough, the kind that promised she knew what she wanted.

We exchanged a few words while Kamala continued the lecture, but Michelle had a way of leaning in when she laughed at one of my comments, her fingers lightly against my arm—not enough to be obvious, but enough that I felt the warmth spread.

I glanced toward Kamala at the front of the room. Her eyes flicked our way, sharp but unreadable. I caught the smallest tightening at her jaw before she returned to her notes.

I wasn't sure what this new energy meant yet—just that it was electric and maybe a little dangerous. But I was curious. Really curious.

The hum of the classroom faded into the background as I found myself watching Michelle more than I wanted to admit. She had this effortless way of moving—relaxed but deliberate—like she knew exactly how to command attention without demanding it. When she laughed at one of Kamala's dry jokes, her hand brushed against my forearm again. The contact was brief, but enough to send a warmth rippling down my spine.

"Did you always know this much about political science?" She asked quietly during a lull in the lecture, her voice low, almost a purr.

I smiled, a little self-conscious. "I guess I've had a head start, but I'm still figuring things out."

Her eyes sparkled with something teasing, almost mischievous. "Good, because I'm here to learn—and maybe teach a thing or two."

I chuckled, feeling my cheeks heat up just slightly. I was nice, that's who I was. It was in my nature to be warm and welcoming, even if I wasn't used to that kind of attention.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Kamala watching us. Her expression was calm, professional—but her eyes held a spark of something deeper. I could tell she noticed every little touch, every glance, and I knew she didn't like it. Not one bit.

As class wrapped up, Michelle leaned closer, her voice just above a whisper. "We should study together sometime. I think we'd make a good team."

I wanted to say yes. I wanted to say yes so badly. But I also knew what that meant—navigating the complicated dance of Kamala's jealousy, my own curiosity, and this new energy that was shaking up my carefully balanced world.

"Yeah," I said, trying to sound casual. "I'd like that."

Michelle's smile deepened, that same knowing curve of her lips. "It's a date then."

And just like that, the air shifted. Something new was coming. Something I wasn't sure I was ready for.

__________

Michelle:

^^this is what Michelle looks like. But obviously you can imagine her in your own way. 🫶🏽🫶🏽

Now how do we feel about Ms. Michelle???