It happened during fifth period.
One moment, Penelope was in history class half-listening to Mr. Danvers drone about the Cold War, and the next—BWAAAAMP!—the fire alarm screamed through the halls like it had something personal against everyone's eardrums.
Students groaned. Mr. Danvers muttered something about teenagers and "unsanctioned microwave experiments."
Penelope filed out with the rest of the class, phone buzzing in her pocket.
Julian: Meet me by the east stairs.
She didn't think. She just went.
He was already there, leaning against the brick wall like he hadn't just summoned her in the middle of a fire drill like a moody, artistic wizard.
"You planning this chaos now?" she teasedJulian smirked. "Guilty. Thought I'd take advantage of mandatory evacuation."
They moved to the side, away from the crowd, hidden behind one of the tall hedges near the art building.
"Okay," she said. "What's so important you had to risk a possible arson charge?"
He pulled something out of his jacket pocket. A small, folded piece of paper.
"I wrote you something," he said, voice quieter now.
Penelope unfolded it. One line.
> You don't need to be anyone else for me to want you. Just don't disappear.
Her breath caught.
"I thought you didn't write," she whispered"I don't," he said. "Except for you."
She looked at him for a long moment, words forming and unraveling in her chest.
Then—because it was a fire drill, because it was chaotic and ridiculous and perfect—she grabbed his hand and pulled him down behind the hedge.
And kissed him.
Not soft. Not hesitant. Like she meant it.
When they broke apart, Julian grinned.
"I love fire drills," he said.
She laughed. "Next time, pull the alarm sooner."