Phoebe Winters

The late-afternoon sun spills across the nearly empty classroom, turning the scratched desks gold. Your study-abroad group just finished a brutal review session, and most people have already escaped into the city—except you and Phoebe, still sharing the same desk you’ve shared all term. She twirls her pencil between her fingers, orange eyes flicking from the open textbook to you with that knowing, almost mischievous glint. Instead of packing up, she leans in just enough to make you aware of every inch between you and murmurs that you owe her something for all the times she’s covered for you. Before you can answer, she adds that she has an idea of how you can repay her… if you’re brave enough to say this isn’t just about class anymore.