I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear and glare at the assignment sheet as if it's written in ancient Sumerian. The classroom buzzes with low chatter, fluorescent lights flickering overhead. History is so not my jam-unless it's the history of legendary pranks or something. That I could get behind.

"Hey, Sam, you look about as thrilled as a cat in a bathtub," Megan says, sliding into the desk next to mine, her multicolored socks peeking out from beneath vibrant overalls. The scent of pencil shavings and chalk dust lingers in the air.

"Thrilled" is one word for it. "Confounded" is another. "Ready to launch this assignment sheet like a paper airplane into the bin" is even more accurate. I shrug, rolling my hazel eyes dramatically. "Local history? More like local mystery. I'm clueless."

Megan leans in, lowering her voice as if she's sharing state secrets. "Allegedly, Old Man Jenkins' barn is haunted by an outlaw's ghost."

"Yodeling?" I snort, laughter bubbling up at the absurdity. Leave it to Megan to make Guthrie's history sound mildly entertaining. "Sounds like my kind of specter. Do you think he'd teach me the two-step?"

"Only if you're brave enough to venture into the hayloft after midnight," she teases, tapping her pencil rhythmically on the desk.

"Challenge accepted," I wink. "But I'm bringing a boombox. If we're dancing with ghosts, we might as well go full poltergeist prom."

"Deal," Megan grins wide. "We'll make it a historical event worth writing about. Forget dusty archives and boring textbook facts. We'll have firsthand encounters with the supernatural!"

"Move over, Scooby-Doo. There's a new mystery gang in town," I quip, feeling excitement rather than dread. Who knew history could be this fun?

"Jinkies!" Megan exclaims, mimicking Velma's iconic catchphrase with an exaggerated New York twang.

"Zoinks!" I shoot back, channeling my inner Shaggy, complete with mock fear.

We dissolve into giggles, the tension of the impending project forgotten amidst our shared amusement. As our laughter dies down, the sense of adventure in Guthrie feels less daunting.

Megan's humor acts as my lifeline, making me feel like I've found a place where my adventurous spirit and sarcasm can coexist. And who knows? With a little more luck and a lot of laughs, we might just make history ourselves-or at least ace this project.

*****

"Speaking of history," Megan leans in conspiratorially, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Have you heard about Luke? The tall, dark, and brooding specimen of teen angst who roams these halls?"

"Can't say that I have," I reply, arching an eyebrow. "But 'tall, dark, and brooding' does paint quite the mental picture."

"Trust me, it's accurate. He's like a character straight out of a Brontë novel, if that character wore faded jeans and helped with cattle branding on weekends."

"Sounds ... intriguing?" I venture, even as I mentally prepare a space for him in my mental cabinet of Guthrie curiosities.

"Absolutely. And get this-he was all set to charm Jenny with his mysterious cowboy vibe..."

"Until?"

As if summoned by Megan's countdown, the classroom door creaks open and in walks Luke, Guthrie High's very own Heathcliff. The surrounding chatter dwindles to a murmur; even the dust motes seem to hold their breath.

"Whoa," I mutter, unable to look away.

Luke's presence is magnetic, a gravitational pull that tugs at everyone's attention without him saying a word. His brown hair is neatly trimmed, but a wildness lurks in his eyes, a storm brewing beneath the calm surface. He moves through the room, not with arrogance, but with an awareness of space that makes him impossible to ignore.

"See?" Megan whispers, nudging me with her elbow. "If brooding were an Olympic sport, he'd bring home the gold."

"Looks like he's practicing for the finals," I quip, tracking his slow walk to an empty seat.

"Brooding or not, he's still on our team for the project," Megan adds, a spark of intrigue lighting up her face.

"Great," I say, though I'm not sure if I'm more intrigued by the prospect of working with Luke or worried about being upstaged by his impressive frown.

"Focus, Sam," I remind myself silently. But as Luke settles into his chair with the ease of a rancher lowering onto a well-loved saddle, I can't help but feel that focus might be harder to come by than I thought.

*****

I lean back in my chair, arms crossed, and watch Luke from across the classroom. He is leaning toward Jenny now, his voice a low drawl that doesn't quite reach Megan and me. But it isn't his words that interest me-it is the way he looks at her. You know, that intense gaze that's supposed to make girls go weak in the knees or something.

"Trouble in paradise?" Megan teases, catching me staring.

"Shh," I hiss, but a grin tugs at the corners of my mouth. "Just observing the process of natural selection in action."

Jenny tosses her hair, laughing at something Luke says, and he smiles. It isn't one of those full-blown grins, just a small quirk of the lips, but it is enough to light up his whole face. It is like watching a thundercloud part to let through a single ray of sun-rare but spectacular. Envy twists in my chest. She gets the sunshine, and all I get is the storm warning.

"Sam? Earth to Sam." Megan waves her hand in front of my face, pulling me back to reality.

"Right, sorry. Just thinking about... strategies for the project," I lie smoothly.

"Sure you were," she smirks, not buying it for a second.

"Anyway," I say, clearing my throat and redirecting my attention to the task at hand. "Let's show them how it's done."

We are tasked with creating a mock historical tour of Guthrie, which is perfect because if there's one thing I love more than a good challenge, it is proving I am up to it. As we start brainstorming, I take the lead, my mind racing with ideas faster than I can speak.

"Imagine this," I begin, "we start at the Carnegie Library, right? Instead of a boring lecture about dates and dead people, we turn it into a treasure hunt."

Megan's eyes light up. "Yes! And each book could hold a clue to the next location!"

"Exactly!" My enthusiasm surges as I sketch out a rough map on scrap paper. "We can weave through the vintage storefronts and maybe throw in some ghost stories-everyone loves a good haunting."

"Make sure to include Mrs. McClure's pie shop," Megan adds. "Best pecan pie in town. If that doesn't lure them in, nothing will."

"Food as bait. Classic Guthrie charm," I agree with a chuckle. "Oh, and we can end the tour at Cowboy Up Ranch. Get Luke to rope some cattle or do whatever it is cowboys do."

"Subtle," Megan says with a snort.

"Subtlety is overrated," I reply, winking at her.

"Okay, team," Mrs. Henderson calls out, clapping her hands for attention. "Let's hear some of your ideas."

As I stand, I can feel Luke's eyes on me. There is a spark there, a hint of curiosity that wasn't there before. I flash him my most confident grin, ready to knock his boots off with my presentation skills. When I start explaining our concept, complete with dramatic gestures and the occasional joke, even Luke can't help but crack a genuine smile.

"Very impressive, Sam," Mrs. Henderson says once I finish, and there is a round of applause that heats my cheeks in a way that is both embarrassing and kind of awesome.

"Looks like someone's enjoying the spotlight," Megan whispers, nudging me.

"Can't help it if I'm naturally dazzling," I whisper back, still riding the high of a successful pitch.

"Modest too," she teases.

"Always." I catch Luke's eye one more time, and this time, it is him who looks away first. Victory? Maybe. Or maybe just the beginning of something new. Either way, I can't wait to find out.

*****

I shuffle the note cards, each a bullet point for our local history project's grand finale at Cowboy Up Ranch. I glance up and catch Luke's unreadable expression from across the room. I raise an eyebrow, challenging him to make the first move in our silent game of wit.

"Planning to build a house of cards with those, Samantha?" he drawls, a teasing glint in his deep brown eyes.

"Only if I can use them to barricade your cowboy charm outside," I retort, the corner of my mouth quirking up despite myself.

"I wouldn't dream of encroaching on your fortress," he replies, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed.

"Good. There's a strict no-cowboy policy, especially for those who use 'ma'am' and 'sir' like they're going out of style."

"Yet, here you are, breaking your own rules by talking to one," he points out, his slow smile spreading across his face.

"Exception proves the rule," I shoot back, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, my fingers brushing against my freckles.

"Is that so?" he says, standing now, moving closer under the guise of discussing our project. "Well then, I reckon I'm quite the exception."

"Keep reckonin', cowboy," I say, but I can't help the laugh that escapes me, light and genuine.

Megan leans over from her desk next to mine, her brown eyes sparkling with amusement as she watches us. She's wearing her quirky-patterned overalls with tiny cacti, making the scene feel even more ridiculous.

"Y'all are like an old Western rom-com," she whispers, not-so-subtly nudging my elbow.

"Shh," I hiss, trying to maintain my side of the banter. "You'll break my concentration."

"Concentration on what? Making Luke blush? 'Cause honey, you're winning."

"Quiet on set, please. Filming the climax of 'When Sam Met Cowboy,'" I quip, making her giggle.

"Cut!" Megan fake yells. "Let's try that scene again, but with less smoldering tension and more... historical accuracy."

"Sorry, director," I say, giving her a mock salute. "We'll try to keep the palpable chemistry to a minimum."

"I appreciate it," Megan says, but I notice she doesn't look away from Luke and me, her gaze sharp, missing nothing.

Luke steps back, offering me a hand with the model we're constructing. Our fingers brush when I pass him a replica of the Carnegie Library, and an electric, unexpected jolt shoots through me. I glance up, and his eyes hold mine, a question lingering that neither of us is ready to voice.

"Thanks," I manage, my voice steady despite the flutter in my chest. "I wouldn't want to drop the library before its grand opening."

"Anytime," Luke replies, placing the miniature building carefully on the display.

"Looks great, you two," Megan calls out, still watching us with a mix of curiosity and something else-interest, maybe?

"Teamwork makes the dream work," I say, grinning at her, but a new dynamic has shifted between Luke and me, like the ground beneath Guthrie High just rolled over, revealing something new.

*****

I shuffle through the historical documents scattered across our makeshift workspace, desperate to turn chaos into order. Megan sits on the edge of a desk, her gaze scrutinizing Luke and me as if we're the most riveting reality show she's stumbled upon. Her intense observation adds a layer of pressure to our interaction.

"Sam, can you hand me the timeline draft?" Luke's voice brings me back to the task. I reach for the paper, but as I do, my elbow nudges a pile of books precariously close to the edge.

"Whoa, disaster averted!" I exclaim, snatching the books and saving Guthrie's printed past from a tragic demise.

"Nice save," Luke grins, and his praise feels like sunshine breaking through an overcast sky, warming the moment between us. "You've got some ninja moves, Sam."

"Part of my charm," I quip, handing him the timeline while warmth spreads across my cheeks. The familiar rush of banter lingers, but now there's a new undercurrent, one I can't quite place-and I'm not sure I want to.

"Charm? More like mad skills," he corrects me, his eyes lingering on mine. The air between us crackles with something unspoken, setting my heart off-kilter.

"Mad skills, huh?" I deflect with a smirk. "Is that what they're calling clumsiness these days?"

"Only when it ends in victory." He chuckles, his gaze dropping back to the papers in front of him.

Megan clears her throat, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Are you two done flirting with danger-and each other-or can we get this project wrapped before graduation?"

"Flirting?" I scoff, feigning insult while my brain scrambles like a bad TV signal. "I'll have you know this is purely professional procrastination."

"Of course," she teases, but her eyes narrow ever so slightly, watching us.

I dive back into the work, but my thoughts are a tangled mess, buzzing around Luke like bees to wildflowers. Why does every grin, every shared glance, feel heavier than before? Why am I eagerly anticipating the next one?

Luke's attention returns to Jenny, who's chatting with friends in the distance. His gaze is thoughtful, almost wistful, but then he turns back to our project, his mouth twitching up as he catches my eye again. It's as if he's trying to solve a puzzle, and I'm the missing piece he hadn't expected to find.

"Let's get this finished," he says, determination threaded in his country-laced accent. However, there's also a playful and light vibe that wasn't meant for Jenny.

"Right," I agree, my fingers brushing against his as we reach for the same photograph. My stomach does a somersault, and I'm left wondering how Luke went from being just another small-town mystery to a significant chapter in my own history, one I'm hesitant to close.

*****

I'm shredding a corner of my notebook paper, each rip a tiny echo of the turmoil brewing inside me. Luke just shared his theory on Guthrie's founding fathers, and it's so ridiculous yet somehow plausible that laughter bubbles up at the absurdity of it all.

"Right, because nothing says 'historical accuracy' like aliens helping to build the town library," I snort, shaking my head.

"The architecture is mind-blowing," Luke quips. There it is again-that spark, that connection that shouldn't be so thrilling. It's unnerving how a casual joke feels so charged.

My cheeks glow brighter than the "Exit" sign above the door. For once, I'm grateful Megan's absorbed in research across the room. But she's not blind or stupid, and eventually, she's going to notice how I've become an expert in non-verbal banter with Mr. Broody McBroodface over here.

"Sam?" Megan calls out, snapping me back to reality. "You okay?"

"Yep, all good!" Way too chirpy, Sam. Dial it back. I clear my throat. "Just... history is hilarious, you know?"

"Totally," she agrees, but her eyes linger on me for a second longer than necessary, suspicion dancing in the periphery.

The bell rings, shattering the charged atmosphere, and students begin the typical end-of-day exodus. I scoop up my books, but my gaze lingers on Luke, who's now standing inches away. Our hands brush as he passes back a borrowed pen, and the jolt from the contact sends a clear message to my brain-this is bad news.

"See you tomorrow, Sam," he says, his country twang wrapping around my name like a caress.

"Sure thing, Cowboy," I reply, trying to sound casual, but inside, a storm of conflicted emotions-a mixtape of excitement, guilt, and a dash of raw panic-whirls around.

Megan waits for me by the door, her smile easy but her eyes sharp. She always knows when something's up. As we walk down the hall, lined with lockers that have heard more secrets than any confessional, the weight of unspoken questions hangs between us.

"Sam, if there's anything you want to talk about-I'm here, okay?" Megan says, nudging me gently with her elbow.

"Thanks, Meg," I mutter, grateful yet cornered. "I'm just... sorting through some things."

"Boy stuff?" Her voice is light, teasing, but there's an undercurrent of something else-perhaps concern?

"Could be," I admit, stepping off a cliff.

"Luke's a good guy," she offers, and my heart does a nosedive. "Just don't forget about Jenny. She's kind of fragile since..."

"Since he stopped paying attention to her and started laughing at my dumb jokes?" I finish with a wry twist of my lips.

"Something like that," Megan says softly.

The finality in her tone is a slap of reality. I've stepped into a minefield, and with every laugh and lingering look shared with Luke, I'm tap-dancing closer to detonation.

We part ways outside, and I'm left alone with the buzz of my thoughts. I look up at the Oklahoma sky's sprawling canvas. Truly, Luke is more than a mere crush. It's morphing into something potent, threatening to blow up the delicate balance of my new life in Guthrie.

"Damn it," I whisper to no one, acknowledging the tangled mess of loyalty and longing.

"Complicated" doesn't even begin to cover it.

As I trudge toward home, I realize that whatever happens next will change everything. That's the cliff I'm standing on, peering into the unknown, wondering if the fall will break me or set me free.