The Spark
I wasn’t sure how it happened, but suddenly Caleb Torres was everywhere. He showed up at my locker with a smirk that dared me to tell him to leave. He’d linger outside class, flipping a coin between his fingers like he had all the time in the world. And somehow, without meaning to, I found myself looking for him too.
Our first real conversation happened after school. He was leaning against his motorcycle in the parking lot, his leather jacket catching the last rays of the setting sun.
“You always walk home?” he asked, his voice casual, like we’d been friends for years.
“Yeah,” I said hesitantly. “Why?”
He grinned, holding up a helmet. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”
I hesitated, my eyes darting to the bike. It looked dangerous, and Caleb looked even more so. But there was something about his confidence—his complete disregard for what anyone thought—that made me want to take the risk.
“Fine,” I said, my heart pounding as I climbed on behind him.
“Hold on tight, princess,” he said over his shoulder, revving the engine.
The ride was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. The wind whipped through my hair, the world blurring around us as Caleb weaved through traffic with an ease that made my stomach lurch. It was terrifying, exhilarating, and utterly freeing all at once.
When we finally stopped at a quiet overlook, my hands were still shaking as I pulled off the helmet. “You’re insane,” I said, breathless.
“And you’re alive,” he replied, his grin infuriatingly charming. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
I didn’t answer, but the smile tugging at my lips was answer enough.
***
We started spending more time together after that. Caleb had a way of pulling me out of my comfort zone, dragging me into places and situations I’d never have dared to venture into on my own. Late-night rides, sneaking into abandoned buildings, watching the stars from the hood of his car—it was reckless, dangerous, and completely addictive.
For a while, I managed to push Logan out of my mind. When I was with Caleb, I didn’t feel the weight of the whispers at school or the sting of Logan’s betrayal. I felt free.
But Logan wasn’t blind to what was happening. I caught him watching us more than once, his jaw tight and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. When he finally tried to approach me in the hallway, his expression was a mix of frustration and something I couldn’t quite name.
“Emma,” he said, stepping in front of me. “We need to talk.”
I barely looked at him. “I don’t have time.”
“Too busy with your new boyfriend?” he asked, his tone sharp.
I stopped, turning to glare at him. “What I do isn’t your business anymore, Logan.”
