When it was time for the show, the air between us on stage was electric.

He had assigned me the role of a clumsy, bumbling knight.

So, I had assigned him the role of a dramatic damsel in distress.

The whole school watched as we took the stage.

Noah, wearing a ridiculous blonde wig, minced toward me holding a prop apple.

“Oh, my brave knight,” he cooed in a high-pitched voice, “come, take a bite of this delicious apple.”

Then he tried to shove it up my nose.

The audience was silent.

I was silent.

Then, I pointed a trembling finger at him and shrieked, “The apple… the apple is poisoned!”

“You… you evil queen!”

The audience roared with laughter.

Their joy was not my joy.

My only emotion was deep, deep sorrow.

Afterward, I stood on a chair to yell at him while he sat on the stage floor.

“Noah, you picked that role for me on purpose, didn't you!”

I was supposed to be the hero, not the fool.

He just looked up at me and shot back, “And I suppose you didn’t pick the role of a damsel in a dress for me?”

We went on like that, at each other’s throats, for three more months.

He’d sneak cilantro into my salad at lunch.

I’d hide olives in his sandwich.

He made fun of my math grades.

I made fun of his book reports.

All the while, we were secretly pushing each other to be better.

By the end of the year, neither of us had a weak subject anymore.

Our teacher would just look at us and shake her head.

“It’s a miracle,” she’d mutter. “A miracle.”

The real turning point came during the summer after freshman year.

I was cutting through an alleyway.

A group of older girls cornered me.

“Hey, little girl,” the leader said, blowing smoke in my face. “Give your big sisters some cash to play with, and we won’t have to hurt you.”

She pressed the glowing tip of her cigarette against my t-shirt, and I felt the burn through the fabric.

It was probably the first time I’d ever dealt with anyone like that.

I clutched my shirt, my head down, and handed over the fifty dollars I had on me.

The girl shoved my head down.

“Don’t play dumb with me, kid.”

I kept my head low, my voice trembling.

“That’s… that’s all I have.”

She clicked her tongue in disgust and let me go.

“Fine. Go home and steal some money from your parents. Meet us back here tomorrow. Don’t forget.”

I nodded meekly and waited for them to leave.

My palms were slick with sweat.

I was too distracted to even argue with Noah the next day.

He leaned over our desks.

“What’s up with you today?”

I just pushed him away, my mind racing.

What do you do in a situation like that?

Call the cops, and they’d just come after you later.

Noah’s eyes caught sight of my shirt.

His expression darkened.

“Your shirt is…”

I panicked and pulled my jacket over it.

“It’s nothing.”

The next day, back in the alley, the girls were furious when I showed up with no money.

The leader raised her hand to slap me.

But another hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, while a second arm wrapped around me protectively.

Noah looked down at me.

“What are you looking at?” he said.

“You have no problem tearing me a new one every day.”

“You can’t handle them?”

That wasn’t it at all.

I tugged on Noah’s sleeve and gave him a look.

With a level of understanding that must have been born from a year of constant battle, he got my meaning instantly.

Right there, in front of the bullies, we started screaming at each other, pulling at each other’s hair, and finally, we both collapsed onto the ground.

We clutched our stomachs and started wailing.

The girls were still trying to figure out what was happening when the police sirens surrounded them.

They all ended up with a shiny new pair of bracelets, the limited-edition kind.

After that, my relationship with Noah leveled up from rivals to best friends.

But my feelings for Noah started to change.

Maybe it was because of the little candies he’d slip onto my desk.

Or maybe it was the cup of hot chocolate he gave me one day.

I had terrible cramps and had my friend tell the teacher I was sick, and I fell asleep with my head on my desk.

I just remember feeling like I was surrounded by the scent of oranges.

When I woke up, Noah’s jacket was draped over my shoulders.

He was sitting beside me, and when he saw I was awake, he handed me a thermos.

He tried to act all cool about it.

“I had some left over,” he mumbled. “You can have it.”

I quietly opened the thermos.

Yeah, right.

“Left over” was a full thermos of steaming hot chocolate.

The setting sun cast a warm glow through the window that day.

It painted the tips of his ears a soft shade of pink.

I also had a problem with low blood sugar.

So, I always kept candy in my desk, but I rarely ever had to restock it myself.

It never occurred to me that the number of candies I ate didn’t match the number I bought.

Until one day, my blood sugar suddenly crashed.

My eyes locked onto Noah, who was sitting a few feet away, and my brain must have short-circuited.

I scrambled over to him, dropped to the floor, and threw my arms around his legs.

“Candy,” I begged. “Give me candy.”

Then I passed out.

When I woke up, there was a giant lollipop in my mouth.

And I was in Noah’s arms.