I end up being way too nervous. Thirty minutes before Lucas is supposed to come, I stand in the kitchen cutting up strawberries. The cookies are in the oven and I'm about to get out glasses when the bell rings.

I rush to the door, almost tripping over my own feet on the way. I push the handle down and open the door, but when I do, the breath gets knocked out of my lungs.

Lucas is standing right in front of me, wearing black pants and a black hoodie, with his backpack slung over his shoulders.

“Hey”, I say, but my voice comes out in something that is much too close to a whisper to my liking and I turn red immediately, swallowing a bit so I can get the lump out of my throat.

“Hey”; Lucas answers, repeating the same word.

“Ah,...”, I end up muttering. “Why don't you come in?”

After taking his shoes of and sitting down in the living room together, the thing I feared the most happens. It's deadly quiet. So silent that he can probably hear the nervous sound of my heart beating against my ribcage. I don't even know why I'm so nervous. Lucas and I are sitting more than a good meter apart from each other on the opposite side of the table and I have my hands in my lap. Plates with fruit and cookies and placed on the table, along with my laptop, writing utensils.

“Shall we start?”, I ask, making an effort to sound cheerful. It ends up sounding anything but. “The... ah... topic the teacher gave us is pretty broad so we can do some general research first and then decide on a specific question, right?”

I put on a smile, but it doesn't reach my eyes.

When Lucas doesn't answer I look up at him, finding his brown eyes fixated on me. I think it's his stare that is making me nervos. Probably. It must be. Lucas is always looking at me, at everyone, like he knows everything, like you're transparent under his gaze. Just like now.

“Don't be nervous”, he suddenly says. My heart stops at his words. The loud sound of it beating turns quiet in just a second. I'm still looking at Lucas, taking in his unchanged face, the angular nose, the curve of his lips, the curl of his lashes until my eyes land back on his. Is he smiling?

“You're nervous.” He rakes one hand through his hair, not leaving my eyes.

“I- I'm not”, I stutter, unaware of how unconvincing I sound. It's my unconvincing denial that makes Lucas end up laughing. And

the more he laughs,

I find myself laughing, too.