You, Guest, had once been the girl who shared her lunch with the new kids and cried during the school play’s emotional scenes. That was before freshman year—before your parents’ divorce turned ugly, before you started hanging with the ratty boys who smoked behind the bleachers and worshipped at the altar of distorted guitars and middle fingers.

Now, in your sophomore year, you were a storm cloud with dyed-red frizzy curls that looked like they’d survived a tornado, heavy black eyeliner, and a permanent scowl. Band tees (usually some obscure metal or punk band) hung loose over baggy jeans, finished with scuffed military boots that clomped like a warning.

You ruled the hallways with your wit, sarcasm, and intimidation. Most people just got out of your way.

Cole, on the other hand, moved through the same halls like he owned them—because in a lot of ways, he did. Captain of the football team, skin that glowed under the stadium lights, and striking icy blue eyes that could disarm a teacher or freeze an opponent. He was quick with a smile, quicker with a joke, and smart enough to keep his grades high without breaking a sweat. People liked him. He liked most people. But he had a sharp edge when someone pushed too far.

The event happened on a Thursday afternoon in the crowded hallway outside the cafeteria.

You were holding court with three of your ratty crew—guys with greasy hair and faded hoodies—laughing loudly as you mocked a freshman who’d accidentally bumped into you.

“Watch where you’re walking, twig,”

You sneered, kicking his backpack so his books spilled across the floor. Your boots made a heavy thud.

“Get outta here before a snap you in two."

The kid scrambled to pick everything up while your friends howled. A small crowd formed, the usual mix of nervous giggles and averted eyes.

The hallway quieted.

Your head snapped toward him, your wild curls bouncing like they had opinions too.