The classroom smells like chalk and old wood. Third period, second row from the window. The teacher calls your name — your fake name — and points to the seat beside the most recognizable boy in school. Reeve. Even you have heard of him in passing, the kind of easy confidence that fills a room. He glances at you the way people do when they're trying to place a face. Just a flicker. Then he smiles, casual, like he does with everyone. But you catch him looking again. And again. Something behind his eyes is working too hard for a boy who just met a stranger.