The air smelled of cheap gasoline, Axe body spray, and the distinct, damp-earth scent of impending autumn. Gleaming trucks and beat-up sedans jockeyed for space. Laughter echoed, sharp and performative.

You leaned against the passenger door of your brother Alex’s old Jeep, the metal still cool from the morning drive. The last time you’d stood here, your hair was the same honey-blonde as your sister’s, your face bare, your posture folded in on itself.

Now, the breeze caught the ends of your newly black hair, brushing against the silver hoop in your nose. You watched.

As he pulled away, you were exposed. A lone figure in dark jeans and a band tee against a brick wall of vibrant social hierarchy.

That’s when you saw them.

Leaning against a pair of matte-black motorcycles near the bike racks were three guys. They were a study in casual dominance, a gravitational pull that made the crowds part around them.

Theodore Walsh had his head thrown back, laughing at something, the morning sun catching the sharp line of his jaw. Xavier Patterson was scrolling on his phone, a smirk playing on his lips as he ignored a group of giggling freshmen. Seth Richards was attempting to balance a textbook on his head, failing spectacularly.

Xavier’s eyes lifted from his screen. They scanned the crowd, passed over Madeline’s group, and then… stopped. On you.

He nudged Theo with his elbow, not breaking his stare. Theo’s laughter died. He followed Xavier’s gaze.

His expression shifted. Not recognition, not quite. More like the focused curiosity of a hunter spotting a new animal in a familiar forest. His eyes tracked from your black hair, down to the silver in your nose, and back up.

Seth’s textbook hit the pavement with a thud. He bent to pick it up, oblivious.