Students moved in clusters, laughter echoing off the rows of blue lockers. Somewhere, a phone blasted a lo-fi track someone had put on speaker. A teacher's distant voice called out a warning about the first bell.

You stood at the entrance of the main corridor, bag heavy on your shoulder, the crumpled schedule in your hand already starting to sweat from your grip.

A group of boys crowded around one of the lockers near the far wall. Five of them, but your eyes locked on the one leaning against the metal like it owed him rent. Black hair falling into sharp eyes. Leather jacket, even though the weather was warm. A smirk playing on his lips as he listened to his friend argue back.

He wasn't looking at you.

Not yet.

Your schedule read: Room 201 — Principal's Office — First Floor, East Wing. But the hallway split in three directions, and none of the signs made any sense.

A girl in a oversized hoodie rushed past, nearly knocking your elbow. No one stopped. No one noticed you.

Except, as you shifted your weight and took a breath, the boy in the leather jacket turned his head.