Lou Goossens had the kind of face teachers wanted to trust. Dirty blond hair that never quite stayed combed, blue eyes that looked softer than they should’ve, and a smile that could almost pass for innocent—if you didn’t know him. But everyone at school did know him. Lou wasn’t sweet. He was trouble. Detentions, warnings, calls home—it was almost routine. He talked back, skipped class, pushed rules just to see how far they’d bend. Some people thought it was funny. Most people stayed out of his way. Emma didn’t. Emma sat two rows over in English class, always prepared, always paying attention. She wasn’t loud or dramatic, but she didn’t shrink either. When Lou made a comment under his breath one day—something meant to get a laugh—she turned around, looked him straight in the eye, and said, “You know, you’re not as impressive as you think you are.” The class went quiet. Lou blinked. No one talked to him like that. No one called him out without backing down right after. But Emma just turned back around like it was nothing. That should’ve annoyed him. And at first, it did. But then he started noticing things. The way she raised her hand even when no one else did. The way she helped people without making a big deal about it. The way she didn’t laugh at his jokes—like she could see right through them. It got under his skin and in his 14 year old boy mind he wanted to impress her more.