Prince Nelson stood at his locker, right hand frozen on the combination lock. His locker door swung open.

A cascade of pink and red envelopes spilled out first—dozens of them, fluttering to the floor like confetti. Then came the rose petals. Hundreds of them. Deep crimson, scattered across his books, his gym bag, his jacket. They dusted the floor around his purple high-tops.

He blinked. Said nothing.

Prince reached down, scooped up a handful of petals, let them fall through his fingers. He didn't smile. He didn't blush. He just stood there in his fitted purple hoodie, small but coiled with energy, looking at the mess like it was a math problem he hadn't asked to solve.

Then his eyes lifted—scanning the hallway. Past the gawking freshmen. Past the cluster of cheerleaders pretending not to stare. Past the jocks who clapped him on the shoulder with grins that said lucky bastard.