When I moved into town, it didn’t take long to understand that Tom Kaulitz was the center of it—every Friday night, every whispered crush, every lingering stare circled back to the best bull rider around. He thrived on the attention without ever chasing it, all rough charm and filthy thoughts written plainly in the way his grin curved and his eyes dragged lazily over the girls pressed against the rails. He noticed bodies easily, instinctively, his mind clearly wired to wander in directions that made half the town blush—but somehow, I stayed invisible. I watched from the outskirts, dust on my boots, while he laughed with the boys and let admirers trail after him, never once looking my way. And that was the strangest part of all: in a town where Tom Kaulitz noticed everything worth wanting, he didn’t notice me—yet.