I found my locker without too much trouble, though it was wedged between one covered in basketball stickers and another plastered with designer perfume ads. Typical. I shoved my hoodie down, ran a hand through my hair, and let out a sigh.
Okay, Alicia. You've survived worse.
I glanced at my schedule. Acting class. Room 204. Great. More forced socializing.
The classroom was wide and airy, with a tiny stage set up at the front and rows of mismatched chairs instead of desks. The air smelled faintly of old curtains and dry erase markers, a mix of theater kid nostalgia and cheap cleaning products. I slid into a seat somewhere in the middle — close enough to blend in, but not so close it looked like I was eager.
A second later, a girl dropped into the seat in front of me, spinning around dramatically.
"Hi! I'm Mina," she chirped, holding out a hand.
She looked like she'd walked straight out of a K-drama or some anime convention. Her hair was a soft pastel pink, cut into blunt bangs with two tiny bands tying off pieces on either side of her face. She wore a pink pleated skirt, a fluffy white sweater with a Hello Kitty patch, and chunky platform sneakers that could probably double as murder weapons.
"New here?" she asked.
I shook her hand. "Alicia."
"Cool name. You look like you're in a video game or something. I love it."
I was about to thank her when the classroom door swung open and in walked the teacher — a short, round-bellied man with thick glasses, a black turtleneck, and a goatee so sharp it looked like it had been drawn on with a marker. He clutched a clipboard like it was a weapon and moved with the air of a man who took high school theater way too seriously.
Sit. Sit. Quiet. Pairing time," Mr. Carver barked, snapping his fingers like a director about to stage the world's most dramatic high school production.
Mina rolled her eyes, leaning forward on her elbows before slumping back in her chair. "That's Mr. Carver," she muttered. "Thinks he's directing a Broadway revival or something."
As he started reading out pairs, the classroom door opened again — and that's when I saw him.
Tall. All black everything. Black jeans, black boots, a black shirt under a black leather jacket. His dark hair was messy in that perfectly effortless way. The kind of I-don't-care-but-I-definitely-care look people spent hours trying to pull off. His eyes swept over the room like he already hated every single person in it.
And then — they landed on me.
It wasn't a look. It was a tear, sharp and sudden, knocking the air straight out of my lungs.
Wow. Okay. Rude. But… hot.
Beside him was a girl who looked like she'd walked straight off the cover of a high-end fashion magazine. Long caramel waves, flawless makeup, a tight designer top, and perfectly tailored jeans. Gold hoops, sharp-as-blades nails. Every inch of her screamed Queen B, from the bored yawn she gave Mr. Carver to the disgusted glance she threw Mina.
I was so caught up watching them, I barely noticed when the boy next to me nudged my elbow.
"That's Paul Vert," he whispered, following my gaze.
I blinked. "What?"
He nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose. Nerdy in a charming, old-school kind of way. Messy dark hair, skinny frame, faded NASA hoodie. His name tag read Duke.
"Paul Vert," I repeated, my stomach flipping. "Wait… like related to Jason Vert?"
Duke smirked. "Cousin. Jason's the golden boy. Paul's the, uh… complicated one."
I glanced back at Paul. His hands were shoved into his jacket pockets, but not before I caught a glimpse of black gloves on his fingers. What was it with these guys and gloves?
Just then, the Queen B beside him — apparently named Brielle — shot me a glare sharp enough to slice glass. She leaned in, whispering something to him. He didn't even flinch.
Duke snorted under his breath. "That's Brielle. Been in love with Paul since middle school. He's never noticed her. Guess she's pissed you're breathing in his direction."
A grin tugged at my lips. I met Brielle's glare with a little tilt of my head and raised a brow. Not scared. She looked like she wanted to set me on fire.
Fun.
"All right, partners!" Mr. Carver called, snapping his fingers again. "You two — Luke and Alicia — Romeo and Juliet, Scene Four. Let's go."
I sighed. Acting out a tragic love scene with some nerd was probably still better than dealing with dagger-eyes Brielle or Mr. Intense Glare Vert.
As we shuffled toward the front, I caught one last look at Paul. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, gaze locked on the floor like the world didn't deserve his attention.
Yeah. This was going to be an interesting year.