The girl who slid into the seat beside me had curly hair pulled into a high ponytail and wore a smile that looked like it had never met a stranger.
"Blake Nelson, right? I'm Emery Taylor. We're desk partners for the semester, which means we're basically legally required to be best friends now. I don't make the rules."
I blinked at her.
She didn't wait for a response. She just kept talking, pulling out her notebook and arranging her pens in a neat row while delivering what sounded like a wartime intelligence briefing.
"Okay, so here's what you need to know. Harlee Salazar—blonde girl, looks like she stepped out of a magazine, acts like she stepped out of a dictatorship—runs the social scene. Her crew sits at the center table in the cafeteria. Don't make eye contact unless you want problems. Lucien Montgomery is the golden boy. Literally everyone loves him. Teachers, students, probably the janitor. He's applying to Columbia early decision. And then there's Eren Black."
She paused for dramatic effect.
"Eren is... complicated. He's hot. Obviously. But also terrifying. He got suspended twice last year for fighting. Rides a motorcycle. Has two sidekicks who follow him everywhere. Jay's the loud one. Brady's the sweet one. And Harlee has been obsessed with Eren since sophomore year, which he completely ignores, which makes her even more obsessed. It's a whole thing."
I listened to every word. Catalogued it. Cross-referenced it against what I already knew.
Emery leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"Also, I heard Harlee's crew talking in the bathroom this morning. They were saying something about 'teaching the new bitch a lesson.' I'm pretty sure they meant you. Just... be careful, okay?"
I looked at her. Really looked at her. She was worried. Genuinely worried. For me. A girl she'd known for approximately ninety seconds.
Something in my chest loosened.
"Thanks for the warning," I said quietly.
Emery grinned. "That's what best friends are for."
She launched into a story about Harlee's crew ambushing a girl in the parking lot last year, complete with hand gestures and sound effects. She was so animated, so ridiculously earnest, that I felt the corner of my mouth twitch.
Then I laughed.
It startled me. The sound came out unbidden, genuine, and I realized I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed like that. Not in this life. Not in the last one either.
Emery beamed like she'd just won something.
I reached into my pocket and touched the folded note from Grandma Margaret. The paper was soft under my fingers.
*Make it count.*
---
The next morning, I walked out of the apartment building and found Eren waiting at the curb.
He didn't say anything. Just handed me a helmet.
I climbed on.
It became a pattern. Every morning. No discussion. No formal agreement. He just showed up, and I got on the bike, and we rode through the congested LA streets in silence.
On the third morning, when we pulled into the Westridge Prep parking lot, Brady was waiting with a Tupperware container.
"Pre-calc exam today," he said, offering me a cookie. "Stress-baked last night. Chocolate chip."
I took one. It was still warm.
"Thanks, Brady."
He smiled. "Eren's never let anyone else on his bike. Just so you know."
Jay, leaning against the bike rack, made a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh. His eyes were sharp on my face.
"Yeah," Jay said slowly. "Never."
I met his gaze. He was testing me. Measuring me. Trying to figure out what I wanted from Eren.
I didn't look away.
Eren cut between us, his shoulder brushing mine as he walked toward the main building. Jay and Brady followed.
I stood there for a moment, the cookie warm in my hand, and realized something unexpected.
I was looking forward to tomorrow morning's ride.
---
Lucien appeared beside my locker third period.
I saw him coming. I always saw him coming now.
"Blake, right?" He smiled. Warm. Approachable. Perfect. "I'm Lucien. We're both in AP History. I noticed you didn't have a notebook yesterday, so I grabbed a spare for you."
He held out a brand-new spiral notebook. The price tag was still on it.
I looked at it. Then at him.
"That's really thoughtful," I said evenly. "But I already have one. Thank you, though."
His smile didn't falter. "No problem. Hey, if you ever need help catching up on anything, I'm happy to walk you through the syllabus. Mrs. Chen can be kind of intense."
"I appreciate the offer. I'll be fine."
"You sure? I don't mind—"
"I'm sure."
The politeness in my voice was measured. Surgical. Just warm enough to avoid rudeness. Just cool enough to close the door.
Lucien's smile flickered.
Just for a second. Just long enough for the warmth to slip and something colder to surface behind his eyes.
Then he recovered.
"Well, if you change your mind, let me know." He turned and walked away, his posture easy, his gait unhurried.
I watched him go.
*There you are.*
I pulled out my phone, angled it carefully, and took a photo of his retreating back. Timestamp: 10:47 AM. Location: Third-floor hallway near the lockers.
Then I opened my evidence log and added the entry.
*Lucien Montgomery. Approached with unsolicited offer of assistance. Deflected politely. Observed micro-expression shift when declined—brief affect flattening, possible irritation. Recovered quickly. Monitoring for pattern escalation.*
I closed the app and slipped my phone back into my pocket.
The war had officially begun.
