DENAVIA
The tires of my car screeched like a dying banshee as I whipped into the school parking lot at a speed that probably violated three traffic laws. Late again. Shocker.
Let me just clarify something: I am chronically late. Like, if tardiness were an Olympic sport, I'd have a gold medal and my own line of Nike sponsorships. Most of the time, I blame my parents. They've taken on the role of my human alarm clocks for years now. It's part of the parent job description, right? But today? Nope. Nothing. They were out of the house before I even opened one eye.
So there I was—flying into the lot with one shoe properly tied and the other hanging on for dear life, no makeup (unless chapstick counts), and my hair looking like a tragic "before" picture on a makeover show.
I slammed the car door shut, grabbed my bag—why was it so heavy? Did I pack bricks?—and sprinted toward the main building. My boots clicked loudly against the hallway tiles as I dashed through the corridor like a spy on a secret mission. Except there were no explosions or dramatic music. Just the shameful sound of tardiness echoing off the lockers.
The halls were empty. Like zombie-apocalypse empty. Everyone was already in class. Probably learning. Probably being productive. Probably not sweating like a maniac who just ran from the cops.
As I reached my classroom, I slowed down, trying to collect what was left of my dignity. I pressed myself against the wall and peeked through the window like a full-on creeper.
Teacher's seat? Empty.
Suspicious. I frowned.
I scanned the back of the classroom. No teacher. No signs of an authority figure at all. Instead, the room was buzzing with noise. Someone was throwing paper balls. Someone else had headphones in. One dude in the back was full-on asleep. It looked like a party with desks.
And then I saw her.
Kaisha Hendrix. My best friend since fifth grade. She was facing the door, her eyes darting toward the hallway like she was waiting for me to burst through. Probably already rehearsing what she'd say. Where were you? I thought you were dead! I was about to text your cousin that we should start planning your funeral.
Once I decided the coast was clear of teachers and judgmental stares, I slid the door open and walked in like I'd been there the whole time. Only a few heads turned. Most people didn't even care. That's the beautiful thing about high school—no one really notices unless you're bleeding or famous.
Kaisha dashed to my side like she'd been holding her bladder for five hours.
"Where have you been?" she whispered fiercely. "I called you, like, a thousand times. I thought you'd been kidnapped or—worse—got hit by a bus!"
I smirked. "Good morning to you too, sunshine."
"Denavia." She gave me the look. The kind of look that mothers give when you tell them you forgot to take the chicken out of the freezer.
I sighed dramatically. "Fine. I woke up late. And my parents were already gone when I opened my eyes. So I had to make breakfast myself. Me! Can you imagine? Actual food. I scrambled eggs and everything. And then I nearly set the toast on fire. That took up, like, five minutes of damage control. And I still somehow ended up looking like a walking cautionary tale."
Kaisha stared at me, horrified. "You made your own breakfast? Oh my God. Are you okay?"
"Physically? Barely. Emotionally? I think I aged three years."
She placed a hand over her heart. "You're so brave."
I glanced around, lowering my voice. "Okay, but seriously—where's the teacher?"
Kaisha leaned in, all dramatic. "He fell down the stairs."
I blinked. "He what now?"
"Fell. Down. The. Stairs." She repeated it slowly, flipping through a magazine like it was no big deal. "Right before coming to this class."
I choked on a laugh. "He fell down the stairs coming to our class? What did we do, build our room on a cursed burial ground?"
Kaisha shrugged. "Honestly, at this point, probably."
I shook my head and dropped into my seat. "I need a break. A vacation. A two-year nap."
"Girl, same."
A few minutes passed. I was just beginning to feel like I could breathe again when the orange juice from breakfast decided to betray me.
"I need to pee," I muttered, already standing.
"Again?" Kaisha raised an eyebrow.
"Orange juice is evil," I said solemnly and made my way toward the door.
"Try not to trip," she called out after me, using her mom voice.
"I make no promises!" I hollered as I left.
The hallway was a little less zombie-apocalypse now and a little more "after-school Netflix show." I walked at a relaxed pace until I heard it—footsteps. Not mine. Someone else's. Multiple someone elses.
And then, like a scene straight out of a cheesy teen movie, they appeared.
The School Kings.
Cameron St. Laurent and Liam Hart. Tall. Perfect. Walking in slow motion. Probably with a wind machine following them around. Cameron, with his golden-brown curls and stormy blue eyes. Liam, the dark-haired, brooding type, all quiet mystery and cheekbones that could cut glass.
I panicked. My brain screamed ABORT! ABORT! RUN! but my body had other plans.
I tripped.
Not even on anything. I tripped on my own leg. My own leg. Gravity, that two-faced traitor, dragged me down until I was kissing the floor like it owed me money.
"Awesome," I mumbled into the linoleum. "Just perfect. Thank you, universe."
And then—of course—I heard a voice. A stupidly perfect voice.
"Are you okay?"
Cameron. Freaking. St. Laurent.
Why did his voice have to sound like warm butter and fairy dust?
I scrambled up like a cat that had been caught doing something embarrassing. "Yeah, yeah, totally fine! Not like I tripped or anything, hahaha. I mean, technically I did trip, but it's not a thing. I don't usually trip. Today's just… cursed. Definitely cursed."
Liam blinked at me. Cameron looked mildly amused. I looked like a human train wreck with a side of delusion.
"You sure you're okay?" Cameron asked again, his brow furrowed just slightly.
I nodded way too fast. "Yup! Great! Tip-top shape. Legs work. Brain works. All systems go. Okaybye!"
And I ran. Like, actually ran. Straight into the nearest girls' restroom. I shoved open a stall door, slammed it behind me, and leaned against it, breathing like I'd just escaped a werewolf.
I stayed there for a good two minutes. Did my business. Flushed. Washed my hands. Avoided my reflection like the plague. Finally, I peeked out of the restroom like a ninja checking for danger.
Hallway? Empty.
Thank you, God, or fate, or whoever handles teen crises these days.
Back in class, I slid into my seat like nothing happened.
Everyone, however, was facing the front. Gawking. At the two thrones of teenage royalty who had apparently joined our class while I was in bathroom exile. Cameron and Liam, in all their glory.
Even Kaisha was drooling. Not metaphorically—like, actually drooling. Her mouth was hanging open, and I swear I saw sparkles in her eyes.
I smacked the back of her head.
"OW! What was that for?!" she hissed.
"Wipe your face. You were gawking. Hard."
She dabbed at her mouth with her palm and whispered dreamily, "But Liam is just too hotttt. Like H-O-T in all caps."
I rolled my eyes. "You need help."
She smiled. "So… what took you so long in the restroom?"
My eyes widened. "Uh… nothing! Just… plumbing issues."
Kaisha narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Did something happen?"
Before I could lie more convincingly, the bell rang. Sweet, glorious salvation.
I stood up like I'd been given a second chance at life. "Look at that. Period's over. Time for Algebra. Can't be late twice in one day, right?" I said, already pushing her toward the door.
She gave me a weird look but let it go. For now.
As we left the classroom, I stole one last glance at Cameron.
He looked up.
Our eyes met.
I tripped over the door frame.