The bracelet caught the morning light as Ray slipped it around Luna's wrist, his fingers brushing her skin. "Happy birthday," he whispered, close enough that her shampoo—something floral he could never identify—made his head swim.
"It's perfect," she breathed, holding up her hand to watch the silver catch the sun streaming through the hallway windows.
Students flowed around them like water around stones, but Ray only saw her smile. The way her nose crinkled when she was truly happy. How she twisted the bracelet with her thumb when she was nervous, a habit he'd memorized over months of—
"Ugh. Not again."
Ray Carter jerked awake in his king-size bed, the Egyptian cotton sheets twisted around his legs like chains. The phantom scent of Luna's perfume clung to his consciousness, making his chest tighten with the familiar hollow ache that had lived there for three years.
Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his bedroom, illuminating dust particles that danced in the air like memories he couldn't catch. The penthouse felt cavernous around him—all marble countertops and designer furniture that his parents had chosen before the accident.
Before he'd inherited everything at seventeen and learned that money couldn't fill the silence.
His phone buzzed against the mahogany nightstand. 7:47 AM. First day of senior year in thirteen minutes.
"Shit." He rolled out of bed, bare feet hitting the heated tile floors.
The house's smart system had already adjusted the temperature, brewed his coffee, and pulled up traffic reports on the mounted screens. Technology taking care of him the way parents should have. Ray padded through the empty hallway, past framed family photos he'd never had the courage to take down.
His parents smiled at him from behind glass, frozen in happier times when the Carter family was whole.
The kitchen island could seat eight people. Ray ate breakfast alone every morning, the echo of his spoon against ceramic the only sound in the pristine space. His mother's recipe collection sat untouched in a drawer, bookmarked with her handwriting he'd never see again.
The shower in his master bathroom had six different pressure settings and water that stayed perfectly hot. Ray let it pound against his shoulders, washing away the lingering warmth of dreams that belonged to a different version of himself.
One who hadn't lost everything that mattered.
Steam fogged the mirror as he stepped out, revealing his reflection in patches. Same dark hair that stuck up despite expensive products. Same brown eyes that looked too much like his father's for comfort. The matching bracelet to Luna's sat on his wrist like a secret shame he couldn't remove.
Some mornings he tried taking it off. His fingers would work at the clasp, struggling with the tiny mechanism while his chest grew tight with panic. Then he'd remember her laugh, the way she'd kissed his cheek after he'd fastened it around her wrist, and the bracelet would stay exactly where it belonged.
The walk-in closet held more clothes than he'd ever wear, organized by color and season by the housekeeper who came twice a week. Mrs. Rodriguez was kind but professional, never lingering to chat or ask how he was adjusting to life alone.
Ray grabbed jeans and a plain t-shirt, ignoring the designer labels his trust fund could afford.
At school, he was just another student. Not the orphaned heir to Carter Construction who lived in a penthouse that felt more like a museum than a home. Not the kid whose parents had died in a car accident coming home from his sixteenth birthday dinner.
Just Ray. Anonymous and forgettable.
His backpack sat by the front door, leather and expensive but deliberately understated. The house keys felt heavy in his palm—electronic fobs that controlled everything from the security system to the garage doors. Technology his parents had installed to make their busy lives easier, now serving as Ray's only companions.
The elevator ride to the parking garage always made his stomach drop. Not from the motion, but from the memory of riding it with his parents on lazy Sunday mornings. His father making terrible dad jokes while his mother rolled her eyes and laughed anyway.
The garage held three cars plus his father's vintage Mustang, covered by a tarp Ray had never removed. The BMW was practical. The Porsche drew attention. The motorcycle his parents had forbidden him to buy sat like a monument to teenage rebellion he'd never gotten to express.
Ray chose the BMW. Less attention.
The drive to Westfield High took twelve minutes through suburban streets lined with houses where families ate breakfast together. Ray had learned not to look too closely at lit windows, not to wonder what normal felt like anymore.
The school parking lot was already half full, students clustering around cars and catching up on summer adventures. Ray found his assigned spot—perks of being a senior—and sat for a moment in the air-conditioned silence.
Through the windshield, he could see groups forming and reforming like social molecules finding their proper bonds. The theater kids by the flagpole, athletes near the gym entrance, academic overachievers comparing schedules by the main doors.
Ray had floated between these groups for three years without truly belonging to any of them. Rich enough that nobody questioned his expensive clothes or car, quiet enough that nobody pressed for deeper friendships. It was a careful balance he'd perfected through practice.
He shouldered his messenger bag and locked the car, muscle memory guiding him toward the building he'd navigated for three years. The scent of industrial cleaning supplies mixed with teenage anxiety hit him as soon as he stepped inside.
But something was different today.
A crowd of students had gathered around the main bulletin board near the principal's office, their voices creating a buzz of curiosity and complaint that echoed off the tiled walls. Ray normally avoided these kinds of gatherings—usually announcements about fundraisers or spirit week activities that he had no intention of participating in.
Today, though, the crowd seemed larger. More agitated.
"This is such bullshit," someone muttered near the front of the group.
"Who even came up with this idea?" a girl's voice added, sharp with irritation.
Ray's curiosity got the better of him. He approached the edge of the crowd, using his height to peer over shorter students' heads toward whatever had captured everyone's attention.
A official-looking document was pinned to the bulletin board's center, surrounded by smaller papers that looked like lists. The header was large enough to read from his position: "SENIOR YEAR ACADEMIC ACCOUNTABILITY INITIATIVE."
Ray's stomach began to sink.
He worked his way closer, murmuring apologies as he squeezed between clustered students. The smell of different perfumes and body sprays mixed together, creating a cloud of competing scents that made him slightly nauseous.
The document came into focus as he reached the inner circle of the crowd. Principal Morrison's signature sat at the bottom, official and final.
*To the Senior Class of Westfield High:*
*As part of our ongoing commitment to preparing students for the collaborative nature of higher education and professional environments, we are implementing a new partnership program for the current academic year.*
*The Academic Accountability Initiative pairs each senior student with a carefully selected partner based on complementary academic strengths and areas for improvement. These partnerships are designed to foster mutual responsibility, enhance study skills, and develop the interpersonal collaboration essential for post-graduation success.*
*Partnership requirements include:*
*- Joint completion of all major assignments across core subjects*
*- Mandatory twice-weekly study sessions in designated school facilities*
*- Shared academic consequences for both partners' performance*
*- Participation in monthly partnership evaluation meetings*
*Partnership assignments are final and non-negotiable. Students who fail to fulfill partnership obligations will face academic consequences up to and including exclusion from graduation ceremonies.*
*We believe this innovative approach will strengthen our graduating class's preparedness for future academic and professional challenges.*
*Sincerely,*
*Principal Janet Morrison*
Ray read the document twice, his dread building with each word. Partnership programs were bad enough when they lasted a few weeks. An entire academic year of mandatory collaboration sounded like his personal version of hell.
Especially since he had a pretty good idea of how these "carefully selected" partnerships usually worked out for him.
"Check the list," someone behind him said. "Find out who you're stuck with."
The crowd began shifting toward the smaller papers pinned beside the main document. Ray could see alphabetical listings—students' names paired off with methodical precision. The pushing and shoving intensified as everyone tried to find their own name simultaneously.
Ray waited. No point fighting through the crowd when the news would be bad regardless of when he received it.
"Oh my god, I got Tyler Chen," a girl squealed. "At least he's cute."
"Sarah Martinez," another voice groaned. "She's going to make me rewrite everything six times."
"Who's Luna Heart paired with?" someone asked.
Ray's blood turned to ice water.
"Um, let me see... Luna Heart and... Ray Carter."
The world tilted sideways. Ray's hearing went fuzzy, the crowd's voices becoming distant and muffled like he was underwater. Someone jostled him from behind, but he barely felt the contact.
Luna Heart. His Luna, who'd once stolen his hoodies and fallen asleep on his shoulder during movie marathons. Who'd held his hand at his parents' funeral even though they weren't speaking. Who'd been his first kiss, first love, first heartbreak.
His academic partner for the entire senior year.
Ray forced his way to the front of the crowd, needing to see the words with his own eyes. Maybe he'd misheard. Maybe it was a different Luna, though he knew there was only one in their class. Maybe—
There it was, printed in black and white with bureaucratic finality:
*Carter, Raymond - Heart, Luna*
Ray stared at the paper until the letters began to blur together. Around him, students continued checking the list and reacting to their assignments, but their voices seemed to come from very far away.
"Ray?"
He turned at the sound of his name, moving like he was trapped in thick honey. Josh Martinez stood beside him, expression concerned.
"You okay, man? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Ray's mouth felt full of cotton. He managed a nod that felt more like a seizure.
"Who'd you get paired with?" Josh continued, either not noticing Ray's distress or choosing to ignore it.
"Luna Heart," Ray croaked.
Josh's eyebrows shot up. "Luna Heart? Damn, dude. That's... that's complicated."
Complicated. That was one word for it.
Ray looked around the hallway wildly, as if Luna might materialize from the crowd at any moment. The thought of seeing her, of having to approach her and discuss study schedules and shared assignments, made his chest feel like it was caving in.
Three years of carefully maintained distance, destroyed by Principal Morrison's innovative approach to education.
"I've got to get to class," Ray mumbled, backing away from the bulletin board.
"First period doesn't start for another ten minutes," Josh pointed out.
But Ray was already walking away, his feet carrying him toward the nearest bathroom without conscious direction. He needed space to think, to process, to figure out how he was going to survive the next four months without completely falling apart.
The bathroom was mercifully empty. Ray gripped the sink's edge and stared at his reflection in the spotted mirror. Same face as always, but his eyes looked wild and his skin had gone pale beneath his tan.
The matching bracelet on his wrist caught the fluorescent light, silver gleaming like an accusation.
How was he supposed to sit across from Luna twice a week and pretend his heart didn't still jump every time he saw her? How was he supposed to work on assignments together when he could barely manage to be in the same room as her during large group assemblies?
How was he supposed to act like Jake's lie hadn't destroyed the most important relationship in his life?
The bathroom door opened and Ray straightened quickly, pretending to wash his hands as another student entered. He couldn't hide in here forever. Eventually, he'd have to face the reality of what Principal Morrison had done to his carefully ordered senior year.
The first bell rang, echoing off the tiled walls with sharp finality. Ray dried his hands and shouldered his bag, muscle memory guiding him toward his first period classroom.
But as he walked through the crowded hallways, dodging freshman and avoiding eye contact with classmates, all he could think about was Luna's name next to his on that damned list.
Partnership assignments are final and non-negotiable.
Ray had a feeling this was going to be the longest academic year of his life.
He made it through first period in a haze, barely registering the teacher's welcome-back speech or the syllabi being passed around. His mind kept circling back to the bulletin board, to those typed letters that had upended his entire senior year plan.
Second period was worse. Ray found himself scanning every face that walked through the door, his pulse spiking each time he thought he glimpsed dark hair or caught a whiff of familiar perfume.
By third period, the reality was beginning to sink in. Luna was somewhere in this building, probably having the same realization he was having. That they were stuck together for the next four months. That there was no escape clause, no alternative arrangement, no way to undo Principal Morrison's decision.
Ray had spent three years perfecting the art of avoiding Luna Heart. He knew her schedule by heart, knew which routes through the building would minimize their chances of crossing paths, knew which tables in the cafeteria offered the best sight lines to monitor her location without being obvious about it.
All of that careful strategy, wasted.
The lunch bell rang with its usual jarring intensity, and Ray gathered his things with mechanical precision. The cafeteria would be buzzing with partnership discussions, students comparing assignments and making plans with their new academic other halves.
Ray had never felt less like eating in his life.
He made his way to the cafeteria anyway, some masochistic impulse driving him to see if Luna was there. The large space was divided into its usual social territories—athletes near the windows, theater kids by the stage, academic achievers at the tables closest to the serving line.
And there, sitting alone at a small table near the back corner, was Luna Heart.
She'd chosen the most isolated spot in the room, her back to the wall and her attention focused on a book that Ray couldn't identify from this distance. A half-eaten sandwich sat beside her elbow, ignored in favor of whatever was happening on the pages in front of her.
She looked exactly the same as she had three years ago, and completely different at the same time. Her dark hair was longer, falling in waves past her shoulders. She'd grown taller, her frame filling out from the gangly fourteen-year-old she'd been when everything fell apart. But her posture was the same—spine straight, shoulders set with quiet determination.
The silver bracelet on her wrist caught the light as she turned a page.
Ray stood frozen in the cafeteria entrance, holding his lunch tray and staring at the girl who'd haunted his dreams for three years. Students flowed around him like water around a stone, but he couldn't make himself move.
Luna looked up from her book, some sixth sense alerting her to his attention. Their eyes met across the crowded room, and Ray saw everything they'd lost reflected in her gaze.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The cafeteria noise faded to background static, leaving only the space between them and three years' worth of unspoken words.
Then Luna's expression hardened. She closed her book with deliberate precision, gathered her things, and walked toward the exit without looking back.
Ray watched her go, still clutching his lunch tray like a shield.
Senior year was going to kill him.
The afternoon passed in a blur of syllabi and locker combinations and teachers explaining their classroom expectations. Ray's mind was elsewhere, replaying that moment in the cafeteria when Luna had looked at him with such carefully controlled nothing in her eyes.
He'd hoped for anger. Anger would have been easier to deal with than the blank politeness she'd shown him. Anger would have meant she still felt something, even if that something was negative.
The final bell released them into the chaos of dismissal, students streaming toward parking lots and bus lines with the relieved energy of people escaping confinement. Ray took his time gathering his things, letting the hallways empty before attempting the walk to his car.
He was almost to the exit when he saw her.
Luna stood beside his BMW, arms crossed and expression unreadable. She'd changed out of her sundress into jeans and a t-shirt, but she still looked like she belonged on magazine covers instead of high school parking lots.
Ray's steps slowed as he approached his car. Luna watched him come closer, her brown eyes tracking his movement with the focused attention of a predator evaluating potential prey.
"We need to talk," she said when he was close enough to hear.
Her voice was different than he remembered. Lower, more controlled. The breathless quality she'd had at fourteen had been replaced by something steadier, more sure of itself.
"Luna," Ray managed, his own voice coming out rougher than intended.
"The partnership thing," she continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "We need to figure out how to make it work without killing each other."
Ray nodded, though he wasn't sure how they were going to accomplish that particular goal.
"There's a coffee shop downtown," Luna said. "Grind Coffee. Do you know it?"
Ray nodded again. He knew every coffee shop within a ten-mile radius of the school. Insomnia had made him intimately familiar with the local caffeine ecosystem.
"Meet me there at four," Luna instructed. "We'll set ground rules and figure out a schedule."
She turned to go, then paused and looked back at him.
"And Ray? Whatever happened between us before—it doesn't matter anymore. This is just business."
She walked away before he could respond, leaving him standing beside his car with the taste of old heartbreak fresh in his mouth.
Ray climbed into the BMW and sat in the air-conditioned silence, watching Luna's figure disappear into the student parking lot. Her words echoed in his head: *It doesn't matter anymore.*
But as he started the engine and pulled out of his parking spot, Ray couldn't help wondering if she was trying to convince him or herself.
The silver bracelet on his wrist felt heavier than usual as he drove home to his empty penthouse, already dreading four o'clock and whatever ground rules Luna Heart had in mind for their forced partnership.
Senior year had barely begun, and it was already the most complicated four months of his life.