The art room buzzed louder than usual.
Not with excitement—more like irritation.
Paint jars clinked. Chairs scraped. Someone sighed dramatically from the back as the teacher finished arranging papers on her desk.
"Alright," Ms. Calder said, clapping once. "Since some of you seem confused, I'll clarify."
The room quieted.
"The inter-school art competition is next Friday. You will each submit five completed pieces. The winner receives five hundred dollars, and their work will be displayed permanently in the school's trophy room."
That did it.
A ripple of murmurs spread through the class.
Theo, slouched in his chair near the window, straightened just a little.
Five hundred dollars.
That wasn't art money.
That was eat-for-weeks money.
He rested his chin in his palm, eyes half-lidded, already calculating how many instant noodles that could turn into—or better yet, groceries for Lilly.
Ms. Calder continued, "Now. The competition isn't until next week. Today, however, you'll begin a three-day assessment."
Groans.
"Groups of two," she added calmly. "This assessment will count toward your final grade."
That got their attention.
Most of the students here lived and breathed grades. Scholarships, reputations, family expectations—it all hung on neat little letters.
Ms. Calder picked up her clipboard. "I'll assign the groups."
Theo leaned back again, already uninterested. Group work usually meant carrying someone who didn't know which end of the brush to hold—or worse, someone who talked too much.
"First pair," the teacher said, scanning the list. "Evan Moore and Clara Lin."
Names continued. Rich kids. Talented kids. Predictable pairings.
Then—
"Isabella Valdes…"
The room straightened.
Even Theo noticed that name.
"…and Theo Valtez."
Silence.
Not the awkward kind.
The shocked kind.
Every head turned at once.
Isabella Valdes blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then slowly looked up from her desk.
Theo felt it before he saw it—the weight of eyes drilling into him like he'd just spilled paint on a masterpiece.
Isabella's gaze landed on him.
Cool. Sharp. Appraising.
Theo glanced back—briefly.
Then he looked away.
Just like that.
No reaction. No curiosity. No interest.
As if she were just another name.
A quiet, offended inhale left Isabella's lips.
Did he just—?
The class whispered.
Isn't she the top student?
She always works alone.
Why him?
That's the guy who punched Ash, right?
Ms. Calder didn't notice—or pretended not to. "You'll begin planning today. Dismissed."
Chairs scraped. Bags zipped. Students flooded out, buzzing with opinions.
Isabella stood slowly, still staring at Theo's direction.
He was already packing his notebook.
No rush. No panic.
Like the pairing meant nothing.
That irritated her more than if he'd stared.
After school, the art room emptied out.
Theo stayed behind, sketchbook open, pencil moving without thinking. Shapes. Lines. Half-formed ideas bleeding onto the page.
A shadow crossed his desk.
"So," Isabella said. "How will we do this?"
Theo looked up.
She stood there with her bag slung neatly over one shoulder, posture perfect, expression expectant.
"We gotta start today," she added.
Theo leaned back, tapping his pencil against the desk. "Uh… I dunno. Maybe we could go to McDona—"
He stopped.
Mid-word.
His stomach growled, betraying him.
He grimaced slightly. Right. Broke.
"…maybe we could," he corrected smoothly, "figure something out."
Isabella raised an eyebrow. "McDonald's," she said. "I'll pay."
Theo froze.
In his head, fireworks went off.
Big Mac.
Fries.
A cold drink.
Actual food.
He cleared his throat, face neutral. "Yeah," he said. "I'll be focused."
Isabella studied him for a moment—then turned toward the door.
"Don't waste my time, Valtez."
Theo stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Don't worry," he said casually. "I won't."
And for the first time since he arrived in the city, the cage didn't feel quite as tight.