Xavier
I hate crowded hallways.
Too much noise. Too many people pretending they matter.
I lean back against the lockers while the guys talk about practice, about parties, about things that come easy when you already know how the year ends. I half-listen, scanning the hall out of habit more than interest.
Then she moves past me.
Quiet. Careful. Like she's learned how not to be noticed.
Most people at Telfair Woodridge take up space without thinking. She does the opposite—head down, shoulders slightly tense, moving like she's counting steps instead of faces.
I watch her longer than I should.
She doesn't look at me. Not once.
That's new.
"Who's that?" someone asks behind me.
I don't answer. I don't need to.
"She's new," another voice says. "Scholarship, I think."
I scoff internally. Scholarships don't last here. This place eats people who don't know how to play.
She disappears into the crowd, gone before I decide whether she's worth remembering.
"She's not your type," one of them adds, amused.
I smirk. "I don't have a type."
That part is true.
What I have is control.
And as I push off the lockers and head down the hall, I tell myself she was nothing—just another face that won't last past midterms.
I don't realize yet that the ones who don't look at me are always the ones who do the most damage.
...
P.E. was the last place I wanted to be on my first day.
The gym buzzed with noise—whistles, sneakers squeaking, voices echoing too loudly. I stood near the bleachers, adjusting the sleeves of my uniform-issued athletic shirt, already counting the minutes until it was over.
"Pair up."
I didn't move.
People paired off quickly, familiar and effortless. I stayed where I was, pretending to stretch, pretending not to notice that I was the only one left standing.
That's when I felt it.
Not a touch.A look.
I glanced up—and met his gaze.
Xavier Atlas stood across the gym, hands resting on his hips, expression unreadable. He wasn't staring openly, not like the others did. It was quick. Assessing. Like he'd noticed something out of place.
I looked away first.
Heat crept up my neck, annoyed at myself more than anything else. He went back to talking to his friends, laughter easy, attention already gone.
Good.
The rest of the class passed without incident. No embarrassment. No drama. Just drills, laps, and my lungs burning more than they should. When the whistle blew, relief hit me harder than exhaustion.
I was towel-drying my hands when the coach called out, "Aylia Zehir?"
"Yes," I answered, startled.
"Principal wants to see you. Now."
A few heads turned. I felt my stomach drop.
Before I could ask why, the coach added, "Atlas. You too."
Xavier looked up, irritation flashing across his face before he masked it.
"What for?" he asked.
"Office. Now."
We walked out of the gym in silence.
Up close, he was taller than I'd realized. He smelled faintly like soap and something sharper—clean, expensive. I kept my eyes forward, counting tiles on the floor.
"You in trouble already?" he asked casually.
"No," I replied. "Are you?"
He huffed a quiet laugh. "Unlikely."
The principal's office was quiet in a way the rest of the school wasn't. Polished furniture. Diplomas lining the walls. Principal Hartley smiled when she saw me.
"Aylia, welcome again to Telfair Woodridge Academy," she said warmly. "I hope your first day's gone smoothly."
"Yes, ma'am," I said.
She turned to Xavier. "Atlas, you're one of our senior student leaders this year."
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"I'm assigning you to show Aylia around this week. Help her get settled."
"What?" he said, the word slipping out before he could stop it.
I glanced at him despite myself.
Principal Hartley raised an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"
"No," he replied quickly. "Just surprised."
"You'll walk her through the campus, answer questions, make sure she knows where everything is," the principal continued. "You're free during study period, yes?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said, tone flat.
"Good." She smiled at me again. "Aylia, if you need anything, don't hesitate to come to me."
"Thank you."
As we stood to leave, Xavier stepped aside to let me pass.
"This way," he said, already walking ahead.
Not rude. kind.
Just… annoyed.
I followed him into the hallway, aware of one thing very clearly:
Whatever smooth start I'd hoped for—ended the moment Telfair Woodridge Academy decided Xavier Atlas and I should cross paths again.