Louis' Perspective:
I snatched my bag from the floor, already simmering with resentment. The principal, that bureaucratic jackass, wanted to “adjust” my classes because I supposedly couldn't coexist with certain students. A blatant lie. I got along fine with people; *they* were the problem. I was mid-rant, mentally cataloging every injustice inflicted by the school system, when I collided with another student.
“Ow,” he murmured.
“Hey, watch it—” I began, ready to unleash a torrent of frustration, but the words died in my throat. His eyes were an arresting shade of green, framed by a mess of dark curls. I found myself staring, captivated.
He looked up, a blush creeping across his cheeks. “Oh my—I’m so sorry. I’m new, and I’m completely lost. I should have been paying attention, I just—I’m sorry.” He rambled, his voice laced with anxiety.
“It’s okay,” I said, surprised by the softness in my tone. “Accidents happen, love.” The pet name slipped out before I could stop it, a reflex I hadn't realized I possessed. I extended my hand, and he tentatively took it, allowing me to pull him upright.
“Where’s your first class, love?” I asked, again surprised by my own words. He shook his head slightly. “Room 145.” He offered his schedule, and I glanced it over. We shared several classes. A flicker of something—not quite hope, but a warmth I hadn’t felt in a long time—stirred within me.
“Um—do you mind waiting while I grab my schedule? I can show you around, help you find your classes.” The question felt impulsive, even reckless. What was I doing? I didn't even know this kid. He could be anyone. A predator. A psychopath.
“Sure,” he replied quietly, his voice barely audible. “I’ll just wait here.”
I nodded and headed toward the office. “Hey, Miss Davies, I need my new schedule.” She printed it off, and I returned to the hallway, extending my hand. “Your schedule, kid.” I saw the confusion on his face. I compared the two schedules, and a genuine smile tugged at my lips. Spanish, first study hall, physics, and theater arts together. Perfect. I’d get to see that cute face—no, stop. Don’t think that way. He was just a random student. A potential danger. He could easily be a lunatic waiting to strike.
“Um, where’s the bathroom?” he asked, breaking my concentration.
“I’ll show you,” I said, mentally berating myself. God, I was an idiot. I started walking towards the restrooms, and as soon as we entered, we saw *him*. Shit.