I woke up with a jolt. Seven thirty. Shoot. Already late. I scrambled out of bed and practically flew to the bathroom, brushing my teeth while simultaneously peeling off my pajamas. Fifteen minutes until school started. No time for a proper breakfast. I tugged on a worn zipper shirt and jeans, tying my hair into messy ponytails. Backpack slung over my shoulder, I bolted out the door just as my mom honked the car horn.
“Morning,” I mumbled, sliding into the passenger seat.
“Morning. Missy, next time you sleep in this late, I’m throwing a chancla at your head,” she snapped, already firing up the engine. “I’m late for work.”
I *could* drive, but Mom refuses. Says I’m too reckless. And, yeah, she’s right about that. She’s always been…practical. Not cold, exactly, but…distant. Ever since Dad left, she’s had to be the strong one. I’m the only girl in a family of boys all away at university, and I have zero friends. It’s just us, mostly.
We were cruising towards school when some idiot in a gray sedan nearly sideswiped us.
“Keep your damn eyes on the road, you little punk!” Mom yelled, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.
I just rolled my eyes. It’s always like this. She’s furious, I’m numb. I stared out the window, watching the buildings blur by.
She dropped me off at school with a curt wave. “Bye, Mom,” I called, rushing into the hallway just as the first bell rang. Perfect timing. I slipped into biology before the teacher even had a chance to start. And, of course, the bullies were already waiting. A bottle of brown soda was waiting for me on my chair. They do this every day. I just moved to a different seat.
“Yo, check it out. Lil’ Miss Ponytail’s back,” one of them sneered.
Biology is my favorite. I actually pay attention. I answered all the teacher’s questions, ignoring the whispers and stares. Then, finally, class ended. Lunchtime. Which is when the real fun begins.
I grabbed my backpack and headed to my locker. As soon as I opened it, a water balloon exploded in my face, drenching my shirt. A wave of familiar shame washed over me. They’re laughing. They always do.
“Hey ponytail,” a voice said. "How do you like my first day of senior year present, huh!” Patricia, the queen bee, stood there with her arms crossed. Perfect blonde hair, perfect everything. She’s so pretty. I'm not.
My clothes were soaked, my books ruined. How did they get the combination? I don’t even bother trying to figure it out anymore. They just…do it.
I bolted to the girls’ bathroom, splashing water on my face and trying to wring out my shirt. Fifteen minutes left for lunch. I grabbed a tray—chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, milk—and headed to the cafeteria. They were waiting for me. They always are. They sit down next to me, pretending to be friendly, then steal all the food off my tray. Predictable. Terrible.
I blinked. Everything was gone. Even the soggy peanut butter sandwich I’d managed to save from the locker. I was going to spend the entire day starving. Great.
Then I noticed him. Across the hall. Mason Benjamin. The hottest guy in school. The heartbreaker. He’s gorgeous—midnight black curly hair, dark brown eyes, a tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve. His mom is a fashion designer. He always looks like he stepped out of a magazine.
He just broke up with Patricia a week ago. I’ve been secretly crushing on him since freshman year. He probably doesn’t even know I exist. I’m just…background noise.
I headed back to class, and the math teacher was absent. A free period. Our teacher, Miss Sarah, called me over.
“Amelia, I was thinking about the tutoring project. I think you’d be perfect to help a student prepare. You’ll get an A if you do.”
“Yes, Miss Sarah! I’d love to. Thank you.”
“Okay, great. Let me call the student…Mason Benjamin, could you come here?”
Oh God. No. This can’t be happening. I’d be tutoring *Mason Benjamin*? The guy I’ve been dreaming about for years? My palms started sweating. I felt my face flush. This was going to be a disaster. I’d probably just stammer and embarrass myself.
He turned around, his muscular frame filling the doorway. He glanced at me, his eyes dark and assessing. My brain short-circuited. I was officially dead.
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