Chapter 2
Icatch up with Stephanie by the lockers. The hallway buzzes with first-day excitement around us, but all I feel is dread churning inside me.
“It was a total disaster,” I say, yanking my locker door open before I shove my chemistry textbook onto the top shelf like I never want to see it again. “I have to get out of there.”
Stephanie leans against the adjacent locker, flinching as someone’s shoulder bumps into her backpack. Her brown eyes search my face with the kind of concern that makes me grateful I have someone here I can vent to. “It’s the first day of school, Chrissy. Maybe you can still change your schedule?”
“I hope so.” I slam the metal door shut and glance down the hallway toward the counselor’s office, where a line of what I imagine equally desperate students snakes out the door. It’s so disheartening—I’ll have to come back later. “If I’m lucky, maybe I can swap chemistry for another class.”
We break off from the hallway traffic, bumping against each other as we squeeze through a cluster of freshmen who haven’t figured out hallway etiquette yet.
I duck under a senior’s outstretched arm as he high-fives a friend, and Stephanie grabs my elbow to keep me from colliding with a teacher wielding a stack of papers.
“My foolproof plan of staying under the radar is already crashing and burning,” I mutter, hitching my backpack higher as we hit the stairs to the third floor.
“Paige is going to make this class a living hell, I know it. Can you believe she forced me out of my seat so Theo could sit next to her?” My voice rises despite my effort to keep it down.
“Oh, and Rick Sanders is behind me, hurling paper balls at my head like I’m a target. ”
A group of jocks runs down the stairs like they’re late for practice, nearly crashing into Stephanie, whose mouth drops as she steadies herself against the railing. “Jerks!” she yells after them, then looks back at me and says, “That’s brutal. You’ve got the unholy trinity all in one class.”
“Do you think I’ll be able to swap first period?” I ask as we reach the top step.
“I don’t know, but with the unholy trinity all in one class, you must do your best to convince Mrs. Waverly.”
“Tell me about it.” My skin crawls at the thought of facing them every single morning for an entire school year.
We push through the crowd gathered around the water fountain, the noise of loud chatter and locker slams adding to my growing headache.
“If I could somehow make them vanish with some hocus pocus spell . . .” I wave my fingers like I’m casting a spell.
“Or, better yet, make myself invisible, then I’d be able to attend every class in peace.
” Unfortunately for me, this isn’t Hogwarts.
We pause at the intersection of two hallways, pressed against the wall as a group of cheerleaders strides past, their ponytails swinging in synchronized motion.
“First period should be a warm-up, not a survival test,” I groan, rubbing my temples.
Stephanie hooks her arm through mine as we make the final push toward our next class, navigating through the human obstacle course that is high school hallway traffic. “You’re like the top student in this school, and Mrs. Waverly knows it. I think she’ll understand your plea.”
“Already planning to camp outside her office after the final bell.” We sidestep around a couple making out in the middle of the hallway. It appears some of us seem to be having the time of their lives.
I make a mental note to beg—no, plead with actual tears if necessary—for a schedule change. If I can swap chemistry for Stephanie’s English class, maybe I can salvage this year—or at least my sanity. My mood lifts at the thought. “It would be amazing to have History and English with you.”
The rest of the day is uneventful, at least compared to my morning nightmare.
In History, I snag a seat near the back with Stephanie.
Mr. Haskins bores us with the syllabus and class expectations and ancient civilizations, but I stop paying attention halfway through his speech, thinking about the ways I’d navigate the predicament I will find myself in should my schedule remain unchanged.
I give myself a little shake. It’ll work out—it has to.
Spanish class passes with my head spinning from conjugating verbs, but it’s a blessing to be among others who are as shy and quiet as me.
When lunchtime arrives. Stephanie and I meet up in the cafeteria, where we find our friend Ian sitting by himself, absorbed in a book I have yet to read: A Brief History of Time, by Stephen Hawking.
“Ian,” Stephanie calls, waving as we approach. “You are the only person who reads at lunch.”
He looks up and offers a smile. “Can’t help it if astrophysics is more interesting than my peers.”
Stephanie glares at him as we take our seats by the table.
“Relax,” Ian says. “That excludes my two besties. So . . . how is your first day going?”
I tell him all about getting shoved this morning and my altercation with Paige.
“Maybe she is your antiperson?” Ian says.
Stephanie and I look at each other, perplexed. “My what?”
Ian flips back a few pages and clears his throat. “It says here, and I quote, ‘There could be whole antiworlds and antipeople made out of antiparticles. However, if you meet your antiself, don’t shake hands. You would both vanish in a great flash of light.’”
Stephanie bursts into laughter. “You’re such a nerd.”
“This is serious business,” Ian says, shifting slightly to face me. “Whatever you do, don’t shake hands with Paige. It could spell your doom.”
Nothing like good ol’ fashioned encouragement from your friend. “I’ll . . . keep that in mind,” I tell him. The good news is the chances of me shaking hands with her are zero, and I intend to keep it that way.
As always, the cafeteria is loud and chaotic.
My inner radar, ever so averse to trouble, homes in on the Queen Bees, who sit right in the middle, surrounded by their adoring fans.
Two of her closest sidekicks flank Paige on either side, both of them clones of her: blonde, confident, and dressed like they walked out of a trendy fashion magazine.
It’s like they’re holding court, laughing too loudly and tossing their hair every few minutes.
Paige is looking at Theo, who’s one table over, not looking back at her.
“Let’s sit as far away from them as possible,” I whisper to Stephanie, who nods in full agreement.
We chat about our classes, comparing notes and laughing about the minor mishaps we’ve already encountered. Ian, of course, complains that Paige didn’t even look at him when they crossed paths in the hallway.
“Dude, she doesn’t even know you exist,” Stephanie says.
“Life is full of hardships.” Ian sighs, staring at the table where the Queen Bees took up permanent residence since freshman year.
“Maybe she’s your antiperson, too,” I say.
Ian’s expression turns ponderous, then his lips curl into a wide smile. “It would be a dream come true to join as one and disappear with her into oblivion.”
“You’re hopeless,” Stephanie says, and we all have a good laugh about it.
The day drags along without further setbacks—which is just what I want—and when the last bell finally rings, I go to see Mrs. Waverly. Apparently, I’m not the only one hoping to change their schedule, because the waiting area is still full of students.
I take a seat in the corner and wait my turn, trading texts with Stephanie about the disappointed faces that keep coming out of the counselor’s office.
This doesn’t bode well for me
u got this
Wish me luck
good luck meet u after by the entrance
Five minutes later, my name is called, and I step into the office, a small room with an enormous desk littered with pictures of Mrs. Waverly’s kids. She gives me a warm smile as I take a seat across from her.
“What can I help you with, Chrissy?” she asks, placing her hands on her desk, one on top of the other.
I pull out my schedule and offer it to her. “Is there a way I could change my first period from chem to English, or another class? I’d really appreciate it. I have . . . difficult classmates in that class.”
Mrs. Waverly’s eyebrows rise as she scans the paper. “I’m sorry, Chrissy, but the English class you want is already full. You’re not the first to ask. Ms. Burton’s reputation is well-earned.
Mrs. Waverly has been my counselor since freshman year, and I think she’s the nicest person in the school, always encouraging me in my endeavor to become an astronaut, so I try not to let my disappointment show, but it’s hard. “I’ll take anything else. Any other subject.”
She adjusts her glasses, skimming over the rest of my schedule.
“I see you took my advice and picked the science courses we discussed, including AP Calculus. Given the requirements for your career goal, this is the best arrangement we could make. You’re one of the brightest students here.
If anyone can handle some chemistry in the mix, it’s you. ”
Her kind words should make me feel better, but they don’t. “Please. I’m desperate.”
Mrs. Waverly shakes her head. “I’m really sorry, Chrissy. There’s nothing I can do.” She hands me back my schedule.
Disappointed doesn’t even begin to describe the way I feel as I take my leave. Outside in the hallway, I text Stephanie to let her know that another disaster has struck—I’m stuck in chemistry with the queen, the king, and the bully.
As I walk toward the exit, I look up from my phone and notice the entire football team barreling down the hallway right at me. Probably heading for practice—Oh crap! Leading the stampede is none other than the guy who knocked me on my butt this morning.
I want to move, but fear sweeps over my legs, cementing them to the floor.
My brain screams at my feet to run, dodge, do something, but they might as well be sunk in the floor.
This is what prey animals must feel like when they spot a predator—frozen by their own survival instinct that somehow forgot the “flight” part of fight-or-flight.
I close my eyes and clutch my phone close to my chest, bracing for impact, but it never comes . . . not even a thud of elbows against my body. The seconds stretch into an eternity as I wait for the inevitable collision, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. When did the hallway become so quiet?
The stampede passes by, and the deep voice I’d recognize anywhere asks me, “You okay?”
I open my eyes. Theo stands right in front of me. This close, I notice the intensity of his green eyes, his musky scent, the easy smirk he wears. He’s positioned himself right in front of me. Is that why I wasn’t knocked on my butt again?
I swallow hard as my heart performs an entire gymnastics routine complete with dismounts and twists.
Why is he so annoyingly good-looking? My eyes dart away from him as I feel the warmth of his body on my face.
I’m suddenly aware of every inch of me—my awkward stance, my messy hair, the stupid Labubu keychain dangling from my backpack that seemed cute this morning but now feels childish.
And what is up with this height difference?
The top of my head barely reaches his collarbone!
I never knew he was this tall . . . but then again, I never stood this close to him in high school before.
He towers over me—solid and immovable and somehow making me feel both protected and intimidated at the same time.
“Are you hurt?” His voice is polite, but there’s something else there—concern? Annoyance? I can’t tell.
“I’m okay, um . . . thanks,” I mumble, stepping aside, my voice coming out as barely more than a whisper. My cheeks burn as our eyes meet again. His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer than I expect, and for a split second, I feel seen. Like, really seen.
But then he jogs to catch up with his teammates, and the moment is gone, the space where he stood filling with cold air again.
Breathe . . . just breathe. My heart refuses to slow down, like it’s trying to escape my chest and chase after him.
He’s way off limits—someone Paige is interested in, which puts him out of my league.
What am I talking about? It’s not even the same realm.
Page inhabits a world of perfect hair and designer clothes, while I’m over here in the land of science puns and secondhand sneakers.
Besides, guys like Theo don’t notice girls like me except when they’re about to collide with them in the hallway, apparently.
I head outside where Stephanie has been waiting for me on the front steps. “Sorry it didn’t work out,” she says.
A shrug is all I can muster. “This year might be the worst one yet. I can feel it.”
She hooks her arm around mine, and we start down the sidewalk. “At least high school is closer to being over. Just this year and the next, and we’re done.”
“Small wins,” I say, glancing over my shoulder at the school I’m doomed to face for yet another year.
We chat about classes and teachers, and somehow, it almost feels okay. Stephanie has that effect on me. She brings a sense of calm to even the worst situations.
When we reach the intersection where we usually part ways, I turn to her. “I think I’m gonna go to the dance studio for a bit.”
“Practicing your choreography like Jungkook?” she teases, knowing full well BTS is my ultimate escape.
“Only dancing can help me feel better after a day like today. And nothing beats K-Pop.”
“I still don’t get your K-pop obsession,” Stephanie says. “I prefer Logan Humphries’ music.”
“You only like him because he’s from Maplewood Springs.”
Stephanie’s jaw drops like she’s mildly outraged. “No way. He is dreamy, and his voice is out of this world. His songs speak to me.”
“But can Logan do a butterfly kick while singing?” I counter.
“No, but he can play three instruments and wrote that song about ill-fated lovers.” She pulls me into a tight hug. “We’ll make it through, Chrissy. We always do.”
Fifteen minutes later, I arrive at the studio a few blocks from my house. This is where I go when everything seems to be the opposite of what I expected, and I need an hour to myself. If today has set the tone for the rest of the school year, I’m in trouble.
It’s just me and the music on the polished wooden floor—and the faint aroma of sweat from the yoga class prior. I toss my bag into the corner and stretch, feeling the stress of the day melt away. The beat of BTS’s Savage Love takes over my body, and I sway my hips, getting into a warmup rhythm.