CHAPTER 3
As much as I’d hate to admit it—to anyone or myself—I like school.
It’s one of the few things about me that didn’t change.
But today is almost unbearable with Hayes sitting only a few seats away. I don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose, but he refuses to take his eyes off me. If he’s not scrolling through his phone, he’s staring—dark, brooding, relentless.
I pretend not to notice.
Throughout AP English, the teacher drones on about pragmatics and contextual meaning, tossing questions at the class. No one raises a hand—except Hayes. And the annoying part? He’s not even paying attention half the time.
Still, every answer he gives is right.
I know the answers too. I just don’t raise my hand. I never saw the point of performing intelligence for people who don’t care.
By recess, I’ve had enough.
With nothing but a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in my blazer pocket, I wander the school grounds, mapping the place in my head and hunting for somewhere quiet enough to smoke.
Girls wave when I pass. Guys nod like we’re already friends.
Being the new kid isn’t fun. Everyone expects something from you. Everyone studies you like they’re trying to decide what role you’ll play in their little ecosystem.
With an apathetic expression that clearly says don’t fucking talk to me, I move past them.
I’m not here to make friends.
I don’t care if anyone likes me.
Surviving senior year in the same building as Hayes Griffin is already more than enough.
I find an abandoned stairwell and push open the heavy iron door.
The space is surprisingly clean. Too clean. Probably used for hookups and secrets no one wants witnessed.
Perfect.
I shrug off my blazer and toss it over the banister before pulling out my cigarettes and lighter. One slips between my lips. Another tucks behind my ear. I spark the flame and light up, shoving the pack into my pants pocket.
I inhale deeply, the smoke burning its way into my lungs. Exhale through my nose. I roll up my sleeves, baring inked skin, letting the nicotine settle.
For a moment, everything quiets.
Then—
“You know you shouldn’t be smoking on school grounds, right?”
I spin around, heart jumping just enough to piss me off.
Dark eyes. Sharp jaw. Familiar arrogance.
Hayes fucking Griffin.
“If you don’t want to get punched in the nuts,” I say coolly, taking another drag, “you should probably stop sneaking up on people.”
I look away, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
Why the fuck is he here?
And why does he smell so annoyingly good?
Hayes chuckles softly.
“Yeah. Right.”
I side-eye him, only to find him already watching me.
His gaze drifts over my tattooed arms, slow and deliberate, before lifting to my face. When our eyes meet, something strange and familiar coils low in my stomach.
Fuck.
I hate this.
“You really shouldn’t be smoking on school grounds,” he says. “It’s against school policy.”
“So what?” I turn fully toward him, exhaling smoke straight into his face. “You gonna confiscate it?”
He doesn’t even flinch.
Hayes sighs and gives me a once-over that’s entirely too assessing. Something flickers in his eyes before he looks away, staring at the blank white wall across from us.
The silence stretches.
Awkward. Heavy. Charged in a way I didn’t think was possible after all these years.
“You can fuck off, you know,” I say. “End this whole awkward silence. I really want to be alone.”
“You know,” he says quietly, “it doesn’t have to be awkward between us.”
“Right.” I scoff, dragging deeply on the cigarette before pulling it from my lips. “What are you even doing here? How the fuck did you find me?”
“I just want to talk.” He smirks, like we’re old friends catching up instead of whatever the hell this is.
I turn to face him fully—and that’s when it hits me.
We’re almost the same height now.
He’s maybe an inch taller, my forehead nearly level with his nose. I’m broader, more solid, but that doesn’t stop him from looking at me like he’s perfectly comfortable standing this close.
I flick the cigarette butt over the banister and watch it disappear.
“We’re not friends, Hayes,” I say flatly. “Never were. Never will be. So why don’t you stop this shit and get out of my fucking face?”
His smile only deepens.
He bites his bottom lip.
My eyes betray me, following the movement before I can stop them.
Fuck me.
How am I still reacting to him like this after all these years? I’m not a kid anymore. Whatever this is should’ve burned out by now.
“Why are you so angry?” he asks.
“And who said I’m angry?”
“I know you, Miller.” His voice is calm. Too calm. “And I can tell there’s a lot of anger burning through you.”
“You don’t know shit about me, Hayes.”
“True.” His gaze trails down my body again before returning to my eyes. “You’ve changed.” A pause. “And you cut your hair.”
He turns away, facing the wall, hands tucked into his pockets like he’s deliberately giving me space.
I don’t need this.
Why is he so… controlled? So calm? The Hayes standing in front of me is nothing like the arrogant, vile bastard I knew in middle school. Nothing like the boy from summer camp.
This version of him is polite. Measured.
And fuck me if that isn’t somehow worse.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I say. “How did you find me?”
I lean back against the banister, elbows resting on the railing, my fingers twitching with the urge for another cigarette.
“You used to hang out in the stairwell back at Dalton,” Hayes says. “I figured you’d be here.”
“Right.”
“You know,” he adds casually, “I’m glad you’re back, Miller.”
I straighten slowly, turning to face him fully. Annoyance coils tight in my chest as our eyes lock. He’s still unnervingly calm, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
Is this a joke?
“You used to be an asshole, Hayes,” I say flatly. “Now suddenly you’re glad I’m back? What the fuck is your problem?”
“What?” He lifts a shoulder. “A guy can’t be honest anymore?”
I arch a brow. “Honest about what? We were never friends. Remember?”
The smirk fades. Something harder settles in its place.
“Let me guess,” I continue. “You missed your punching bag.”
Hayes lets out a low chuckle, licking his bottom lip like he’s amused. “Don’t tell me you’re still mad about what happened four years ago. We were kids, Miller. We were just having fun.”
The words hit like a slap.
“Fun?” I step closer, anger ripping loose. “Your ‘fun’ ruined my life. So don’t stand there telling me you’re glad I’m back or that it didn’t mean anything. You really don’t want to see how angry I am, Hayes.”
My nose flares as I glare at him.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” I continue. “Don’t act like we’re friends. I can’t believe you actually thought I’d be fine after everything you did. How fucking delusional are you?”
For a second, his expression is unreadable.
Then—slowly, deliberately—his lips curl into a smug smile.
I want to smash it off his face.
“Damn, Miller,” he drawls. “Look at you dropping all those F-bombs. Didn’t think you had it in you.”
His laugh is deep. Smooth. It sends a ripple of irritation straight down my spine.
Why does he have to be so fucking attractive?
“Still the asshole I remember,” I mutter.
“I’m the asshole?” He runs slender fingers through his dark hair, amused. “You’re the one clinging to something that happened years ago. We were kids. Goofing around.” He smirks, boredom flickering in his eyes. “You really still holding onto that?”
“Go fuck your mom, Hayes.”
I grab my blazer off the banister and shoulder past him, slamming into him hard enough to make my point before walking away.
My first day of high school already sucked the moment I locked eyes with Hayes.
Now I’m standing in the principal’s office for a crime I didn’t even realize I committed, somehow managing to make the day worse.
“Dakota Miller,” Principal Caldwell says as she settles behind her large oak desk.
She’s a Hispanic-American woman in her early forties—black hair, caramel-toned skin, sharp brown eyes, thin lips, and a perpetually unimpressed expression. She’d be beautiful if she smiled more often.
“According to your file,” she continues, “you attended Dalton Middle School before you and your mother moved to New York. Since then, you’ve been enrolled in more than six high schools in under four years.”
She studies me over the rim of her glasses.
“You’re a very stubborn kid, Dakota.”
I resist the urge to scowl.
I shove my hands into my pants pockets and stare back at her as she leans into her chair, fingers interlaced against her chest. It’s obvious she doesn’t tolerate bullshit.
“I’m willing to overlook this since it’s your first day,” she says. “But in my school, I don’t allow smoking.”
Oh. Fuck.
I lift my hand to my left ear, my fingers brushing the cigarette tucked there. Slowly, I pull it out and slip it into my pocket.
How the hell did I forget that?
“If I catch you smoking on or around school premises again, you’ll be suspended indefinitely,” she continues. “And your appearance—this is a clear violation of our dress code. Where is your tie? Why isn’t your uniform tucked in?”
I sigh, already over this, and start fixing my clothes—tucking my shirt properly into my pants, buttoning the top buttons.
“And your tie?” she presses.
“Must’ve left it in my locker.”
Her scowl deepens. “Must have?” She gives me a slow once-over. “This isn’t New York, young man. And when you address me, you will add ma’am at the end of your sentence. Am I clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I don’t want to see you back in my office—not tomorrow, not next week, not at the end of the term. You stay out of trouble, and I won’t make your life difficult here. Do you understand?”
I force a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
For fuck’s sake. Are we done yet?
As irritating as this is, it’s nothing new. I’ve sat across from more principals than I care to remember—always for the same reasons. Smoking. Dress code violations. Detentions. Other stupid shit.
I’m not proud of it.
“Good,” Principal Caldwell says with a sigh. “Now—one more thing. You’re an athletic kid. I can see it. I suggest you consider participating in extracurricular activities. Sports, especially.”
She pauses, watching my reaction.
“You might try ice hockey. With your build, I’m sure you’d fit in somewhere. Besides, Hayes Griffin is our star player, and there’s always room for fresh blood.”
I stiffen.
Of course.
Why am I not surprised?
Hayes Griffin.
Star of the ice hockey team.
Another reason for everyone to worship the ground he walks on.
Ever since I’ve known him, Hayes has played hockey—and he was good. Too good. He was Dalton Middle School’s golden boy, team captain, the pride of the rink. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he carried it into high school. Hell, he’ll probably play in college too.
I played hockey once.
For a while.
Until Hayes made sure I stopped.
He bullied me behind closed doors. Threatened me. Beat me down until quitting felt like the only way out. I left the team without an explanation, and my parents—along with my coach—assumed it was just another phase.
They had no idea.
“I’ll think about it, ma’am,” I say.
“Good. You’re dismissed.”
I nod once, forcing a polite smile before stepping out of the principal’s office.
As the door shuts behind me, something settles in my chest.
Hayes Griffin made middle school a living hell for me.
Now it’s my turn.