The first day of school was supposed to be simple. Walk in, act normal, survive until lunch. That was my plan.
I stood in front of the building, clutching my brand-new backpack like it was armor. The school wasn't huge, but it felt intimidating—brick walls, wide doors, and groups of kids clustered on the steps like they already knew exactly where they belonged.
I didn't. Not yet.
Inside, the hallways smelled like floor wax and paper. I pulled out my crumpled schedule, squinting at the neat rows of times and subjects. First period: English 11. Room 214. Easy enough.
Or it should have been.
"Lost already?"
The voice slid in from behind me. I stiffened before turning, and of course—there he was. Breton Hermes. Leaning against a locker like he owned the whole hallway, hair still messy, grey eyes sharp.
I held up my paper without looking at him too long. "Room 214. English. I'm fine."
He glanced at it, then at me. "Ah. English. Yeah, that's down the hall. Upstairs, first door on the left."
I nodded, gripping the strap of my bag tighter. "Thanks."
The smirk tugged at his mouth again. That smirk I already hated. "Anytime, Barbie."
I walked fast before I could snap back, finding the stairs and climbing up. First door on the left, just like he said.
The classroom was half full already. Students chatting, pulling out notebooks. The teacher, a tall man with glasses, smiled politely as I slipped into an empty seat near the middle.
I breathed out. Okay. I could do this.
When the lesson began, I focused hard, scribbling notes into my notebook, underlining key points like my life depended on it. The teacher's voice was steady, explaining themes and metaphors. This was my fresh start. No drama, no mistakes. Just Ji A, model student.
At least, until attendance started.
The teacher called names one by one. "Alexis. Ben. Connor." Students answered "here" around me. My pen hovered, waiting for my turn.
But he never said "Jenna La Rose."
By the time the last name was called, my stomach had sunk to my shoes. The teacher closed the clipboard, moving right back into his lecture.
I sat frozen in my chair. Wrong class. He'd given me the wrong class.
I shoved my notebook into my bag and slipped out as quietly as I could, face burning. In the hallway, I pulled out my schedule again, heart pounding. Room 214 was real—but not this 214. There was another building. Another floor.
And leaning against the lockers across the hall, like he'd been waiting, was Breton. Arms crossed, grin smug.
"You actually stayed the whole period?" he asked.
I marched up, shoving the paper in his chest. "You knew."
He didn't even pretend to deny it. His laugh echoed down the empty hallway. "Relax. Consider it your official welcome to Alberta."
I glared, but heat still crept up my neck. Not just anger—something else I refused to name.
"This isn't funny."
"Sure it is." He pushed off the locker, walking past me with that effortless confidence. "Come on, Barbie. You don't want to be late to your real class."
I hated that he was right. I hated that he had that stupid smile.
And most of all, I hated that part of me already knew: this was only the beginning.