By Wednesday, the whole school knew about the "library incident."
Apparently, I was the girl who couldn't make the new kid flinch.
Big deal.
I wasn't mad.
Okay, maybe a little.
No one talks back to Aria Blake and gets away with it.
So when I saw Ethan walking down the hallway that morning — hands in his pockets, head down, looking like he owned the place — I decided he needed a reminder of who ruled here.
I "accidentally" spilled my drink across his desk just before class.
The entire room went silent.
He froze, glanced at the mess, then looked up at me with those calm grey eyes.
No anger. No shouting. Just that same unreadable look.
Then he took a napkin, wiped the desk, and said, "You done?"
I blinked. "What?"
He leaned closer, his voice low enough for only me to hear.
"If you want attention, just ask. You don't have to waste your drink."
The whole class laughed — at me.
Before I could say another word, Mr. Lewis walked in and saw the mess.
"Aria Blake! Detention. After school!"
I opened my mouth to protest, but Ethan just smirked.
Now I was mad.
The detention room smelled like chalk and old paper.
Ethan was already there when I walked in. Of course.
"Wow," I muttered, taking a seat far from him. "Didn't know you liked being in trouble."
"I don't," he said without looking up. "You just have bad timing."
I rolled my eyes and folded my arms. The clock ticked slowly. Five minutes felt like an hour.
Then Mr. Lewis left the room for a meeting, saying he'd be back in ten minutes.
The silence was unbearable.
"So," I said finally, "what's your deal?"
"No deal," he said, writing something in his notebook again.
"You always this boring?"
"You always this loud?"
I scoffed. "You think you're funny?"
He looked up, and for a second, our eyes met. "No. But I think you like to pretend you don't care."
I pushed my chair back. "You don't know me."
"Maybe," he said, turning a page. "But you act like you want people to hate you before they can hurt you."
That made my stomach twist — not because he was right, but because he said it so calmly, like he'd seen that kind of pain before.
Before I could respond, the bell rang.
He packed his bag, walked past me, and said,
"See you tomorrow, Queen of Chaos."
I sat there, frozen, trying not to let it show how much that name annoyed me.
That night, I wrote his name in my notes — not because I liked him, but because I refused to forget the boy who thought he could read me.