Everything had to be perfect.
Aria Dalton's hair was coiled into a flawless twist, not a single hair out of place. Her blazer was ironed, her skirt held precisely two inches off the knee, and shoes reflecting like they'd been kissed by the sun itself. She stood before her mirror with the same professional remove that an artist would give to studying a painting and then catch one stroke out of place.
She breathed out, slapping at a nonexistent piece of lint. "Better."
Perfection wasn't a goal it was the norm. Her norm.
The instant she stepped into the marble halls of Saint Celeste High, heads turned. They always did. Whispers trailed behind her like perfume: admiration, jealousy, fear. The hallway parted for her like the sea for royalty. And why not? She was Aria Dalton daughter of Judge Malcolm Dalton, president of the Honor Society, captain of the cheerleaders, and undisputed leader of the senior class.
"Good morning, Aria," Talia simpered, her shadow glum and occasional sycophant.
Aria gave a smooth smile. "You're in beige, Talia. You okay?"
Talia blushed. "A cream."
Aria tilted her head. "Yes. Shall we not make that mistake again."
Was it cruel? Perhaps. But Saint Celeste was governed by rank, and Aria made sure hers was preserved. Perfection demanded self-control and nobody was beyond correction, not even her friends.
She walked past the trophy case, where her name was engraved on a few of them, and proceeded to her locker. Inside: rainbow-colored foldered files by subject, snacks with nutrition charts, a backup lipstick, and a piece of paper taped to the door: "Control everything you can. The rest is just noise."
It was a mantra. A lifestyle.
But today… something wasn't right.
A buzz in the air. A transition. As if the calm before the storm, when everything remains still.
She caught a glimpse of a girl at the end of the hall. New. Yes, new. Tight curls. Blaring hoodie. Daring eyes.
And something else a flash of recognition Aria couldn't place.
The girl stared back at her and didn't blink.
Aria blinked. That never occurred.
Talia murmured beside her, "That's the transfer. Zuri Hart. From Eastfield."
Aria's eyes slitted, watching Zuri laugh at some boy's comment. Boisterously. Too boisterously. She strode like a girl who didn't care about the rules. Like a girl who didn't know who Aria Dalton was or, worse, didn't care.
"Eastfield?" Aria said. "Hmm."
Not acceptable.
And so, with a slow, measured smile sweet and menacing Aria smiled.
If Zuri Hart thought she could just stroll in here and pose as one of them, she had another thing coming.
And anyway, there was room for only one queen at Saint Celeste.
The rest of the morning passed like a choreographed dance teachers forcing too-wide smiles, kids moving out of her path, eyes everywhere on her. Just the way she liked it. But Aria just couldn't shake the new girl. That hoodie, those defiant eyes.
Zuri Hart.
Even the sound of her name was. annoying.
Aria sat in the front row of AP Government, legs crossed at the ankle, posture perfect, fountain pen gliding across her notes. Behind her, she could hear soft laughter and the unmistakable click of gum being chewed.
She didn't have to turn to know who it was.
"Miss Hart," Mr. Burrows called, adjusting his glasses. "Perhaps you'd like to focus on the foundational pillars of democracy instead of your… chewing exercise?"
Some giggled.
"Not disrespecting you, sir," Zuri answered calmly, "but one of the pillars is freedom. Chewing gum is not illegal last I checked."
The room erupted. Aria's lips tightened, not with amusement exasperated.
Mr. Burrows let out a defeated sigh. "Just… please, be less distracting."
Aria shifted slightly, enough to glance over her shoulder. Zuri met her eye again, eyes glinting with something between teasing and challenge.
Aria whirled around, her jaw muscles tensing.
She thinks she's so smart.
The return to normal at lunchtime found the world revitalized. Aria held the midpoint table in the quad under the cherry tree that bloomed early every spring. Friends flanked her sides like bookends: makeup replenished, babble spilling, phones held.
"Sounds Zuri used to fight at her old school," Lina breathed, looking left and right.
Aria lifted her smoothie without comment.
"She's from public school," Talia added, wrinkling her nose like it was contagious. "And get this she's not even on Instagram."
"Sounds like she has nothing worth showing," Aria replied, voice calm, smile calculated. "But maybe I'll help her find her place here."
Talia blinked. "You're going to be nice to her?"
Aria's smile didn't reach her eyes. "I said I'll help her. That doesn't always mean being nice."
Just then, the courtyard doors opened and there she was. Zuri, carrying a brown lunch bag, no tray, no crowd. She walked past the popular tables like she didn't even see them, headed toward a bench in the corner under the shade.
Alone.
Aria stirred her smoothie.
Something about that didn't sit right.
People didn't ignore her. They avoided her, yes. Respected her. Feared her. But Zuri hadn't even acknowledged her. Not once.
That meant one of two things:
1. Zuri was truly oblivious.
2. Or worse… she wasn't impressed.
Aria leaned back, crossing her legs the other way, eyes locked on Zuri's back.
She wasn't used to things she couldn't define. Things that didn't fit.
Zuri Hart didn't fit.
But she would.
Because Aria Dalton had never lost control of anything.
And she wasn't about to start now.
Sixth period was the ultimate indignity.
Aria walked into Art Appreciation expecting the usual: a fluff course, light reading, and an automatic A. It was the only class where she felt she could unwind without worrying about extra credit or a boost in her GPA. She took her seat in the second row, as usual forward enough to be seen, far enough back not to look desperate.
She was flipping through her planner, double-checking that all assignments, club meetings, and volunteer shifts were accounted for, when the door creaked open.
Zuri entered.
Late.
Again.
"Miss Hart," the teacher said, her smile taut. "Good to have you with us."
Zuri barely nodded and scanned the room until she spotted the empty chair next to Aria.
No. Absolutely not.
But before she could protest with a hand, Zuri walked over and dropped her bag on the floor next to the seat.
"Yeah, you're Aria, aren't you?" she said casually, sitting down.
Aria didn't answer right away. She turned her head in slow motion, met those warm, inscrutable eyes, and arched an eyebrow.
"You already know who I am," she said icily.
Zuri smirked. "Yeah. People talk."
Aria's pen rested on top of the open notebook. "And what do they say?"
Zuri reclined, folding her arms across her chest, one leg thrown over the other. "That you own this building. That you're perfect. That you can ruin someone's life in a sentence."
Aria grinned, curling her lip up. "Only if they're worthy."
Zuri laughed. "You sound like a movie villain."
Aria blinked.
Nobody talked to her that way. Not teachers. Not friends. Not even her parents. Zuri had some kind of unsettling calm confidence like she didn't really care who Aria Dalton was. Like she'd encountered worse and wasn't impressed.
Aria jerked her gaze away from her notes. "Careful. Attitudes like that don't tend to stick around here."
Zuri blinked neither. "Neither does pretending."
They just sat there for a moment, not saying anything. The projector whirred to life, and the lights dimmed for the presentation. Aria was staring at the screen, but her attention was fractured.
Who was she?
Where did she get that kind of sass?
And why did Aria feel this strange tug in her chest whenever she looked at her?
Not anger.
Not jealousy.
Something… odd. Something uncomfortable.
Kind of like recognition.
She snapped the end of her pen against the notebook, pretending to take down notes while her mind whirled.
Zuri Hart was more than a disruption.
She was a crack in the glass.
And Aria Dalton did not allow cracks. She fixed them. She concealed them. Or she shattered the whole thing before anyone else had a chance.