Chapter One: Just a Normal Day... Until It Wasn't
Quinn Rivera reporting live from her natural habitat: invisibility.
There are exactly three kinds of days at Rosehill High:
1. Chaos.
2. Embarrassment.
3. Chaos with embarrassment.
Today? A glorious blend of both.
I was at locker 219—my little corner of existence between the broken vending machine and that weird mural of a flying squirrel that's supposed to be "inspiring." I had three books in my arms, one falling out, my backpack open, and my shoelace caught in the strap.
"Quinn, you look like a walking library accident," said Ava, my best friend and expert in lip gloss and sarcasm.
"That's because I am a walking library accident," I mumbled, yanking my foot free with the grace of a baby giraffe learning ballet.
Jules and Mina flanked her like backup dancers. Jules was sketching something in her journal—probably a dragon with combat boots—and Mina was trying to fix my frizz with a banana clip she found in her purse.
"I swear," Mina whispered, "if you let me straighten your hair just once, Ethan Blackwell might actually see your face."
My heart did this thing—it stuttered, like it heard his name and wanted to jump out of my ribcage and chase him down the hallway.
Speak of the devil and there he glides.
Ethan. Freaking. Blackwell.
Leather jacket. Shadowy eyes. Jawline of doom. He walked past us like he was in slow motion, talking to two girls with cheerleader-level hair volume and scary perfect teeth.
And I… leaned against my locker. Casually. Smoothly. Like I was cool. Like I wasn't on the verge of fainting.
He brushed past me. Literally inches away. His cologne smelled like cinnamon and secrets.
"Oh no," Jules deadpanned. "We've lost her."
"I'm fine," I lied, clutching my chest like I had heartburn.
"You're not fine," Ava said. "You're making the face again."
"What face?"
"The 'he looked in my direction so I must be his soulmate' face," Mina explained.
"Guys," I whispered, "do you think he even knows I exist?"
They all stared at me.
"No," they said in perfect unison.
Rude.
The bell rang, snapping me out of my Ethan-trance. "Ugh, Algebra."
"Ugh, life," Ava added as we shuffled down the hall.
---
Lunchtime, Cafeteria Jungle
Our table was the unofficial Island of Misfit Teens. Jules was drawing on her tray with ketchup. Ava was rating teachers on a "Hot or Not" scale. Mina was stress-studying vocabulary flashcards like the quiz was in 10 minutes instead of tomorrow.
Me? I was rereading Vampires: Myths or Munchies? because I liked pain, apparently.
"Why do you read that stuff?" Ava asked, squinting at the cover.
"Because I like monsters."
"You also like a guy who looks like one," Jules muttered.
I glared. "He does not look like a monster."
"He never eats. He never blinks. He wears black like he's in permanent mourning," Jules said, ticking it off like a checklist.
"Sounds like half the senior class," I argued, stabbing a tater tot.
---
After School, 3:46 PM
I was late. Like, speed-walking-with-one-shoe-untied-late.
My science teacher kept me back to "chat" about my volcano project, which somehow exploded even though it was made of papier-mâché and sadness.
Everyone was already gone. The halls were echo-y and eerie. Lockers creaked. Lights flickered.
Classic horror movie setup.
"Quinn," I whispered to myself, "don't be a baby. You're just going to the front office to drop off your slip—"
That's when I heard it.
A rustle. A slurp. A metallic snap.
It came from the janitor's closet.
Naturally, I did the dumb thing and opened the door.
And saw him.
Ethan Blackwell.
Mouth red.
Eyes glowing.
Holding a silver pouch labeled "O Positive."
I gasped.
He froze.
We stared at each other for five straight seconds.
And then he said, completely calm,
"Can you shut the door? This is kind of a private moment."