Chapter 1

It lasted exactly three hours into the first day.

"Maddy! Wait up!"

I turned at the sound of Ava's voice, my grip tightening on the cardboard tray holding four coffees. She bounded toward me through the crowded hallway, her curly red hair bouncing with each step, her grin wide and infectious.

"You're a lifesaver," she said, grabbing her caramel macchiato. "I thought I was going to fall asleep in first period. Did you see the new English teacher? He looks like he just graduated from college himself."

"I was too busy not dropping these," I said, nodding at the remaining cups.

"One for you, one for me, one for Ethan—where is he, anyway?"

"Art room. He said he wanted to finish something before class."

Ava rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "Of course he did. That boy and his sketchbook are inseparable."

We weaved through the clusters of students, past the locker bays where freshmen looked lost and seniors held court like royalty. I spotted Chloe Anderson near the main stairwell, flanked by her usual entourage, her blonde hair perfectly curled, her smile sharp as glass. She was watching someone. Following her gaze, I saw him.

Logan Carter.

He was leaning against a bank of lockers, surrounded by his basketball team, laughing at something on his phone. Tall, dark hair perfectly messy, blue eyes that could probably make glaciers melt if he bothered to aim them at you. He wore a varsity jacket like it was part of his skin. He was everything I didn't want in my senior year: popular, arrogant, and a walking drama magnet.

"Don't stare," Ava whispered, elbowing me. "You'll burn a hole through him."

"I'm not staring. I'm assessing the threat level."

"And?"

"Level ten. Avoid at all costs."

Ava snorted. "You can't avoid him, Maddy. He's the king of this school."

"Then I'll be the hermit who lives in the library."

We turned the corner toward the science wing, and that's when it happened. A group of freshmen burst out of a classroom, running like someone had set off a firecracker. One of them collided with my elbow. The tray tilted. The coffees danced in their cardboard holders for one horrible, slow-motion second, and then they tipped.

I watched in horror as a wave of lukewarm coffee—mine and Ethan's—splashed across the hallway. And directly onto the pristine white varsity jacket of Logan Carter, who had somehow materialized in my path at the exact worst possible moment.

The hallway went silent.

Logan looked down at the spreading brown stain on his chest, then up at me. His expression was unreadable for a beat, and then a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.

"Well," he said, his voice smooth and cutting. "Good to know senior year is starting off with a bang."

My cheeks burned. "I'm so sorry. A freshman ran into me. I didn't—"

"Didn't see me?" He raised an eyebrow. "Most people can't miss me."

"Most people aren't trying to."

The words slipped out before I could stop them. Around us, someone gasped. Logan's smile flickered, and something else—surprise? interest?—flashed in his eyes.

"Wow," he said, brushing at the stain with a napkin someone handed him. "And here I thought you were just clumsy. Turns out you're also hostile."

"I'm not hostile. I'm apologetic. And wet. And late for class."

"We're both late for class. You want to explain to Mr. Harrison why we're drenched in coffee together?"

"Together?" I repeated, my voice climbing. "We are not together. This was an accident. A tragic, unfortunate accident. I'll pay for your dry cleaning. Just tell me where to send the check."

He laughed. Actually laughed, a low, warm sound that made my stomach flip in a way I refused to acknowledge. "Keep your money, Coffee Girl. I'll survive."

"It's Madison," I said, my jaw tight. "Madison Bennett."

"I know who you are." He tilted his head, studying me. "You're in my AP English class. Third row, by the window. You always write with a purple pen."

I blinked. He knew where I sat? He knew about my purple pen?

Before I could respond, Chloe appeared at his side, sliding an arm through his with practiced ease. "Logan, babe, what happened? Did she do this to you?" She shot me a look that could freeze water.

"It was an accident," Logan said, but his eyes were still on me. "See you in class, Madison."

"Can't wait," I muttered, but he was already walking away, Chloe clinging to his arm like a designer accessory.

Ava grabbed my elbow and pulled me into the nearest bathroom. "Oh my God," she whispered, her eyes wide. "You just declared war on Logan Carter."

"I spilled coffee on him. That's not war. That's clumsiness."

"To him, it's the same thing. Do you know how many girls would kill to have his attention?"

"They can have it. I'd rather have a root canal."

But even as I said it, I could still feel the heat of his gaze on me. The way he'd said my name. The way he'd known where I sat. It unsettled me, and I hated being unsettled.

I made it through the rest of the day without further incident. AP English was a blur of syllabus reviews and icebreakers. I kept my eyes fixed on my notebook, refusing to look in Logan's direction, even though I could feel his presence like a gravitational pull.

By the time the final bell rang, I was exhausted. I found Ethan at our usual spot—the bench near the oak tree at the edge of the quad. He was sketching in his notebook, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Rough first day?" he asked without looking up.

"How did you know?"

"Because you're sighing like the world is ending, and you have a coffee stain on your sleeve."

I slumped onto the bench beside him. "I spilled coffee on Logan Carter."

Ethan's pencil stopped moving. He looked up, his brown eyes sharp. "On purpose?"

"Accident. But I think he's going to make it his personal mission to torment me for the rest of the year."

"Logan Carter doesn't torment people he's interested in," Ethan said quietly. He looked back at his sketch. "He ignores them."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the warning bell for after-school activities rang. Ethan packed up his things and gave me a small, soft smile. "I'll walk you to your car."

"Thanks, Eth."

"Always."

On the drive home, I replayed the encounter in my head. The way Logan had looked at me. The way he'd known about my pen. The way my heart had hammered against my ribs when he laughed.

I shook my head, pulling into my driveway. No. Absolutely not. I was not going to be that girl—the one who falls for the arrogant jock in a teen movie. I was smarter than that. I had plans. Goals. A future that didn't involve a boy who probably had a mirror in his locker.

That night, I sat at my desk, the familiar weight of my diary in my hands. The lock was still secure. The key hung around my neck, a constant reminder that some things were meant to stay buried.

I opened to a fresh page and began to write.

Dear Diary,

Day one of senior year. Score: Madison—0, Universe—1. I spilled coffee on Logan Carter. He was infuriating. Arrogant. And he laughed at me, and I hated how it sounded. I hated how it made me feel. I'm going to avoid him for the rest of the year. That's the plan. And I'm sticking to it.

But there's something about the way he looked at me. Like he saw something no one else does. It's probably just his ego. It has to be.

I'm not falling for it. I'm not falling for him.

I closed the diary, locked it, and tucked it into my bag. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be.

I had no idea how wrong I was.