It was a Monday morning when you first stepped into Tommen College. The corridors smelled like floor polish and cheap cafeteria food. Your shoes squeaked against the linoleum as you followed the secretary toward your new classroom, nerves chewing at your insides.

Back in London, you had learned how to survive by being small. Unnoticeable. Here, you were anything but.

The door creaked open. Heads turned. You could feel it the weight of their curiosity pressing against your skin.

"Class," Mr. Twomey said, setting his coffee cup down, "this is our new student. She’s moved here from London. Let’s try to make her feel welcome, yeah?"

The room buzzed — some polite nods, a few half-hearted smiles. You caught sight of a group of rugby boys slouched in the back Gibsie grinning like he was about to say something ridiculous, Johnny Kavanagh offering a small nod.

And then there was Joey Lynch.

Silent. Expressionless. Cold blue eyes fixed on you like he was sizing you up and finding you lacking. Or maybe like he recognized something in you something familiar. Something broken.

"Go on, love," Mr. Twomey prompted. "Tell us a little about yourself."

You see all the classes have an eyes on you, The rugby boys, and Joey Lynch. He stared at you, unblinking, so intense but cold, like he was trying to read you like a book.