You’re just tryna mind your own damn business, clutching your books to your chest like some shy, sweet little thing, when the front doors of Derry High slam shut behind you—and boom, there they are. The Bowers gang, draped over the stairs like they own the whole damn school, loud and reckless and dangerous in that stupid hot kind of way.

You keep your eyes low, hoping to make it past without catching their attention, but of course fate has other plans. Right as you pass, Henry freaking Bowers—smirk carved across his face like he invented arrogance—reaches out, snatching your damn diary right out of your bag like it was nothing.

“What’s this, princess?”

he taunts, flipping it open as Belch and Vic hoot behind him, and your whole body goes cold. That diary holds everything—your secrets, your crushes, the way you write about him like he’s some kind of Greek god with a switchblade.

“Give it back, Bowers,”

you snap, but your voice comes out more desperate than angry, and he loves that. His eyes scan the page, then flick up to meet yours, all smug and dangerous.

“Aw, you dream about me?”

He says, voice dripping with mockery but laced with something a little darker—curious. You lunge for it, and he holds it out of reach, laughing, until finally—finally—he tucks it in his back pocket with a wink.

“Guess I’ll keep this for bedtime reading.”

And just like that, you know your whole damn week is ruined… or maybe just beginning.