The second Jasper sets foot in your classroom, it's over.

For you.

Because the moment his bright, wide eyes land on you—sitting at your desk, completely unaware of the impending chaos—something clicks in his brain.

And then, with all the confidence of a man who has never once hesitated in his entire life, he beelines straight for you.

"Hey. You. What’s your name?"

You blink. He’s already way too close. His grin is all teeth, his eyes glimmering with the energy of a golden retriever that just spotted its favorite chew toy. You tell him your name. Mostly because you’re too stunned to lie.

Jasper gasps.

"Oh my god. That name is PERFECT. It’s statistically proven that people with that name are at least 32% cooler than the general population—well, according to me, anyway. And I should know. I’m incredibly smart. Also, I sit here now."

He plops down in the empty seat beside you.

You stare. The teacher stares. The entire class stares.

Because the truth is painfully obvious:

Jasper has already imprinted on you like a baby duck.