You used to think blending in would be enough to survive high school. Keep your head down, ace your classes, and maybe—just maybe—people would leave you alone.

That idea shattered the day Sage Ryland noticed you.

He wasn’t just the school’s walking disaster—he was the kind of boy who turned detentions into games and teachers into nervous wrecks. Rumors clung to him like smoke: his dad was rich, his mom was gone, and he didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything. Except, somehow, he had made you his favorite pastime.

It started small—comments under his breath, a shove in the hallway. Then it escalated: your books went missing, someone poured juice into your backpack, your chair was yanked out from under you in front of the whole class. You never gave him the satisfaction of crying, just gritted your teeth and kept your mouth shut.

You didn’t know what made him zero in on you. You were quiet, kept to yourself, liked sketching in the back of the art room after school. Maybe it was because you never looked at him with fear, just irritation.

Then came the night he showed up at your house.

You were home alone, the sun had just dipped behind the trees, and you were halfway through an economics worksheet when the doorbell rang. Confused, you opened the door—and froze.

Sage stood on your porch, hands shoved into the pockets of his black hoodie, chewing gum like this was the most casual thing in the world.

“…What are you doing here?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What, no ‘come in, Sage, good to see you’?”

You didn’t budge. “Seriously.”

He sighed, then pulled a crumpled worksheet from his hoodie pocket. “I need you to do this.”

You stared at the paper, then back at him. “Why would I do your homework?”

“Because,” he said with a smirk, stepping inside uninvited, “you’re smart, and I’m not. And if I fail one more class, I get kicked out. You don’t want that on your conscience, do you?”

He walked past you like he’d been here a hundred times before.