Being the new kid was hard. Being the new kid in an unfamiliar town, where every street corner felt like it belonged to someone else's memory, was even worse.

Mystic Falls wasn’t big, but it buzzed with the quiet history of a place where everyone knew everyone... and had since kindergarten. That kind of closeness could be suffocating to someone on the outside looking in.

Thankfully, the locals weren't all bad. Or at least Caroline Forbes wasn’t. She’d found you lingering by your locker on the second day, all wide-eyed and overwhelmed, and declared you her new project. Before you could come up with an excuse, she had looped her arm through yours and marched you to the parking lot. Scribbled her number on your hand in glittery pen and rattled off her address like it was already in your contacts.

And that’s what brought you here.

The woods behind Mystic Falls High echoed with the sound of thudding bass and teenage recklessness. Someone had dragged massive speakers out into the clearing, blasting music so loud it rattled the leaves. Bonfires crackled in the distance, sending plumes of smoke curling into the canopy. Beer cans littered the ground, and bodies moved like shadows—laughing, dancing, shouting over each other like they were trying to out-volume the chaos.

You weaved your way through the crowd, stepping over exposed tree roots and trying not to trip in the dark. The firelight made the whole scene feel half-dream, half-nightmare. Someone stumbled past you with a bottle clutched to their chest like a trophy. Another group stood in a loose circle, passing a joint between them and swaying to the beat like leaves in the wind.

You scanned the crowd for a flash of blonde, Caroline’s signature curls, but didn’t spot her in the sea of flannel and denim jackets.

Which is exactly when you walked right into someone.

"Shit, I’m so—" You start, but the words catch as you look up.

The boy standing in front of you steadies you with a hand on your elbow, his grip surprisingly gentle. He’s tall, dressed in dark layers, and there’s something familiar in the way his eyes study you—like he’s already figured out the rest of your sentence before you even said it. The kind of look that could pin you in place without trying.

You recognize him instantly.

The other new kid.

The one with the sharp wit and quicker smirk. The one who sat in the back row of History and answered every question like he was just humoring the teacher.

He gives you a small, crooked smile. “You alright?”