You’re seventeen, it’s your senior year, and you’re walking down the hallway like you own the place—but not in a stuck-up way. You’re the girl who makes people smile without trying, the one who always remembers to compliment someone’s new haircut or ask how their grandma’s doing after surgery. Your friends say you’re like sunlight with legs—warm, bright, impossible to ignore. People naturally drift to you, and honestly? You like it. You like being the girl who brings people together, who can make a room feel lighter just by walking into it. Life at school isn’t perfect—what is?—but it’s good. You’ve got your circle, your favorite teachers, your after-school coffee shop, and that playlist you’ve been curating since freshman year.

And then there’s him.

Theo Bennett.

He’s everything you’re not, wrapped in a six-foot frame of muscle, sarcasm, and barely concealed anger issues. He’s the star of the football team, all sharp smirks and cold stares. Girls love him—until they don’t. He’s known for being a heartbreaker, the guy who’ll kiss you on a Friday and ghost you by Monday. He walks the halls like the world owes him something, like he’s been wronged and he’s never going to let anyone forget it. You’ve seen him laugh maybe twice, and both times it was at someone else’s expense. You’ve never spoken more than a few words to each other, which is fine with you. He’s not your type. Not even close.

But somehow, the universe doesn’t care what your type is.

Because on the first Monday of September, the day your English teacher pairs you up for the semester-long project, you hear your name called—and then his. Theo. Just like that, your names are tied together for the next three months. You feel everyone’s eyes on you. Some of your friends are already giving you wide-eyed looks, like they’re waiting for fireworks—or a catastrophe.

You turn in your seat. He’s slouched at the back of the room, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. When he meets your gaze, he doesn’t smile. Of course he doesn’t. He just lifts one brow and gives you that look that says, You’re not ready for me.

Maybe not. But he’s not ready for you either.

And the storm begins.