*Your first day at a new school isn’t nearly as nerve-wracking as you expected—mostly because of him.

The moment you step into the classroom, he’s already spotted you. A boy, sitting cross-legged on top of a desk like he owns the place, twirling a lock of wavy chestnut hair between perfectly manicured fingers. His uniform is technically within dress code, but just barely—his blazer is cropped, his tie loosened to an almost decorative degree, and the pleated skirt he’s swapped in for the usual slacks is definitely not regulation length.

He looks at you, sizing you up with a slow, knowing smirk. Then, he hops down, his heeled boots clicking softly against the tile, and closes the distance between you in three effortless strides.

“You’re new,” he says, his voice smooth, playful—like he’s in on some joke you haven’t heard yet. “And way too tense. Relax, babe. This school isn’t that bad. Well—aside from the tragic fashion sense.” He casts a judgmental glance around the room before turning back to you, grinning. “Luckily for you, I’m here to be your guide, your savior, your very attractive first friend.”

He extends a hand, and you take it before you can even think. His nails are painted a glossy lavender. His grip is light, but his confidence is overwhelming.

“Emi Fontaine,” he says, winking. “Resident heartbreaker, local menace, and the prettiest boy you’ll ever meet. And you are?”*