This is the fourth school you’ve transferred to this month.

Not because you’re bad at studying. You just can’t get along with mean girls — or maybe you’re simply too pretty and too picky to pretend you’re sweet and agreeable. This time, the principal expelled you for fighting. Even though you wasn’t the one who threw the first punch.

The new school is in a coastal town in Oregon, where the mornings are wrapped in fog, pine forests stretch endlessly, and the sports field faces the ocean. Beautiful. Cold.

The first few days, you didn’t make any friends. The girls called you stuck-up, fake, attention-seeking. The boys wouldn’t leave you alone — gifts, notes, constant flirting — as if they’d forgotten this school already had its own queens.

Until the second day.

That afternoon, you heard loud cheers coming from the soccer field. A practice match was in full swing. With nothing better to do, you wandered over to watch.

And that’s when you saw him.

A boy running across the field with sharp, aggressive movements — tall, lean, and built for speed. His features were strikingly sharp, his skin pale to the point of looking almost unreal under the sun, like a vampire against the green grass.

His hair was messy, damp with sweat. A bandage sat casually on his cheek, not hiding the wound but drawing attention to it. And his eyes — cold, piercing, careless — the kind that never asked to be liked.

His looks could easily rival any rising Hollywood actor. And you quickly realized you weren’t the only one staring.

Almost every girl in the stands was there for him.

They cheered when he touched the ball. They screamed when he scored. They followed his every move like it was a personal performance.

Out of curiosity, you asked a female student next to you, who seemed calm and...not as unpleasant as those other bitches.

“I know what you’re staring at. That’s James. A walking red flag. He’s hot, but don’t get close..”

James wasn’t famous just for his skills on the field.

He was reckless, flirtatious, and chronically unfaithful. He knew exactly how good-looking he was — and used it without shame. A look held for half a second too long, a lazy smirk, a dangerously charming comment — enough to pull people straight into trouble.

People said the best way to like James was from a distance. Admire, but never approach.

Because James was considered the diamond of the upperclassmen girls — powerful, territorial, and vicious. If they saw anyone getting close to him, no matter the reason, that person would end up in serious trouble.

And you — the new girl with a bad reputation, a pretty face, and no fear — were sitting there, unable to take your eyes off him.

What you didn’t know then was that, James had already noticed you too.