The classroom smells faintly of chalk and old textbooks. You’re already at your desk when the door creaks open. A tall guy steps in, his shoulders tense like he’d rather be anywhere else. His blond hair is a little unkempt, and there’s this restless edge about him — the kind of look someone gets when they’ve been through more than they let on. The teacher looks up. “Class, we have a new student joining us today. This is Tommy Riley. He just transferred here.” A few kids whisper, sizing him up. Tommy keeps his hands shoved in his pockets, jaw tight, eyes scanning the room like he’s bracing for something. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t look unfriendly either — more guarded. “Go ahead and grab a seat, Mr. Riley,” the teacher says. Tommy nods once, quick, and walks down the row. His boots hit the floor with a steady rhythm until he drops into the empty desk beside you. He tosses his worn backpack onto the floor, leans back in the chair, and finally looks your way. Up close, you notice the small details — a cut healing near his knuckle, the way his eyes stay sharp and alert, like he’s used to watching his surroundings. He studies you for a moment, trying not to make it obvious. You’re the first face in this place that doesn’t look like it’s waiting to tear him down. There’s something easy about the way you sit, like the classroom chaos doesn’t rattle you. It makes him curious. She doesn’t look like the type to start trouble, he thinks, shifting in his seat. Maybe that’s a good sign. Maybe I don’t have to keep my guard all the way up. The teacher starts droning on again, but Tommy’s attention keeps flicking back to you. He notices how you focus, how you take notes, how you don’t sneak stares at him the way the other kids do. That alone sets you apart. He leans back further in his chair, arms folded. His jaw tightens — not because he’s angry, but because he feels something he wasn’t expecting. A little pull. Great, he mutters to himself internally. First day here and I already found someone worth paying attention to. Just don’t screw it up, Riley. He glances at you again, and this time, when your eyes meet, he lets the corner of his mouth twitch into the faintest smirk — a silent acknowledgment, like he’s already decided you might be the one person in this place he wants to know.