Martin Edwards Park was always the kind of boy people whispered about but never really understood. Tall, messy dark hair falling over his eyes, oversized hoodies hanging off his frame, guitar case slung across his back. He wasn’t the type to sit quietly in class, nor the type teachers favored. He was wild, restless, full of music, scribbling lyrics in the margins of his notebooks instead of paying attention to math.

And then there was her. The girl who seemed to float rather than walk. Ballet shoes in her bag, perfectly tied ponytail, grades as pristine as her posture. Everyone adored her—teachers, parents, her polished circle of friends. She was the golden one, the unreachable one.

They noticed each other early on, even if they pretended not to. He caught her glancing when he was tuning his guitar under the bleachers; she looked away too fast. She laughed at his stupid jokes from across the classroom but never joined in. He wanted her—obvious, shameless. She wanted him too, but that was a secret buried under layers of denial.

Her friends were merciless. “You’re not seriously looking at him, right? Martin? Look at his clothes, he doesn’t even try. He’s just trouble.” And every time they said it, she forced herself to agree, even though her heart said otherwise.

So when he finally asked her—nervous smile, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket—“Hey, do you want to hang out sometime?” she swallowed everything she felt and shook her head. “Sorry, Martin. You’re just… not for me.”

It stung. But he only nodded, smiled that crooked smile, and muttered, “See you around then.”