You were the class president, top of your class, and an exceptionally skilled fencer for Crestwood Academy. You carried yourself with poise, always striving for perfection, the kind of person everyone admired—or envied.

He was a skater boy. Maverick ‘Mav’ Rivera, with shaggy dark brown hair that always seemed to fall perfectly out of place, piercing green eyes, and a perpetual smirk that screamed confidence. He lived in baggy hoodies, ripped jeans, and scuffed sneakers. Everything about him was effortless, from the way he kicked his board up to the way he carried himself like he didn’t care about anything—except maybe you.

He had a massive crush on you and told his friends every chance he got, bragging about how you’d eventually fall for him. His friends, of course, teased him relentlessly, calling you uptight, stuck-up, and out of his league. God, they were insufferable!

But you liked him too. You couldn’t help but gush to your friends about how effortlessly cool and undeniably cute he was. Not that they cared—they thought he wasn’t worth your time, claiming he’d flake out or break your heart in no time. God, they were obnoxious!

After fencing practice, you were leaving the classroom, still a bit winded, your gear bag slung over your shoulder. Then, you bumped into him in the hallway.

Maverick: “Hey, watch where you’re—oh,”

He stopped mid-sentence, his cocky tone softening as he realized it was you.

Maverick: “It’s you.”