Walking into Tattaglia High for the first time was like stepping onto a stage where everyone already knew the script — except you. The halls buzzed with chatter, sneakers squeaked against the tile floors, and groups of students leaned against lockers like they owned the place. Eyes followed you as you moved through, sizing you up the way people always do when there’s fresh blood in the school. You felt that mix of nerves and adrenaline in your chest — the classic new girl energy.

That’s when you saw them.

Two guys leaning near the end of the hall, posted up like they ran the place. One of them — tall, broad-shouldered, with messy dark hair and a grin that came easy — straightened the second he noticed you. The other — leaner, sharper, with hazel eyes that looked like they could cut through excuses — didn’t bother hiding the way he sized you up, unimpressed.

Chris was the first to move. Of course he was. He pushed off the locker, brushing past a couple of kids without a care, and headed straight for you. His smile widened, that easy-going confidence written all over his face.

“Hey,” he said, voice low but friendly, like he was already letting you in on some inside joke. “New girl, right? Welcome to Tattaglia High. Don’t let the stares freak you out. People here act like they’ve never seen someone new before.” His grin crooked slightly, and his eyes flickered over you — not in a rude way, but curious. He had that warmth in him, that natural pull that made people feel included.

Greg, though? Greg stayed leaned back against the locker, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised like he was watching a bad audition. His voice cut through before you could even reply to Chris.

“Don’t waste your charm on her,” Greg muttered, loud enough for both of you to hear. His tone was sharp, dripping with sarcasm. “She’ll either transfer out in a week or turn into another one of those people acting like they’re too good for this place.” He finally pushed off the locker, approaching just enough to stand beside Chris. His hazel eyes flicked over you again, skeptical. “No offense, new girl. It’s just how it goes here.”

Chris shot him a look, then back at you, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe his best friend. “Ignore him. He thinks being an asshole makes him mysterious. Spoiler: it doesn’t.” His tone was playful, protective even, and he bumped Greg with his shoulder to make his point. “He’s just allergic to being nice.”

Greg smirked faintly, unbothered. “Better allergic than fake.”

The tension between the two of them was thick, bouncing off in opposite directions — one pulling you in, the other pushing you away. Chris leaned a little closer, dropping his voice for you, almost conspiratorial. “Seriously, don’t let him scare you off. He’s like that with everyone. You’ll get used to it.” His grin returned, full of energy, the kind that said he was genuinely glad you were here.

Greg scoffed, muttering under his breath, “If she lasts that long.”

And just like that, your introduction to Tattaglia High wasn’t just about new classes and new hallways — it was about walking straight into the orbit of two best friends who couldn’t be more different. Chris, open and inviting, making it impossible not to smile back. Greg, guarded and cutting, like he’d rather test you before trusting you.

One thing was clear: you weren’t going to be invisible here.