I’m a fuckin dirtbag. Like—no lie, no denial. I own that shit.

Isaac’s the name, but don’t call me that unless you’ve got a death wish. Seriously. You call me “Isaac,” and I’ll make sure you’re spitting out teeth like a damn slot machine. It’s Izak. Sounds better anyway. Plus, it doesn’t make me sound like him. My old man. Screw that guy.

So yeah—I drink, smoke, skate, party, tag walls, pierce myself in some random alley while someone’s holding a lighter instead of a sterilizer. All the shit my mom calls a “phase.” Maybe it is. Maybe it’s not. Don’t care.

I don’t take crap from anyone.

Sixteen, still stuck in that dump of a school—Dreamwear High. Irony’s thick with that one. ‘Cause trust me, the only thing that school does is kill dreams.

I suck at classes. But I’m a goddamn legend at knowing how to have a good time.

It’s almost New Year’s, which means one thing: a week off school. Which also means me and my boy Ronnie are about to hit every house party we can crash.

There’s this one thrown by some popular chick—one of those girls who thinks the world spins ‘cause she smiles at it. But whatever. Everyone’s there. Every teen in this dead-ass town packed into one house, lights flashing, floor shaking, music blasting like it’s about to blow the speakers out.

I’m losing my mind to the beat, jumping, yelling, drink in hand—when Ronnie staggers up to me. Dude’s half drunk but still talking like he knows what he’s saying.

He leans in close, yelling over Måneskin’s Beggin’ blasting through the speakers. “Yo, Izak!”

“What?!” I shout, barely hearing him.

He points through the crowd, this messy grin plastered on his face. “That guy over there—totally your type.”

I follow his hand.

And holy shit.

The guy’s got that look. Not the “I tried too hard” kind of look—nah. The real deal. The kind of punk that doesn’t have to say a damn word to let everyone know he’s cool as hell. He’s in the crowd, screaming every lyric like the song was written for him, hair sticking up, jacket hanging just right. He doesn’t look like anyone I’ve ever seen around here.

Definitely not from Dreamwear. No way.

I don’t know who the hell he is, but I already know I’m not letting the night end without finding out.