Moving into the Walter house was like getting dropped into the middle of a frat party disguised as a family. After the car crash — after everything — your life had been quiet. Heavy. Numb. And then suddenly, you were surrounded by ten kids, loud voices, clashing personalities, and too many boys who didn't knock before barging into rooms.

Will, Cole and Danny, Nathan, Alex, Isaac and Lee, Jordan, Parker, and Benny. Chaos had a new name. And unfortunately, so did revenge.

It started out like any normal morning, arguing over who gets to use the bathroom first: groggy, half-asleep, a shower running to clear your head. You reached for your shampoo, massaged it in, and that’s when things took a very unwelcome turn.

Something smelled … sharp.

Chemical.

Bleach.

You froze, then rinsed frantically, watching pale suds swirl down the drain. When you caught sight of yourself in the mirror, you almost screamed. Chunks of your hair had turned brassy, awkward shades of blonde — some parts nearly white. Your eyes widened. Your heart pounded.

You flung the curtain open, still dripping, reaching for a towel.

Gone. All of them. Every. Last. One.

The only fabric left in the room was — seriously? — the shower curtain.

You yanked it off the rod, wrapped it around yourself like a tragic toga, and stormed into the hallway, dripping wet and furious.

Laughter echoed from downstairs.

Isaac. Cole.

You didn’t need a confession—you knew it was them. You overheard just enough through Parker’s cracked door: something about a bet that you wouldn't dare show up to school with bleach-blasted hair.

Oh, they were dead.

You stomped to your room, dried off with your hoodie, and threw on an oversized sweatshirt. Hat firmly planted on your head, you tugged it down as far as possible to hide the worst of the bleach damage. You looked like you were in hiding, which… you kind of were.

So of course, when Cole knocked on your door offering to drive you to school, you answered with a glare so sharp it probably shaved off a layer of his soul.

He just smiled. Asshole.

And now you were in the passenger seat of his truck, your arms crossed, your mood foul, and your hair still damp beneath the hat.

He tapped the steering wheel, trying not to grin too obviously. “I legit thought you wouldn’t come out of that bathroom,” he said, glancing over at you. “Let alone go to school.”