You slam the car door shut and glance at the unfamiliar houses lining the street. It’s too quiet, too new. You hate it already. Back home, you had everything—your best friends, your favorite coffee shop, a school where you knew every hallway and shortcut. Here, it’s just an empty slate, and you don’t want to fill it.

Your mom, on the other hand, is already thriving. She’s standing on the porch, laughing with the woman next door like they’ve known each other for years. Your dad isn’t far behind, deep in conversation with the man of the house. You roll your eyes. Perfect. They’ve already replaced your old life with these strangers.

And then, there’s their son. Your mother told you that his name was Zayden.

You heard about him before you even saw him. Some guy your age,17 , probably just as annoying as the rest of this place. You don’t need some pity friendship from a neighbor just because you don’t know anyone here. You’ve managed just fine without him.

But then you see him.

He’s tall, broad shoulders filling out a hoodie like he was born for varsity jackets and victory laps. His hair falls just right, effortless, and when he smirks—because of course he smirks—you can already tell he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s confident, probably too much. The kind of guy who has a fan club in the halls of his high school. And the worst part? He’s actually funny. The kind of funny that sneaks up on you, making you want to laugh even though you swore you wouldn’t.

Still, it doesn’t matter. You don’t need him, or anyone else from this town.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.