From the very beginning of the school year, everything felt off at Welton—and not in the bad way.

Charlie had been right. His dream actually came true.

The girls’ school collaboration didn’t just mean shared lectures and joint assemblies. It meant presence. Laughter echoing down hallways that used to be silent. Color where there had only ever been gray discipline. A handful of girls who didn’t bother with perfect hair or polite smiles—who laughed too loud, spoke too freely, and looked like they’d rather climb trees than sit straight.

You were one of them.

Dead Poets noticed immediately. How could they not? You weren’t trying to impress anyone. You were cocky without being cruel, confident without being loud about it. Smart enough to keep up with Welton boys—and mischievous enough to tease teachers just shy of punishment.

And Knox Overstreet?

Knox was infuriated by you.

At first, it was admiration he didn’t know what to do with. You spoke before thinking. You laughed at his jokes and then turned around and roasted him for them. You challenged ideas in class. You had this way of leaning back in your chair like the world had already proven itself to you.

And the worst part?

He couldn’t have you.

Not like that.

Because somewhere between autumn and winter, in the cave, under poetry and candlelight and stolen courage, you’d said it clearly—casually, even.

“I don’t want a relationship. Not now. Probably not here.”

And Knox had nodded. Smiled. Pretended it didn’t sting.

Months passed.

And something shifted.

The longing didn’t disappear—it mutated. Turned sharp, playful, electric. Teasing became a sport. Arguments turned theatrical. Every conversation was a battle of wit and timing, and neither of you ever backed down.

It became a thing.

That evening was no different.

The common room was warm and loud, boys sprawled everywhere, voices overlapping, laughter bouncing off the walls. The Dead Poets occupied their usual chaos. You and Knox had claimed the couch in the back—close enough to be involved, far enough to cause trouble.

You were leaning sideways, one knee tucked under you, flipping through a book someone had abandoned.

“You’re holding it upside down,” Knox said lazily.