Walk like fire

I didn’t expect the crowd outside Crestwood’s gym to fall silent when I walked past, but they did. I heard a can drop. Shoes scuffed the tile floor as necks turned and eyes locked on me — not with mockery this time, but something far more dangerous: curiosity.

“Nova… you look like someone who eats heartbreak for breakfast,” Talia muttered beside me, her voice a mix of admiration and disbelief. She nudged me with her elbow, flashing a grin. “He’s staring.”

I didn’t need her to say who.

Jace.

He stood near the vending machine, flanked by two basketball teammates, trying too hard to look indifferent. His dark hair was buzzed shorter than I remembered, but the same cocky confidence clung to him — until our eyes met. His grip tightened around a soda can, jaw twitching slightly.

It was petty, but I smiled. Not for him. For me.

I tugged at the hem of my new denim jacket — cropped, cinched at the waist — a far cry from the oversized hoodies I used to hide behind. My wavy brown hair, now cut to shoulder-length layers, bounced with every step. I wasn’t skinny — still soft in all the places people called “wrong” — but I carried myself like it didn’t matter anymore.

It didn’t. At least, that’s what I told myself.

We moved through the crowd, past stares and whispers, toward the double doors of the gym — until I heard him.

“Nova.”

Just my name. But the weight in his voice stopped me mid-step.

I turned.

Jace — 6’1”, built like he’d spent the summer lifting weights instead of emotions — stepped forward. His olive skin was tanned deeper now, brows furrowed like he was struggling to say what he should’ve said months ago.

“You look… different.”

“So do you,” I replied evenly, then tipped my head. “But not where it counts.”

Talia grabbed my hand and pulled me forward. “We’re late for the welcome meeting,” she hissed.

“I’m not done,” Jace called, but I didn’t turn back.

Not this time.

***

The school auditorium felt like a furnace of tension. Fresh coats of paint and new banners couldn’t cover up the years of teenage chaos soaked into the seats. I took the one farthest from the stage. Talia sat to my left, stretching her legs with her usual lazy elegance.

“I give him three days before he starts following you around like a stray puppy,” she whispered, nodding toward the door.

I rolled my eyes. “He had his chance.”

“I’m not talking about Jace.”

I blinked. “Then who—?”

Just then, a sharp laugh sliced through the air.

A boy strode into the auditorium with the kind of presence that sucked all the air out of the room. He didn’t walk — he prowled. Confident, relaxed, predatory. He wore a charcoal leather jacket over a white tee, jeans that hung low on lean hips, and black combat boots that somehow made no sound.

His skin was a warm bronze tone, smooth like he belonged on magazine covers. Tousled black hair flopped carelessly over his forehead. He had a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and — when he glanced my way — golden eyes that gleamed like wildfire.

It was him.

The stranger from that night.

He didn’t sit with the others. Instead, he leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, scanning the room like he already owned it. Like he was sizing up everyone and finding them boring.

Except me.

For a flicker of a second, those eyes met mine. My breath caught.

He smirked.

Then he looked away.

"I know who he is," Talia whispered, suddenly tense. "And Nova... you should stay far away from Ryder Black."

I glanced back at him.

He was still watching me-like he already knew something I didn't.

And that smirk? It didn't say hello.

It said game on.