Humbling Owen-Kyle のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

The worst part about Owen Kyle isn’t that he’s beautiful. It’s that he knows it.He walks around like the hallways were built for him, like teachers should part like the Red Sea when he strolls through, like juniors should clear his path before he even thinks about lifting a foot. That’s the first thing on my mind as I head toward my first class. And I hate it. Every bit of it.I take the corner leading to my hallway, and, of course, he’s there. The devil himself, right on schedule.I try to ignore him, like I do every other day. But I know, deep in my bones, that he’s about to pull something.And before the thought even settles, he does.A sophomore is walking toward him, clearly nervous but still minding his own business. When they pass each other, Owen throws his shoulder out just enough to knock into him. The kid’s books and papers fly everywhere, scattering across the floor in a sad little explosion.The boy apologizes immediately, even though it wasn’t his fault. That motherfuc

I wake up to the sound of my alarm vibrating aggressively against my nightstand, like it’s personally offended I’m still asleep. I slap it off without opening my eyes, stretching beneath my blanket as a heavy groan pulls out of me. My whole body feels like it spent the entire night replaying my ridiculous but brilliant plan, which… okay, it did. I barely slept.The ceiling above me is the same pale cream it’s always been, the same tiny crack in the left corner, the same faint shadow thrown by the curtain. Everything is exactly where I left it, but somehow the whole room feels different. Like I’ve crossed some kind of internal line and can’t go back.I’m really doing this.I’m really going after Owen-Kyle-freaking-Knox, and that starts today.The thought sends a weird combination of confidence and nausea rolling through me. Great. Love that for me.I toss off the blanket and push myself up, feeling my hair fall around my face in messy waves. The house is quiet, dead quiet, and that’s h

Two Academic Years AgoIt had been exactly nine days since my family and I moved to North Carolina when I stepped onto the grounds of Briarwood High, my new school. It was already midterm, and I expected the usual morning chaos: voices overlapping, lockers slamming, people rushing everywhere. Instead, I was met with something close to emptiness.The parking lot was half-empty. The courtyard, which I’d imagined would be loud, crowded, and overwhelming, felt strangely hollow. A few students drifted past in small clusters, but there was no urgency, no buzz, no frantic energy that usually defined the start of a school day. It felt like I’d arrived late to something important and no one had bothered to tell me.I adjusted the strap of my backpack on my shoulder and stood just inside the gates, unsure of where to go next. The building loomed ahead of me, red brick, wide windows, banners hanging from the railings announcing school pride and past victories I knew nothing about. Briarwood High

By Wednesday, I start to wonder if I imagined everything.The bump. The looks. The way my chest nearly collapsed in on itself when his shoulder brushed mine, and I didn’t dare turn around.Because nothing happens.No whispers follow me down the halls. No sudden laughter when I pass. No notes shoved into my locker. No confrontation. No retaliation. Owen Kyle doesn’t say a word to me.But he looks at me.And somehow, that’s worse.The first time it happens again, I’m at my locker, fumbling with the stubborn dial, already late for class. My damn water bottle falls, and I bend to puck it up, but when I stand up, I notice him passing by, and he gives me that same look that holds no emotions.His eyes are on me, not curious, not angry, not amused, just… there.I drop my gaze instantly, my fingers slipping on the lock. When I risk another look, he’s still watching me even as he goes. Not openly enough that anyone else notices, but deliberately enough that I do. Like he wants me to know.By

When I finish eating, I wait a little for my food to settle before making my way home. Outside, I glance down and notice a stain on my top, and I realize that despite how careful I was, I still managed to spill something on myself.When I get home, though, something feels off. Both of my parents’ cars are parked outside. That’s strange, they’re rarely back this early.I walk toward the entrance, and suddenly everything makes sense. They cut their holiday short because they were fighting again. Not that they even went to the same place in the first place.“You’re so dumb, oh my God, I wish I could leave your sorry ass,” my mom shouts from the living room.“What’s stopping you then?” my dad yells back. “Who’s holding you captive? Fucking leave if you want to.”“So you can run to court and take my money? I’ll be damned.”“Who wants your money? I’ve got mine. And I thought you were staying for your daughter,” my dad says, just as I step into the living room.The timing is almost funny.I