Kara creaked open the wooden classroom door with more force than necessary, the hinges whining in protest—an annoyed, rusty shriek that matched her mood perfectly. A few heads turned. She didn't look at them.
The science classroom was exactly how she remembered it: sterile, overly organized, and suffocatingly neat. Island tables were positioned in precise rows, spaced evenly like soldiers awaiting inspection. Not a single chair out of place. Not a single flaw. It made her mood shine just an inch more.
The teacher glanced up from her desk, confusion knitting her brows together as her eyes landed on Kara—slow, scrutinizing, impersonal. As if Kara hadn't been sitting in this very room for the past three months. As if she were a stranger who had wandered in off the street.
The woman tilted her head slightly.
"Say… are you in the wrong class, child?"
The words landed heavier than they should have.
Kara stopped just inside the doorway. Her jaw tightened. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her gaze to meet the teacher's. Her expression flattened into something empty—something carefully neutral.
"Yes," she said quietly. "My name is Kara…"
The word barely left her lips. A whisper. Thin. Fragile. It dissolved into the air before it could fully exist.
The teacher blinked. Leaned forward.
"Ah—yes! Of course, of course!" she exclaimed suddenly, nodding far too enthusiastically. A nervous laugh followed, high-pitched and fake, desperately trying to bury the fact that she had forgotten one of her own students existed. "You may sit… wherever you, uh… sit… usually."
Her voice cracked halfway through the sentence. She squinted at Kara like a toddler caught misbehaving, as if Kara were the one at fault here.
Kara rolled her eyes—dull, practiced, automatic.
Without a word, she moved.
She crossed the room with her head down, boots quiet against the linoleum, and slid into the back corner of the classroom. Her corner. The place where the walls met and people forgot you if you stayed still enough. She dropped her ripped black backpack beside her chair and sank into her seat, folding into herself like a shadow stitched to the wall.
Invisible. As always.
The teacher clapped her hands once, too loud, too cheerful.
"Alright, class! Today we'll be starting our chemistry project."
Kara barely reacted. Projects meant worksheets. Worksheets meant silence. Silence meant safety.
Then the teacher smiled.
A slow, innocent smile.
"And to make things a bit more… interesting," she continued, "I've decided to assign partners."
Kara's fingers curled around the edge of her desk.
"I'll be pairing a boy and a girl together."
The room buzzed instantly—whispers, laughter, chairs scraping. Kara didn't hear any of it.
Her pulse slammed into her ears.
No.
No, no, no.
Kara never worked with partners. She never spoke unless she had to. Never made eye contact unless forced. There had never been a partnered project in her entire academic existence.
And a boy?
Her chest tightened. Her breath stuttered. Heat crawled up her spine as sweat began to soak into the collar of her shirt. Her vision blurred at the edges, the room tilting slightly like it might swallow her whole.
Too close.
Too loud.
Too much.
She couldn't breathe.
Didn't want to.
Her nails dug into her palm, grounding herself just as the sound of her name sliced through the chaos.
"Kara!"
Her head snapped up.
Oh shit.
Here it comes.
My death sentence.
"Kara, you are with—" The teacher paused, scanning her clipboard. "Ah! You are with Adam."
The name hit her like a slap.
The teacher pointed.
And Kara froze.
Her eyes locked onto him.
Her stomach dropped.
No.
No fucking way.
Her face twisted into a scowl as recognition slammed into her like déjà vu soaked in rage. Her nose scrunched instinctively, still faintly red, still faintly bruised.
That's him.
The bastard.
The same idiot who had thrown that missile of a football like he was auditioning for the NFL. The same football that had smashed directly into her face. The same football that sent her sprawling onto the floor, nose bleeding, vision spinning—dragged to the infirmary, humiliated, late to class.
And now—
I have to do a science project with THAT guy?
Her jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
Across the room, Adam glanced back at her, confused, curious, completely unaware of the war declaration blazing behind her eyes.
Another strip of Kara's routine was torn away—ripped clean from her hands like it meant nothing. Another carefully controlled piece of her life disrupted.
She leaned back in her chair, heart pounding, breath uneven.
Great.
Just great.