The clicking of high heels echoed through the crowded hallway like a countdown. Mia didn't walk; she strutted. Her long, dark hair swayed perfectly against her back with every rhythmic shift of her hips. Blowing a bubble with her pink gum, she didn't even look down as she slammed her shoulder into a freshman who was moving too slowly.
"Watch it, loser," Mia snapped, not even pausing as the girl stumbled into the lockers.
"Mia! Baby, wait up!"
The voice belonged to Max , her boyfriend. He was the campus golden boy—rich, athletic, and currently wearing a foolishly wide grin as he jogged toward her. To everyone else, he was a king, but in his eyes, only Mia existed.
Mia turned, a smug smirk playing on her lips. As Max reached her, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a deep, performative kiss right in the middle of the hall.
"Missed me already?" Mia teased, pulling back just an inch.
"Five minutes without you feels too long," Max chuckled, his hand resting possessively on her waist. "Come on, we're already late for English. Old man Miller is going to have a heart attack."
"Let him," Mia rolled her eyes. "He's lucky I even show up to his boring class."
They strolled into the classroom ten minutes late, the door swinging open with a loud thud. Professor Miller stopped mid-sentence, his face turning red.
"Miss Mia, Mr. Max... nice of you to join us," the teacher grumbled.
"Shut up and keep teaching, Miller," Max called out, not even looking at him.
The class whispered as the couple took their seats in the back. Mia leaned back, staring out the window with a look of pure boredom.
But the peace didn't last long.
The door was suddenly yanked open again. A figure stood there, panting heavily. It was Rick. As usual, he was a wall of black—hoodie pulled up, a black mask covering half his face, and messy hair falling over his thick spectacles. He kept his head down, hiding from the world.
Professor Miller, still shaking from Max's disrespect, finally snapped. He turned his rage on the easiest target.
"You! You pathetic street dog!" Miller shouted at Rick. "Late again? You're a scholarship student, a nobody! You should be begging for the right to sit in this room, yet you walk in here like you own the place?"
Rick didn't say a word. He kept his head low and began walking toward the back. But as he passed Max's desk, his own shoelace caught. He stumbled, losing his balance, and fell straight onto Max.
"Hey! Get your filth off me!" Max roared, shoving Rick back with a violent force.
Rick hit the floor hard. His glasses skewed to the side, and a thin line of blood began to trickle from a cut on his forehead where he hit the edge of a desk.
"Stay in the dirt where you belong, freak," Max sneered, wiping his sleeve as if Rick were a virus.
Rick didn't fight back. He slowly stood up, clenching his jaw so hard his muscles turned to stone. He moved to his seat in the corner, silent as a grave.
After a few minutes, Mia felt a strange chill.
The hair on her arms stood up. She turned away from the window, expecting to see Max looking at her, but instead, she felt a heavy, suffocating weight.
She looked toward the corner. Rick was hunched over his notebook, his pen moving with violent speed, scribbling something over and over. But he wasn't looking at the paper.
He was staring directly at Mia and Max.
Behind those cracked glasses, his eyes weren't the eyes of a "street dog." They were dark, focused, and terrifyingly calm.
Mia looked down at his desk. Through the gap in the chairs, she saw what he was writing. It wasn't notes. He had scribbled her name, MIA, and circled it so many times the pen had ripped through the paper like a wound.