Kieran's Point of View
"Hey, hey, did you hear? There's a new girl in our section. She just transferred," Jennie's voice sliced through the lazy hum of conversation like a cold blade. She dropped into her seat like a storm rolling in—no subtlety, no grace, just chaos wrapped in a plaid skirt and drama.
The reactions came fast. And acidic.
"Great. Another new face to ignore. Can't wait for her to drop out by Friday," Bryce muttered, arms crossed, already bored by the idea of her.
"I bet she'll leave this section in a week," Liam added, barely glancing up from his book. "They always do."
"What a mess," Chase groaned, tossing his pen onto the desk. "Why do they keep sending their rejects here?"
I didn't say a word.
I sat alone, where I always did—back corner, left side. My spot. My silence. My rules. The chair creaked slightly as I leaned back, hands folded in my lap, eyes fixed on nothing and everything all at once.
I didn't blink. Didn't breathe heavy. Just listened. Watched.
It was always the same—this circus of masks and mirrors. Same voices. Same venom. They fed on weakness like it was oxygen. And now, a new target was walking straight into the lion's den.
The rest of the class spiraled into a quiet riot of eye-rolls and whispered takedowns. The elite didn't like surprises. Especially the uninvited kind.
Jennie turned toward me. I could feel her gaze before she spoke—sharp, curious, and dripping with that same need for chaos she always carried. "You're quiet, Kieran. What's your plan about that girl?"
My eyes didn't move. My voice came out flat, dull like a blade worn down from too many cuts. "She'll leave the section soon."
Jennie raised a brow, leaning in. "And if she doesn't?"
That got my attention. I turned my head slowly to meet her eyes. My voice dropped low. Cold.
"Then I'll make her wish she was never transferred here."
I stood. The chair scraped against the floor with a screech that turned a few heads. Didn't matter. I walked out before I could say something worse. Before I told her how much I hated new beginnings, new faces, new problems.
I didn't stop walking until the hallway noise disappeared behind me.
Up the old staircase, paint chipped and creaking under every step, I made my way to the forgotten part of the building—Section D. No one came here unless they were hiding, skipping, or breaking down.
Perfect.
I pushed open a classroom door—long abandoned, sun cutting through dusty windows, chairs left scattered like ghosts of students past. It had a weird peace to it. A kind of silence even time respected.
I dragged a chair to the corner, turned it backward, rested my arms on it, and dropped my head.
For once, silence wasn't empty. It was calm. Full. Heavy in the right way.
I must've lost track of time because the bell rang like a gunshot. Peace gone. Reality, back.
I stood, pushed the chair back where it came from, and walked out.
I returned to class like nothing happened. No one said anything—they knew better. I dropped into my seat and leaned back against the cold metal frame.
Everyone was pulling out their books like they were about to unlock the universe. Heads down. Highlighters out.
Acting.
Because this is Section D. No one here studies. We already know the answers—or we cheat, steal, or flirt our way into them. This class runs on secrets, status, and survival.
So, we all pretend.
Then Mr. Halden walked in—sleeves rolled, glasses slipping low on his nose, the kind of tired that comes from giving a damn too many times.
"Morning, students," he said, placing his folder down with a soft thud.
Mr. Halden wasn't like the others. He didn't treat us like lost causes. He saw the monsters we were becoming and still believed we could be more. Sometimes I hated him for that. Because caring in this place? It's a weakness.
And then the door creaked open again.
We all looked at the same time.
And there she was.
The new girl. Or maybe… the problem.
She stood in the doorway like she wasn't sure whether to walk in or run. Like she already regretted transferring.
Mr. Halden looked up, smiling warmly. "You must be Jean. Come in."
That's when it started.
The whispers. The judging. The silent war.
Eyes followed her like she was walking through a minefield. One wrong step, and boom—social suicide.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________
Jean's Point of View
The second I stepped through that door, the air changed.
Not dramatic. No gasps. No fainting. But real. Like the oxygen had shifted—colder, heavier.
Dozens of eyes tracked me like I was some kind of glitch in the system.
I felt it. The judgment. The tension. Like I was walking across a tightrope held up by knives. One wrong word and I'd fall.
But I kept moving. Not right. Not wrong. Just… forward. Like I've always done.
Then a voice—calm, steady. The teacher. "You must be Jean. Come in."
I walked in and stood beside him. Not sitting. Not blending in. Just… standing. Like I had a reason to stay where I was.
He turned to the class—all of them staring like I was an alien. Most of them were boys, slouched like kings on thrones. Only one girl, arms crossed, eyes like daggers.
"Section D, this is Ms. Harrington—your new classmate."
Alien. That's what I felt like. Transfer slip in hand, name none of them knew. Perfect.
No claps. No hellos. Just silence that sounded a lot like, "You don't belong."
I kept my face still. Expression neutral. Voice steady.
"Hi. I'm Jean Harrington. Just transferred here. I… look forward to getting to know all of you. "I gave a nod, formal, respectful.
And I stayed standing. Right there. Next to the teacher. Like I wasn't afraid of being seen. Like I wanted them to look.
Mr. Halden turned to the class again, his tone cool but open. "Any questions for Ms. Harrington?"
Silence.
Then came him.
A chair scraped back. A boy stood up, all nonchalance and shadows. Jacket slouched half-off his shoulder, like wearing it properly would cost him something. His gaze? Calculating. His smirk? Trouble.
"So, what made you land in Section D?" he asked. "Bad grades or bad behavior?"
The class snickered. He was baiting me.
I didn't blink. Didn't flinch.
I smiled just slightly. "Neither. I'm here to clean up the trash that got too comfortable."
BOOM.
The class exploded. Chairs creaked. Someone slapped a desk. Whistles. Hollers. Chaos.
The boy's brow ticked upward. He sat. But that look? Still aimed at me. Laser-sharp. Like he was sizing me up for a rematch already.
"Confident for someone who just walked in," he said. "Let's see how long that lasts."
I laced my fingers behind my back, still beside the teacher, still not moving.
"I'd be worried too if I were you," I said. "Loud ones always fall first."
"OHHHHHH!"
Even the teacher blinked at that one.
"You talk like you know us," the boy said, voice cool but colder now.
"I talk like I've dealt with better," I answered. Tired. Disgusted. Done.
The smirks faded. His jaw tightened.
He leaned forward slightly. "Keep that mouth running, and you'll make more enemies than friends."
"Good," I said, dead calm. "Friends slow you down."
"Enough!"
Mr. Halden's voice cracked through the tension like thunder. He stepped forward, face stern, eyes flicking between us like he was trying to contain a wildfire with duct tape. "That's enough, both of you. This is a classroom, not a stage. Mr. Kensington — sit down and stay down. Ms. Harrington — that'll be all."
Kensington. My breath caught.
Kieran Kensington.
Of course. Of all people, it had to be him. That face. That name. That storm.
So this was the boy.
The one I came here for. The one I wasn't supposed to find like this. But fate doesn't ask for permission — it just laughs in your face.
I didn't move. I didn't blink. I just stood there beside the teacher, every nerve suddenly alive and screaming.
Well then, Kieran. Let the games begin.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________
Kieran's Point of View
Mr. Halden glanced up from his desk, his usual calm demeanor still intact. "Jean, you'll need to head to the office to fill out some paperwork for your transfer. Go ahead and take care of that now, alright?"
Jean gave a slight nod, the same unreadable expression on her face. She stood there for a moment, waiting, and I couldn't help but notice how she just... didn't give a shit. She was calm, unaffected by the chaos around her, like she belonged here already.
"Whatever," I muttered under my breath, leaning back in my chair, eyes still locked on her.
But something about the way she carried herself tugged at me. It was like I'd seen her before.
That look she gave me when she left? I couldn't shake it. I knew her. I fucking knew her.
Where? When?
I felt this weird itch in my brain. Like she was some ghost from my past, one that I'd erased on purpose. But the feeling... the vibe she had? It was familiar. Too familiar.
She wasn't just some random new kid. Nah, she was someone I should've known. Hell, maybe I did know her once upon a time.
I scratched at the back of my neck, my thoughts all over the place, but nothing made sense. The room around me didn't even matter at that point—just this nagging feeling that I'd crossed paths with her somewhere before.
Then she glanced at me again—just a flash of eye contact before she left the room—and that was enough. The look she gave me? Like she knew something about me. Like we'd been in the same shit together before.
I bit my lip and tried to focus. Was I losing it? Or was she some kind of ghost from a past I didn't want to remember? Fuck if I knew. But I was going to find out. Somehow.
Who the hell is she?
Who she was, where I knew her from—it didn't matter. Not really. What mattered was the way everything around her shifted when she walked in. The way people noticed her. The way I noticed her.
And I didn't like that.
She was a problem. A ripple in calm water. And I've worked too damn hard to keep this place exactly the way I want it—quiet, predictable, under control. I don't do disruption. I hate chaos. And Jean? She was both, wrapped in a calm face and a smart mouth.
So no. I wasn't going to waste time digging through old memories like some lovesick idiot.
She needed to go.
And if no one else was going to make that happen, fine. I would.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the empty doorway like I could burn a plan into the air.
If she was going to stay, she'd ruin everything. So I'd make her want to leave. Isolate her. Make her uncomfortable. Turn the whole damn school against her if I had to.
I've done worse.
No guilt. No second thoughts.
This wasn't personal.
It was survival.
Three damn periods passed. Still no sign of her. Good.
Then Jennie plopped down next to me like she owned the air I was breathing.
Fuck
____________________________________________________________________________________________________
Jennie's Point of View
I noticed Kieran acting off. His usual cocky, untouchable vibe was gone, replaced with a tense restlessness I couldn't ignore. He kept staring at the door like he was waiting for someone, or maybe hoping no one would walk through it. It wasn't like him to give a damn about who came and went.
I nudged him with my elbow, leaning in slightly to catch his attention. "You've been acting weird," I said, keeping my voice sharp enough to cut through whatever was messing with his head. "What's going on with you?"
He didn't answer at first, just sat there, eyes fixed on the front of the room, pretending like the walls might tell him what was wrong.
Then, finally, he muttered something under his breath. "I've seen her before," he said, his voice low and uncertain. "Or someone like her. I don't fucking know."
I tilted my head, studying him closely. I could tell he wasn't lying, but I also knew he wasn't about to spill the full story. "You sure?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "You don't usually forget a face."
His eyes flickered toward me for a moment, and I saw the familiar frustration in his gaze. "Exactly," he muttered, like the thought was bothering him as much as it was me.
I didn't push any further. I knew better than to try and get into his head when he was like this. But whatever was bugging him, it wasn't going away anytime soon.
I was about to say something else, but then my phone buzzed in my pocket, breaking the moment.
I pulled it out quickly, glancing at the screen. A message.
📩
From: J
Message : We need to talk. Meet me on the 2nd floor. Now.
"Shit," I muttered under my breath.
Kieran didn't seem to notice, lost in whatever was still turning in his head.
I swallowed hard, stuffing the phone back into my pocket, feeling a wave of tension creep up my spine.
I glanced at Kieran again, and his eyes were still distant, still locked on the door, like he was waiting for something—or someone—to walk in. It was all I could do to keep the calm, cool face I always wore.
"I gotta go," I said, standing up quickly, not giving him a chance to dwell on whatever was going on in that messed-up head of his. I needed to get out of here. "Listen," I added, trying to soften my tone, even though I could feel the nervousness creeping in. "You're just overthinking it. The new girl probably just reminds you of someone from before, that's all."
But even I wasn't buying that. Something was off. Kieran wasn't the type to get hung up on things, especially not over some new girl. But he didn't need to know that. Not yet.
I hurried up the stairs, my footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. The second floor was always quieter, more isolated. It had the kind of silence that made you feel like you were about to uncover something you weren't supposed to know.
When I reached the top, I spotted her—Jean, the new girl. Yes, she.
Jean was already there, like she'd been waiting hours instead of minutes. Calm as hell, as usual, but her eyes said otherwise.
"Fuck, you are late." she said and didn't wait for me to say a single word. "Does he remember?" she asked, straight to the point.
I shook my head slowly. "Not really. Just... flashes. Like déjà vu that won't leave him alone."
Jean swore under her breath, barely loud enough to catch. "Fuck. It's too early."
"He's not connecting dots yet. He just knows your face messes with his head." I shrugged. "Can't blame him."
She looked away, jaw tight, like she was already calculating the next hundred steps. "Once it all clicks into place... everything changes."
And she was right.
Jean's voice dropped, eyes flicking toward the stairwell like someone might be listening. "All four of us were chosen for a reason. We play our parts, or everything falls."
I nodded.
Jean's eyes hadn't moved from the stairwell, like she was expecting Kieran to show up any second and blow everything sky-high.
I watched her a beat longer before asking, quietly, "When are we gonna tell him?"
She didn't answer at first. Just exhaled through her nose like she'd been holding that question in her chest for too damn long.
"After he turns eighteen," she said finally. "And only when he's ready. Not a minute before."
"Jean…" I started, but she cut me off.
"I know," she said. "I want to tell him too. But if we do it too early—if we rush it—he'll walk away. Or worse."
The air between us hung heavy with silence for a second. Then Jean squared her shoulders, voice turning cold.
"Until then… you need to act like you don't know me."
"What?" I blinked, frowning. "Why the hell would I—?"
"Because if he sees us getting along, he'll start asking questions. Questions we can't answer yet." Her tone didn't waver. "You're the only one he trusts. If you get close to me now, it'll mess with his head."
I didn't like it. At all. But I understood.
"Fine," I muttered. "But I'm not calling you a bitch in public to show like l don't know you."
Jean smirked. "That's cute. You think I care what you call me."
I rolled my eyes, already turning back toward the stairs. "You better be right about this."
"I am," she said. And I almost believed her.
It was just getting started.