"Ah… the last year of high school," .
Ariana sighed dramatically, dragging her feet like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.
Her black backpack swung behind her, bouncing with every step.
Her silky slightly dark blonde hair, as rebellious as her mood, covered most of her face—like a moody goth star hiding from the spotlight.
She was walking calmly, humming a tune only she knew—probably a song about how she was too cool for school but secretly wishing she was somewhere else.
Her uniform was spotless—neatly ironed, crisp, and giving off serious "I-mean-business" vibes.
Black long-sleeve shirt, silky skirt—probably made of some fancy fabric that whispered luxury.
Meanwhile, from a distance, someone was revving up what sounded like a beast ready to break free from its cage.
The engine roared to life—VROOOM, VROOOM—loud enough to make her ears ring.
The rider, sitting confidently on his sleek bike, put on his helmet with a dramatic flourish—like he was about to star in his own superhero movie.
He squealed it once, then pressed the throttle, and the engine let out a deep, growling sound—RRRRRR, like a lion waking up from a nap.
He tested it again, giving it a little more gas—VROOOM—like he was saying, "Yeah, I am the king of the road."
Then, with a burst of speed that could make a cheetah jealous, he shot off—faster than Ariana could blink.
The motorcycle became a black streak in the distance, weaving through the street like a mischievous shadow.
Ariana, lost in her thoughts, didn't notice the impending danger until she heard the whooshing sound behind her.
She turned her head just in time to see the motorcycle hurtling toward her—at least, that's what it looked like.
Too late to run.
BANG!
Dust and gravel exploded into the air like a fireworks show gone wrong. The roaring engine echoed across the street, a thunderclap that made her flinch.
Dust filled her nose, making her cough like she'd just sniffed an entire bag of flour.
Ariana blinked, stunned, as she slowly lowered her hand from her face. Miraculously, she was perfectly fine.
The motorcycle had zoomed past her so fast, it probably didn't even notice she existed.
She looked around, blinking rapidly.
"Well, that was new," she muttered, brushing dust from her arms. "Who's that person? A new kind of speed demon?"
Curiosity piqued, she walked over to the motorcycle. The rider—who was now slowing down—climbed off with some serious swagger.
He looked like he was auditioning for a superhero movie, complete with a signature pose.
He removed his helmet with style—like he was in a music video. Jet-black hair with a streak of brown shimmered in the sunlight, giving him that "I woke up like this" look.
His deep blue eyes sparkled mischievously—so captivating she almost forgot to breathe.
His jawline was so sharp it could cut glass, and his skin looked so flawless she wondered if he'd just stepped out of a skincare ad.
He wore a sleek black suit—probably tailored at the finest boutique—paired with a white T-shirt that looked like it was borrowed from a fancy hotel.
The black trousers fit him like they were sprayed on, and a blue tie fluttered loosely around his neck, matching his mesmerizing eyes.
He looked down at Ariana with a cocky grin. "Are you blind? You could've been hit by my motorcycle."
Ariana's eyes widened. "Excuse me?! You zoomed past me like I was a speed bump! And who even are you? The Road Runner's evil twin?"
He smirked, a little too confident. "Madam, you were walking in the middle of the road. I was just cruising. I stopped. Don't blame me—blame your terrible sense of pedestrian skills."
She crossed her arms, glaring. "My 'terrible pedestrian skills'? You're the one who can't aim! Do you even have a license for that thing? Or do you just roar around town like a giant, angry cat?"
He chuckled softly, then exaggeratedly tipped his helmet back on his head. "I don't have time for this shit You're not worth my time. I'm going now."
He revved the engine—VROOOM—loud enough to make her ears ring again.
With a dramatic flick of his wrist, he shot forward, leaning into the turn like he was on a racetrack.
Almost bumping into her, the bike almost made her stumble backward. She took a step back, swatting her hair out of her eyes—again.
"Whoa! Easy there, Speed Racer!" she yelled, watching him disappear into the horizon with a trail of dust and gasoline fumes.
He didn't even bother to look back. Instead, he just yelled over his shoulder, "Next time, watch where you're walking—maybe wear a bright sign around your neck!"
Ariana shook her head, muttering to herself. "What a stupid boy… No manners, no respect for people—probably thinks he's the king of the world."
She brushed her hair back again, which immediately fell back into her eyes.
"Hmm… well, let's keep being happy anyway," she said with a chuckle, shaking her head at the motorcycle maniac.
As she continued walking, she couldn't help but wonder—was he always that dramatic, or was today just extra special?
----------
Ariana finally arrived at her school, a towering, impressive building that seemed to scrape the sky.
The school's facade was a gleaming mix of glass and stone, with ornate arches and tall, carved pillars that made it look like a palace of knowledge.
Banners fluttered in the breeze, proclaiming "Academy of Excellence and Extravaganza" in bold, glittering letters.
She paused for a moment, smiling softly to herself, then muttered, "Academy of Excellence and Extravaganza," with a hint of sarcasm and pride.
Striding confidently through the grand entrance, she headed straight to her classroom.
She pushed open the heavy wooden door, which creaked slightly—a classic school entrance sound. She made her way to her usual seat in the back row, a cozy little corner that was her sanctuary.
The seat was a two-person desk, but ever since her best friend left, nobody had sat near her. It was her quiet zone, a place to hide from the chaos.
She plopped down, sighing softly.
"Atlas… another boring first day of school, yay," she mumbled under her breath, voice low but filled with exaggerated boredom.
Soon, the lesson began. The classroom was filled with the sounds of rustling papers and the scratch of pens.
Ms. Penelope Posh, their teacher, cleared her throat—her voice crisp and refined, like she'd just stepped out of a fashion magazine.
"Guys," she announced, "we are having a new student. Please make him feel welcome."
Ariana instinctively adjusted her sitting position, curious to see who the new student was. Her jaw dropped immediately.
Standing at the front of the class, confidently holding his backpack, was none other than the motorcycle guy she met earlier that day—the one with the wild, rebellious attitude and that half-smile.
Some of the girls looked at him as if he were a celebrity, their eyes practically sparkling with admiration.
The boys, too, cast him glances of interest, though not quite as intensely as the girls.
But Ariana, trying desperately not to stare, quickly pulled her textbook up to hide her face.
"Oh my gosh… what is he doing here?" she whispered to herself, biting her lips nervously.
Ms. Posh's gentle voice broke her thoughts. "Go on. Sit at the empty seat beside Ariana."
Ariana's stomach sank. Her eyes widened in surprise.
"What?" she muttered, feeling her cheeks flush.
The boy nodded, as if he'd been waiting for her to say that, and made his way to her desk. Without a word, he sat down beside her, his backpack resting on the floor.
Ariana tried not to look awkward—her heart pounding, her mind racing.
The lesson resumed, but Ariana's mind was elsewhere, wondering what it meant that the motorcycle guy was now her classmate. No no worse her seatmate.