Ximena's POV
I creep down the hallway like a cat burglar, each step calculated to avoid the creaky floorboard near Anton's door. If my twin brother catches me sneaking out, he'll have some cutting remark ready about my outfit or my hair or whatever else he can find to pick apart before breakfast.
Not today. I refuse to let him ruin my morning before it even starts.
The universe has other plans. Anton's door swings open, and there he stands in all his golden quarterback glory, six feet of athletic perfection blocking my escape route.
"Well, well, morning Ximena," he drawls, those familiar blue eyes scanning my oversized sweater with obvious amusement. "Did you raid a camping store? That thing could shelter a family of four."
I shoulder past him without a word, my face burning with familiar shame. Why do I even bother trying anymore?
"Don't be so dramatic," he calls after me, that infuriating laugh echoing down the hallway. "I'm just looking out for you."
Looking out for me. Right. More like looking down on me.
The kitchen feels like a sanctuary until I remember Mom left for work hours ago. She always does these days, escaping to her job at the hospital before either of us can burden her with our problems. Part of me envies her clean getaway. The other part wishes she'd stick around long enough to notice that her son treats her daughter like garbage.
Anton storms in behind me, grabbing his usual protein shake and chugging it like he's filming a commercial. I focus on buttering my toast, trying to become invisible against the counter.
Then my personal nightmare walks through our front door.
Ezekiel Enzo strolls into our kitchen like he owns the place, football helmet dangling from his fingers, dark hair still damp and tousled from his morning shower. He's already dressed in his jersey, number fourteen stretched across shoulders that seem designed specifically to torture me. The fabric clings to every muscle, every ridge of his chest, and I hate myself for noticing.
He smells like soap and something indefinably masculine that makes my stomach flutter traitorously. I grip my butter knife tighter.
"Morning, gorgeous," he says, flashing me that devil's grin that makes half the school swoon.
"Don't." The word comes out sharper than intended.
"What? Can't a guy give a compliment?" His hazel eyes sparkle with mischief, like he knows exactly which buttons to push to make me squirm.
Anton snorts with laughter, bumping fists with his best friend. "She's in one of her moods. You ready to destroy Riverside in practice?"
"Born ready," Ezekiel replies, but his attention stays fixed on me. His gaze drops to my breakfast, and I see the familiar smirk forming. "Going heavy on the butter again, I see."
The knife clatters against the plate as I slam it down. "Do you seriously have nothing better to do than critique my breakfast?"
"Relax, sunshine. Just making conversation."
Anton waves a dismissive hand. "Ignore her attitude, man."
But I can't ignore the way Ezekiel's eyes linger on me, like he's trying to solve some puzzle I don't understand. The intensity makes my skin prickle with unwanted awareness.
They grab their gear and head for Anton's truck, leaving me alone with my cold toast and the familiar ache that's lived in my chest since elementary school. The ache of watching my twin choose his friend over his sister, day after day, year after year.
School offers no relief from the torture. The moment I step through those hallways, I become a walking target.
"Jesus, look at the size of her."
"Bet she could tackle half the defense."
"Anton's the pretty twin, that's for sure."
Each whisper hits like a physical blow, but I keep walking with my head down, pretending their words bounce off me instead of burrowing deep under my skin. Anton doesn't hear them, or maybe he chooses not to. He's too busy basking in the adoration that comes with being Elmwood High's star quarterback.
Too busy laughing with Ezekiel.
I hate how Ezekiel's laugh sounds like warm honey, how it makes something inside me flutter despite everything. I hate how his smile transforms his entire face, making him look almost angelic instead of demonic. I hate how his eyes catch the light and seem to glow amber in the right conditions.
Most of all, I hate that I notice these things at all.
Glenda finds me at my locker, her blonde hair perfectly styled despite the early hour. She's been my lifeline since sophomore year, the only person who bothered to see past the surface to the girl drowning underneath.
"You look ready to commit murder," she observes, leaning against the lockers.
"Ezekiel Enzo," I mutter. "Same as always."
She rolls her eyes. "That boy needs a hobby that doesn't involve tormenting you."
"Pretty sure I am his hobby."
"Well, senior year, right? Freedom's almost here."
Almost. The word tastes like possibility and terror mixed together.
Lunch period arrives like a death sentence. I sit with Glenda at our usual table on the cafeteria's periphery, trying to make myself invisible. But Ezekiel's presence fills the room like smoke, impossible to ignore even from across the space.
I'm halfway through my sandwich when his voice cuts through the noise.
"Hey Anton, better guard your lunch money. Your sister looks hungry today."
The football table erupts in laughter. Anton doesn't defend me. He never does. He just grins along with the rest of them like I'm not his flesh and blood.
"She could be our secret weapon," another voice chimes in. "Put her in pads and she'll flatten anyone in her path."
More laughter. Always more laughter.
Glenda's eyes flash dangerously. "They're pathetic losers with nothing better to do."
But their words still burn. They always do.
I imagine standing up, marching over to their table, and telling Ezekiel exactly what kind of coward picks on someone weaker than him. I picture myself speaking up, fighting back, making him face the damage he's done.
But I stay seated. Because I know what would happen if I tried. He'd smile that devastating smile and say something even worse. And Anton would laugh right along with him.
Just like always.
That night, staring at my bedroom ceiling, I make myself a promise. One more year of Ezekiel Enzo's torture. One more year of being invisible to my own brother. One more year of being the punchline instead of the person.
Then college. Freedom. A fresh start where nobody knows me as Anton's embarrassing sister or Ezekiel's favorite victim.
But even as I plan my escape, my traitorous mind replays the day's moments. Not the insults or the laughter, but the way Ezekiel looked at me in the kitchen. The intensity in his hazel eyes when he watched me eat. The strange flutter in my chest when he called me sunshine.
I hate myself for caring.
The next morning brings the same routine. Anton's teasing, Mom's absence, my desperate attempt at invisibility.
But when Ezekiel arrives, something shifts.
I don't mean to stare. I'm just lost in thought, watching him joke with Anton, when my gaze gets caught on the strong line of his jaw, the way his t-shirt hugs his torso, the casual confidence that radiates from every movement.
Then he turns, and our eyes meet.
Time stops.
There's no mockery in his expression, no cruel amusement. Just Ezekiel looking at me like he's seeing something he's never noticed before. Something that matters.
The moment stretches between us, loaded with tension I don't understand.
Then he blinks, and his familiar smirk slides back into place.
"Enjoying the view, sunshine?"
My cheeks burn. "You wish."
But that look stays with me all day, haunting me with possibilities I'm terrified to consider.
What if the boy who's made my life hell is the same one I can't stop thinking about? What if my greatest tormentor is also my most dangerous temptation?
And what if he's starting to see me the same way?