Xavier :
I didn't wake up in a bad mood.
That was the annoying part.
Everything was exactly how it should be. Morning routine, efficient and uninterrupted. Clean uniform. Protein bar on the way out. The car already warming up in the driveway like it knew better than to make me wait. The kind of life people assumed meant nothing ever slipped out of place.
They were wrong.
Telfair Woodridge Academy looked the same as always—polished stone, manicured hedges, money embedded in every surface. Students clustered in familiar formations, laughter echoing off the walls like controlled noise. Predictable. Contained.
And then I saw her.
She stood near the main building steps, bag slung over one shoulder, head bent over her schedule like she hadn't already memorized it. There was tension in the way she held herself—shoulders squared, spine too straight. Like she was bracing for impact.
I told myself not to look twice.
Did it anyway.
She didn't notice me at first. Most people did. That was new. Unsettling.
"Atlas," Jax called, jogging up beside me. "You coming, or are you planning to brood dramatically before first period?"
"I don't brood," I said.
He grinned. "You're doing it right now."
I glanced back just as she looked up.
Our eyes met.
Half a second. No more. Long enough.
She didn't smile. Didn't look away too fast either.
Just assessed me—calm, unreadable—then returned to her schedule like I hadn't registered at all.
Something tightened in my chest.
"What?" Jax asked.
"Nothing," I said. "Let's go."
First period dragged. Second didn't improve things. By the time P.E. rolled around, my patience was already thin.
Of course she was there.
Of course she was assigned to my group.
Coach blew the whistle. "Pair up. Laps first."
I didn't move.
Neither did she.
The space between us felt intentional, like we were both pretending this wasn't happening.
"You're not subtle," she said without looking at me.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You've been staring since you walked in."
I scoffed. "You're imagining things."
She finally looked at me then, one eyebrow lifting slightly. "Right. That must be a hobby of mine."
I laughed once—short, sharp. "You always this confrontational, or am I special?"
She shrugged. "You're the one hovering."
"I'm not hovering."
"You're standing three feet away from me."
"That's called proximity."
"That's called annoying."
There it was.
Coach's whistle sliced through the moment. "Atlas. Zehir. Office. Now."
I stared at him. "What?"
"Principal wants you both."
Her shoulders stiffened.
"What did you do?" she muttered.
I turned to her slowly. "Bold assumption, considering I haven't spoken to you today."
She met my glare. "I didn't ask to be summoned with you."
"Trust me," I said coolly. "The feeling's mutual."
The walk to the office was silent in the worst way—charged, every step echoing too loudly.
"So," I said finally. "You planning to accuse me of something, or are we waiting until we're inside?"
She shot me a look. "Do you talk just to hear yourself?"
"Only when people start things they can't finish."
Her jaw tightened. "I didn't start anything."
"You looked at me like I did."
"I looked at you like you were in my way."
I stopped walking.
She turned, surprised.
"You don't know me," I said flatly. "So don't decide what I am."
Her expression didn't soften. If anything, it hardened. "Then stop acting like everyone owes you something."
For a moment, I had nothing to say.
That didn't happen often.
The principal's door loomed ahead, saving me from responding with something worse.
Inside, she smiled too pleasantly. "Ah. Xavier. Aylia. Come in."
We sat.
"This isn't disciplinary," the principal said quickly. "I simply wanted to follow up on yesterday's tour."
I stiffened.
"You did a fine job showing Aylia around," she continued. "So we'd like to formalize it. Xavier, you'll be her peer guide for the semester."
"What?" The word slipped out before I could stop it.
Aylia turned sharply. "Excuse me?"
"It's part of our integration program," the principal said smoothly. "You're a senior leader, Xavier. And Aylia's adjusting well—but support helps."
"I don't need—" Aylia started.
"It's fine," the principal interrupted gently. "Just helping one another."
I leaned back, jaw tight. "With all due respect, I have commitments. Practices. Meetings."
"I'm aware," she replied calmly. "You'll manage."
That was it.
Decision made.
Aylia crossed her arms. "So I don't get a say?"
The principal smiled apologetically. "You'll thank me later."
Outside, the silence snapped back into place.
"This is ridiculous," I said.
She let out a humorless laugh. "You think I asked for this?"
"You could've pushed back."
"I tried."
"You didn't try hard enough."
She stopped and turned on me fully. "You don't get to talk to me like that."
"And you don't get to act like this is my fault."
Her eyes flashed. "Everything about you screams entitlement."
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "Careful."
"Why?" she shot back. "You going to prove my point?"
Her voice never rose. That was the problem.
Students drifted past us, slowing just enough to pretend they weren't listening. Curiosity flickered across their faces. I stepped back, fists curling at my sides.
"You're unbelievable," I said, controlled.
She laughed once. No humor in it. "So are you."
Then she stepped closer—just enough to shift the air between us.
"But at least I know who I am."
The words landed clean. Precise. Like she'd aimed them.
For half a second, I had nothing.
That never happened.
She turned and walked away, shoulders squared, head high, like she hadn't just disrupted my entire sense of order.
I stayed where I was longer than necessary, eyes fixed on the space she disappeared into.
Not because I was angry.
Because she hadn't reacted the way she was supposed to.
No hesitation. No apology. No doubt when I stepped closer or dropped my voice. She'd met me head-on and walked away like I wasn't worth the effort of a second thought.
That was a problem.
Most people adjusted. Learned quickly.
She hadn't adjusted at all.
As she rounded the corner, she slowed—just slightly. One hand came up to her side before she caught herself, posture snapping back into place like nothing was wrong.
I frowned.
That shouldn't have registered.
I turned toward class, irritation cooling into something quieter. Sharper. More deliberate.
I didn't like unpredictability.
And Aylia Zehir had just made herself one.
Whether she meant to or not.