The first day at a new school is supposed to be a clean slate. At least, that's what I told myself as I stepped through the towering gates of St. Marcellus Academy, my backpack heavy with notebooks and an overstuffed bag of nerves.
Of course, the universe had other plans.
I barely made it ten steps into the gym before disaster struck. One misplaced foot, a poorly timed step, and—crash!—my notebooks went flying, scattering across the polished floor like fallen leaves.
"Whoa!" I gasped, scrambling to gather them. Pages fluttered everywhere, and I could hear laughter echoing from the bleachers. My cheeks flushed hotter than the gym lights.
"Need some help?"
I froze. The voice was calm, smooth… and very close. I looked up and my breath caught.
He was leaning against the railing, tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair falling just above eyes that could probably intimidate a small army. In other words… trouble. Or, more accurately, the school's basketball team captain. I'd seen him around—Aiden Cruz.
He stepped forward, kneeling to help me pick up the scattered pages. "You're new, right?" His voice carried a slight edge of curiosity, but there was something… gentle there too.
I nodded, fumbling to keep my composure. "Yeah. I'm… Lia. Lia Santos. And you are…?"
"Aiden," he said simply, handing me the last notebook. His fingers brushed mine, and I had to bite back a squeak.
"Thanks," I mumbled, my voice embarrassingly high-pitched.
He smirked. "Careful next time. The court's not the friendliest place for clumsy people."
I wanted to protest, but my words got caught in my throat. Instead, I muttered, "Noted."
There was a pause. I thought he might walk away, but instead, he tilted his head slightly. "You like writing?"
I blinked. "Uh… yeah, I guess. I want to write for the school paper."
Aiden's eyes flicked toward the bleachers, where a few teammates were warming up. "You're brave, then. Most people don't stick around basketball practice just to take notes."
I laughed nervously. "I wasn't planning to. But… maybe I'll stay."
He stood, giving me a quick once-over, like he was assessing whether I belonged in this chaotic, sweat-scented world of basketball balls bouncing and whistles blowing. "Alright. Just… try not to trip again. I don't think anyone would survive a repeat of that."
I blinked. "I'll… try not to?"
He gave a half-smile, half-smirk, and walked back to the court. My stomach did that stupid fluttery thing people talk about in romance novels, and I immediately scolded myself. It's just a guy. Just the star player of the basketball team.
But somehow, I didn't feel like it was just a guy.
As I gathered my notebooks and stuffed them back into my bag, I glanced at the court. Aiden was already back in the game, commanding the ball with ease, every movement confident, effortless. And somehow… magnetic.
I'd only been at St. Marcellus for thirty minutes, and I already knew one thing: surviving high school here wasn't going to be about avoiding spills or nervous first impressions. It was about navigating… him.
And if I was honest? I didn't mind the challenge at all.