1st POV:

The blaring sound of my alarm rips me out of sleep, and I groan, rolling over to smack the snooze button. But the second I try to get comfortable again, reality sinks in.

Monday. School. Him.

I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping that maybe if I pretend hard enough, I can skip today entirely. Maybe even the whole week. But I know I can't.

With a sigh, I throw off the blankets and sit up, rubbing my face. My body feels heavy, still weighed down by frustration from Friday night. Even after two whole days, the anger hasn't faded. If anything, it's simmered beneath the surface, waiting for me to see Johnny Lawrence again so it can boil over.

I shove those thoughts aside and get out of bed.

Dragging myself to the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face and brush my teeth, taking my time, even though I know I'll regret it when I'm running late. Then, I run a brush through my hair, deciding to leave it loose, and head back to my room to change.

Jeans, a sweater, and my usual sneakers. Simple. Comfortable. Perfect for getting through a day I really don't want to deal with.

Once I'm dressed, I grab my bag and make my way downstairs, where the smell of coffee and bacon fills the air.

Mom is already at the stove, flipping pancakes, while Dad sits at the table with the newspaper, sipping his coffee like he does every morning. The sight is so normal that, for a second, I almost forget about everything else.

"Morning, honey," Mom says, glancing over her shoulder.

I mumble something that vaguely resembles "morning" and drop into my usual seat at the table.

Dad peeks over his newspaper. "You look thrilled to be awake."

I stab at my eggs with my fork. "It's Monday."

"That it is," he agrees, taking another sip of coffee. "And it happens every week. You'd think you'd be used to it by now."

I give him a look. "Does anyone ever get used to Mondays?"

He chuckles. "Fair point."

Mom places a plate of pancakes in front of me, along with some bacon and eggs. "Eat up before you run out of time."

I poke at my food half-heartedly before taking a bite, chewing slowly. My brain still feels foggy, like I'm not fully awake yet.

Mom sits down across from me, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. "Any plans after school?"

I shake my head. "Just coming home."

"Well, let me know if you change your mind."

I nod, finishing up my breakfast before checking the time. I should probably leave soon.

Pushing back my chair, I grab my plate and rinse it in the sink before slinging my bag over my shoulder. "Alright, I'm heading out."

Mom walks over and presses a quick kiss to my forehead. "Have a good day, sweetheart."

I hum in response, which isn't exactly a yes, but also not a no.

Dad gives me a two-finger salute from behind the paper. "Try not to fall asleep in class."

"No promises."

With that, I step outside, take a deep breath of the cool morning air, and get into my car.

As I pull out of the driveway, I grip the steering wheel a little tighter than usual, already dreading what—or who—is waiting for me at school.

----

Pulling into the school parking lot, I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. Monday morning air drifts in through the cracked window, cool and crisp, but it does nothing to settle the frustration simmering inside me.

I exhale sharply as I spot a familiar red convertible parked a few rows ahead, its polished surface gleaming under the early sunlight.

Johnny's car.

Great.

Rolling my eyes, I pull into an empty space and shut off the engine. Maybe if I'm lucky, I can get through the morning without dealing with him.

I sling my bag over my shoulder and step out, shutting the car door a little harder than necessary before heading toward the school entrance. My pace is steady—controlled. I tell myself I won't react. That I'll just go straight to my locker, grab what I need, and pretend like Johnny Lawrence doesn't exist.

That plan lasts all of five seconds.

Just as I spin my locker dial, a familiar voice calls out behind me.

"Hey, good morning!"

I freeze for a second, my stomach twisting, before forcing myself to focus on my locker. Ignore him. Just ignore him.

"I called you," Johnny says, stepping closer. "Why didn't you answer?"

I grab a book, my back still to him.

Silence. No response.

I can feel his eyes on me, waiting for something—anything—but I refuse to give it to him.

But then, because I hate myself, I glance at him from the corner of my eye.

And that's when I see it.

His eye.

My fingers tighten around the book as I take in the dark purple bruise surrounding his right eye. It's swollen, ugly, and looks painful. His lip is split, too, and there's a small cut near his eyebrow, barely healed.

What the hell happened to him?

For a moment—just a brief moment—I forget to be mad.

Then I remember who I'm looking at.

Johnny Lawrence. The guy who humiliated Daniel. The guy who chased him down Friday night with his Cobra Kai friends. The guy I actually thought had changed for a second.

Nope.

I shove my locker shut with a loud slam and turn on my heel, ready to walk away.

Johnny follows.

"Rosie," he tries again, voice softer. "Come on. Just talk to me."

I don't.

This time, I don't even look at him.

----

By the time I make it to Spanish class, I'm already drained. Ignoring Johnny all morning has taken more effort than I thought, and now I have to sit through an entire period with him right behind me.

Fantastic.

I slide into my seat, pulling out my notebook and flipping to a blank page. The classroom is buzzing with early morning chatter, students dragging their feet as they settle in. I keep my focus straight ahead, refusing to turn around, even though I know exactly who's sitting behind me.

Then, just as I'm setting my pencil down, I feel it.

Tap. Tap.

A light touch against my shoulder.

I tense instantly. My fingers curl into a fist on my desk.

I know who it is.

I ignore it.

A few seconds pass, and then—thud. A small, folded-up note lands on the corner of my desk.

I don't touch it.

Johnny shifts behind me, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor as he leans in. "Rosie," he whispers. "Come on."

I pick up my pencil and continue writing.

Another tap.

Another note.

I shove both notes aside and focus on the front of the class, keeping my expression blank.

Johnny sighs behind me. I can hear the frustration in his breath.

Then, just when I think he's finally giving up, I feel something poke the side of my arm.

My jaw tightens.

Tap.

Okay.

Slowly, I turn my head just enough to glance over my shoulder. Johnny's sitting there, one eyebrow raised, smirk tugging at his split lip, fingers still hovering near my sleeve.

I glare.

His smirk deepens. "Oh, so now you're looking at me?"

I whip back around without a word, making a show of flipping my notebook page a little too aggressively.

I don't care.

I don't care what he has to say.

I don't care about his stupid notes.

I hear him exhale a quiet chuckle behind me, like he's actually amused by this.

And then, just when I think he's done, another note lands on my desk.

Unbelievable.

----

Lunchtime. Finally.

The cafeteria hums with noise—students talking over each other, the clatter of trays, the occasional burst of laughter. The usual lunchtime chaos.

I navigate through the crowd, gripping my tray, my stomach churning even though I'm not really hungry. As I reach our usual table, I slide into my seat next to Ali, who's aggressively stabbing at her salad. Barbara and Susan glance up, mid-conversation.

"Hey," Susan greets, then eyes my untouched food. "You're still not eating?"

I shrug. "Not hungry."

Barbara raises an eyebrow. "You mean still pissed?"

I say nothing.

Ali huffs, finally dropping her fork. "She has every right to be."

I glance at her, surprised by the sharpness in her tone.

Barbara frowns. "Ali—"

"No, don't Ali me," she snaps, crossing her arms. "I told you guys. Johnny hasn't changed. He's the same cocky, selfish jerk he's always been. And now he's acting like he didn't do anything wrong."

Susan shifts uncomfortably. "I mean... we don't know the full story."

Ali scoffs. "We know enough."

I stay quiet, focusing on swirling my fork through the mushy cafeteria spaghetti.

Before I can respond, two hands suddenly cover my eyes from behind.

"Guess who?"

I stiffen. His voice is way too close.

The girls go silent.

I reach up and pull his hands away, turning to glare at Johnny. He's standing right behind me, grinning like nothing is wrong.

My stomach twists. That stupid bruise around his eye is even darker up close.

I snap my head back forward, refusing to entertain him. "Not funny."

Johnny, completely ignoring my tone, drops into the seat right next to me.

"Come on, Rosie, are you really gonna keep ignoring me?"

Barbara and Susan exchange looks.

Ali, on the other hand, isn't having it. She crosses her arms and glares. "Maybe she doesn't want to talk to you."

Johnny sighs. "I just wanna—"

"You just wanna what, Johnny?" Ali snaps. "Pretend like nothing happened? Like we didn't all see you and your buddies chasing after Daniel like a bunch of maniacs?"

Johnny's jaw tenses. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, looking frustrated but not exactly defensive.

I stay quiet, pushing my food around my plate.

Susan clears her throat. "Maybe this isn't the best time, Johnny."

Barbara nods. "Yeah. Give her some space."

Johnny glances at me, his expression shifting. "Rosie, come on. Just talk to me."

I don't respond.

I don't even look at him.

After a long silence, Johnny exhales sharply and pushes himself up from the table.

"Fine." His voice is lower now, less cocky. "I'll see you later."

He walks off.

Ali lets out a dramatic sigh, stabbing at her food. "I can't believe he has the nerve."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

I don't know what I expected. But for now?

I'm not ready to talk to him.

----

Science class. Great. Another forty-five minutes of pretending Johnny doesn't exist.

I drop my books onto the lab table and slide onto my stool, barely acknowledging Susan as she sits beside me. The classroom smells like chemicals and burnt something—probably from whatever disaster happened in the last period.

I glance toward the front, pretending to be focused on the periodic table poster hanging on the wall. But I know he's here. I feel it before I even turn my head.

And, of course, there he is.

Johnny takes the seat across from me, the corner of his mouth twitching up like he's already amused. Dutch plops down next to him, smirking like he's in on some inside joke.

"You're avoiding me," Johnny says, leaning on the table.

I don't respond.

He taps his fingers against the desk. "Rosie."

Nothing.

Susan shifts awkwardly beside me. Dutch, on the other hand, grins like he's watching the best show ever.

"Ohhh, dude," Dutch drawls. "She's really mad at you." He tilts his head at me. "You ignoring him on purpose, or are you just hard of hearing now?"

I shoot him a glare. "Shut up, Dutch."

He laughs. "Oh, she can talk!"

Johnny rolls his eyes. "Will you stop making this worse?"

"Me?" Dutch gasps dramatically. "I'm just observing."

Susan clears her throat, trying to cut through the tension. "Maybe we should just focus on—"

Johnny reaches out and taps my wrist lightly. "Hey. Can we just talk?"

I pull my hand back. "No."

Dutch leans toward Johnny, pretending to whisper but making sure I can hear. "Damn, man. Even I think you should quit while you're ahead."

Johnny exhales sharply, his fingers running through his hair in frustration. "You're seriously not gonna say anything to me?"

I finally look at him. Really look. His eyes are searching mine, like he's waiting for something—anything.

I shift in my seat, my jaw tightening. "I don't have anything to say to you."

Johnny stares at me, and for the first time, the confidence in his expression cracks, just slightly.

Dutch, of course, doesn't let it go. He smirks, nudging Johnny. "Man, this is painful to watch."

Johnny exhales through his nose and mutters, "Shut up, Dutch."

The teacher walks in, saving me from having to sit through any more of this.

But as the lesson starts, I can feel Johnny still looking at me.

And worse?

I hate that a tiny part of me wants to look back.

----

By the time I pull into the driveway, I feel mentally drained.

The entire day had been exhausting—ignoring Johnny, avoiding his gaze, pretending not to care about the bruise on his eye—all of it took more energy than I wanted to admit.

I slam my car door shut, head inside, and toss my bag onto my bed. Without thinking, I go straight to my desk, pulling out my books. Spanish homework first.

At least that class was somewhat productive—besides Johnny constantly trying to get my attention.

I let out a sigh and start flipping through my textbook when something falls onto my lap.

A piece of paper.

I furrow my brows and pick it up. It's folded sloppily, and when I open it, my stomach tightens.

Oh. Right. The notes.

The ones he kept passing me in class when I was doing my best to ignore him.

I fish through my bag and find two more.

Taking a deep breath, I unfold them one by one.

First Note:

"Rosie, come on. Just look at me."

I roll my eyes. Yeah, not happening.

Second Note:

"I'm not leaving you alone until you talk to me."

Great. Just great.

Third Note:

"Please, Rosie. Just give me a chance to explain."

I stare at the words for a long moment.

My fingers tighten around the paper.

I want to crumple them up and throw them in the trash, but I can't bring myself to do it.

Instead, I shove them back into my bag and force myself to focus on my homework.

----

3rd POV:

After dinner, the house was quiet. Rosie sat on her bed, flipping through her notebook, her pen tapping lightly against the page. She wasn't really paying attention to her homework, though. Her mind kept drifting back to school, back to the way Johnny kept trying to talk to her, back to the bruises on his face. She had done her best to ignore it, but the image stuck.

What the hell had happened to him?

Her phone rang.

She glanced at the phone.

Her stomach twisted, but she ignored it. A few seconds later, it rang again. She hesitated before picking up.

"Hello?"

There was silence.

Then a voice, quiet but firm. "Rosie, just listen—"

Her breath caught. Johnny.

"I don't want to hear it," she said quickly.

A pause. "I—"

She hung up.

Tossing the phone onto the bed, she exhaled, trying to shake off the feeling in her chest.

Why won't he just leave me alone?

The phone rang again.

She sighed, picking it up. "Could you just stop!"

This time, the voice on the other end wasn't Johnny's.

"Uh... okay, rude much?"

Rosie blinked. "Ali?"

A scoff. "Wow. Thanks. It's me."

Rosie sat up.

"Yeah? Who else would it be?" Ali sounded amused, but also suspicious. "What was that about? Who did you think I was?"

Rosie hesitated. "No one. Never mind."

"Uh-huh. Sure. Anyway, I need to tell you something. And trust me, you're gonna want to hear this."

Rosie pulled her knees up to her chest. Great. Here we go.

Author Note:

Hiii guys!!Rosie started Monday still angry. At school, Johnny tried to talk, but she ignored him—until she noticed his bruised eye. That night, just as she was settling in, the phone rang. Johnny was on the other end, trying to explain. Rosie hung up. The phone rang again. Frustrated, she snapped—only to realize it wasn't Johnny. It was Ali. Thank you so much for all the positive comments and votes!! This means so much to me. Love you!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

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