THE WHOLE SUMMER BREAK had been a project in self-reinvention. You changed every little detail about yourself that you once despised.

You started with new glasses—round, all black with just a hint of gold on each side. They fit your face perfectly, lending you an air of maturity you had always longed for.

Next, you dyed your hair, a subtle shift that made your eyes pop. Piece by piece, you discarded every remnant of your old self. First the clothes, then the gestures, and finally, even the timid attitude that had defined you for so long.

Your phone had been ringing for ten minutes now, your hand instinctively hitting the snooze button on two alarms already.

With a groan, you kicked off the covers and sat up, rubbing your forehead. Your fingers brushed the familiar small scar, a relic of some forgotten childhood mishap.

Today was the first day back at school, and the sleepless night left you feeling disoriented.

You moved to the mirror, scrutinizing your reflection. Dark circles still clung under your eyes, but they weren't as pronounced as before.

You smiled faintly, tracing your fingers along the contours of your body, noticing how your waist had slimmed, how your posture had straightened. You looked... different.

Turning to your closet, you grabbed the outfit you'd laid out the day before: a beige plaid skirt and a white crewneck that just barely revealed the skirt's hem.

The look was simple yet classy, understated yet confident. You paired it with knee-high white boots, their low heels offering just enough height without sacrificing comfort.

Despite the end of summer, the day promised warmth, so you left your jacket hanging. The breeze against your skin felt like a promise of new beginnings.

Back in front of the mirror, you ran your hands through your hair, brushing it over one shoulder. You smiled again, wider this time.

Carefully, you placed a pink headband in your hair, the only relic of your old self that you couldn't quite part with.

Heels clicking on the marble stairs, you descended to the kitchen, eyes searching for the inevitable note from your parents.

There it was, in its usual spot on the table, a symbol of their absence. You didn't even bother to glance at it. Instead, you walked past, slamming the door behind you as you stepped outside.

As you made your way to the bus stop, nerves twisted in your stomach. You repeated silent mantras to yourself: You can do this.

You're strong. But doubts lingered. What if, once you stepped into the school, all your newfound confidence melted away, leaving you the shy, invisible girl you used to be?

The bus arrived, its doors hissing open. You climbed aboard, nodding at the driver. As you made your way down the aisle, you caught his muttered comment, crude and demeaning.

The words shot through you, igniting a spark of anger. You stopped, turned, and faced him with a smile that didn't reach your eyes. "Excuse me," you said, your voice dripping with false sweetness.

"If I ever hear you say something like that again, I'll make sure you never drive a bus in this city again." You let the threat hang in the air, enjoying the moment of silence that followed before you turned away.

The surge of confidence ebbed as you moved down the aisle, aware of the eyes tracking your movements. Shoulders slumping, you spotted the only available seat and sat down.

Moments later, the doors opened again, and someone nearly threw themselves into the bus. You didn't need to look up to know who it was. Matt.

"Sorry, sir, I slept in. Thanks for waiting," he said, his charm falling flat on the stoic driver. As he made his way down the aisle, he took the seat beside you.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you forced yourself to stay calm, gaze firmly fixed out the window.

Silence stretched between you until, finally, he spoke. "Are you new?" he asked, his voice breaking the fragile peace.

You turned, and he was close, too close. The proximity made your pulse quicken, a mix of anger and something else simmering in your chest. "Jerk," you muttered, refusing to break eye contact.

He studied your face, confusion knitting his brow, as if trying to place you.

His question felt like a slap. You turned away, eyes locked on the passing scenery. Of course, he didn't recognize you.

Why would he? You'd been nothing but a background character in his world.

The rest of the ride was silent, but you felt Matt's gaze on you, as though he could sense the changes he couldn't quite understand.

As soon as the bus stopped, you were on your feet, rushing. You looked back and saw that his eyes were still trained on you.

When you found a wall, you hid behind it. You leaned against the brick wall outside the school, trying to catch your breath. A voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

"Hey," a girl greeted, stepping into view. She was about your height, with long blonde hair and striking green eyes. She extended her hand, exuding a quiet confidence. "I'm Rowan."

Surprised, you glanced around. "Are you new?" you asked, keeping your voice low, wary of drawing attention.

Rowan laughed lightly. "Are you embarrassed to be seen with the new girl?" she teased, still holding her hand out, her confidence infectious.

You took her hand, leading her to a quieter corner. "It's not that," you said, searching for words. "I'm just... not used to people talking to me here."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really? You're telling me the hottest girl in school doesn't get any attention?" she chuckled. "No way."

You shifted, uncomfortable under her gaze. "It's true. I am pretty much invisible. If you hang out with me, people are going to talk."

Rowan shrugged, unfazed. "Let them. I like you. You were the first to talk to me, and I'd like to be your friend."

For a moment, you were stunned. Genuine kindness was unfamiliar, a novelty. Hesitating, you offered your hand again and told her your name.

Rowan grinned. "Nice to meet you," she said, repeating your name as if testing its sound.

Walking her through the halls, you felt lighter. Rowan's easygoing nature made you feel at ease, like maybe, just maybe, things were changing for the better.

But as the bell rang, signaling the start of class, you checked your schedule and groaned.

History.

Some things, it seemed, never changed.

As you slipped through the door, the familiar scent of chalk and old textbooks filled your senses, grounding you momentarily. The room was already half-full, students clustered in small groups, catching up on their summers.

You spotted an empty seat near the back and quickly made your way toward it, hoping to avoid drawing any attention.

But as soon as you sat down, you realized your mistake. You were sitting directly in Matt's line of sight. His dark eyes met yours from across the room. You looked away quickly, fumbling to pull out your notebook, heat rising in your cheeks.

Mr. Hanson, the history teacher, walked in, silencing the low buzz of conversation. He was a tall man with a stern face and graying hair, known for his no-nonsense approach to teaching. Today, he wore his usual dark suit, his expression as unreadable as ever.

"Welcome back," Mr. Hanson said, voice cutting through the quiet. "I hope you all had a productive summer. Let's get straight into it. We're starting with a project—something that'll make you dig deeper into history than you ever have before."

A collective groan filled the room, but you didn't join in. History had always been your safe haven, a place where you could lose yourself in the stories of the past.

Mr. Hanson ignored the complaints, continuing with his explanation.

"You'll be working in pairs," he announced. "And since I know you all too well, I'll be assigning the pairs myself. This project will count for a significant portion of your grade, so take it seriously."

The groans turned into whispers, students eyeing each other as they wondered who they'd be paired with.

Your eyes stayed fixed on your notebook, heart pounding as you prayed to be paired with anyone but Matt.

Mr. Hanson started calling out names, each pairing met with a mix of relief and disappointment. You waited, tension coiling tighter with each name.

Finally, you heard your name.

You looked up, holding your breath.

"And Matt," Mr. Hanson finished, glancing between the two of you. "You'll be working together on this project."

Your heart sank. Out of all the people in the class, it had to be him. You chanced a glance at Matt, who was staring right back at you, eyebrows raised in what seemed like surprise.

For a moment, you saw a hint of a smile playing on his lips, but it was gone before you could be sure.

Mr. Hanson continued with the pairings, but you barely heard him. Matt got up and made his way toward you, pulling out the chair next to yours.

He sat down, his presence overwhelming, filling the space around you. His scent, a mix of cigarettes and something sharper, hit you immediately.

"So," he said, his voice low, almost mocking. "Rich girl's gonna tutor me, huh?"

You bristled at his tone, head snapping up to meet his eyes. They were cold, calculating. Not the playful gaze from earlier but something darker.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You know, I can smell the fear on you. That little Ember smile you had... what happened to that?"

Your stomach twisted. He knew. Of course, he knew. His smirk widened as he saw the realization dawn on your face.

"Cat got your tongue?" he taunted. "I always wondered what happened to the girl who used to stare at me from across the room. Looks like you went and got a makeover. Cute."

You bit back a retort, focusing on the notebook in front of you. Your fingers traced the edges, trying to keep your breathing steady.

Matt's grin faded, replaced by a look of mild annoyance. "Let's get something straight. You might've changed your hair, your clothes, whatever. But you and I? We're different. You're an Ember, all neat and shiny. I'm a Crimson. We don't mix." He tapped his fingers on the desk, his expression hardening. "So don't get any ideas."

You looked up, anger sparking in your chest. "I didn't ask to work with you," you said, voice shaking but firm. "I'm not the one with ideas."

Matt leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving yours. "Good. Keep it that way."

The rest of the class passed in a blur, Mr. Hanson droning on about the project requirements while you struggled to focus.

Matt's presence was like a weight pressing against you, each breath harder to take. You couldn't stop replaying his words, the condescension dripping from every syllable.

You shoved your notebook into your bag, hoping that ignoring him would make him go away. Matt didn't budge.

He just sat there, one arm draped over the back of his chair, watching you with that infuriating half-smile. It was like he found your discomfort entertaining.

"What's the matter, princess?" he drawled, his voice laced with mock concern. "Too good to talk to the likes of me?"

You zipped your bag with a little too much force and shot him a glare. "I'm just trying to get this project done," you snapped. "If you don't want to work with me, fine. But don't make this harder than it has to be."

He chuckled, leaning forward, closing the distance between you. "Harder, huh? I thought you rich kids liked a challenge."

His eyes flickered over you, assessing, like he was searching for something beneath the surface. "Or are you scared you're gonna ruin that perfect little reputation of yours by sitting next to me?"

You bristled at his words, heat rising in your cheeks. "I don't care what people think," you said, trying to sound confident. But you could tell from the way Matt's smirk widened that he didn't believe you.

"Sure, you don't," he said, drawing out the words. "That's why you spent the whole summer trying to look like someone else, right? To not care?" He laughed, a low, taunting sound.

"You Embers are all the same. Pretending you're better, pretending you're clean. But get close enough, and you're just as dirty as the rest of us."

You gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening. His words hit too close to home, peeling back the layers you'd so carefully constructed over the summer.

"At least I don't pretend to be something I'm not," you shot back. "You act all tough, but really, you're just hiding behind your Crimson label like it's some kind of excuse."

For a second, something flickered in Matt's eyes—anger, maybe, or something else. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a cool, detached look.

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, maybe," he said, his voice quieter, more serious. "But at least I'm not pretending to be perfect. I know what I am."

He met your gaze, and for a brief moment, there was something honest in his eyes. "Can you say the same?"

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words caught in your throat. Before you could think of a comeback, Mr. Hanson called out, announcing the end of the class and reminding everyone about their project deadlines.

The noise of students packing up and heading out filled the room, but you stayed rooted in place, staring at Matt.

He stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. As he turned to leave, he paused, glancing back at you. "See you around, rich girl," he said, his voice back to its usual taunting tone.

With that, he walked away, leaving you sitting there, a storm of emotions churning inside you. Anger, confusion, and something else you couldn't quite name.

You watched him go, a mix of frustration and something like curiosity pulling at you.