2

The school smelled like cheap cleaning supplies, floor polish, and teenage anxiety.

Y/N took a deep breath and adjusted her hoodie, trying to blend in as she followed the chaotic wave of students through the crowded halls. Locker doors slammed, someone yelled about gym class, and a passing football jock accidentally clipped her shoulder without so much as a glance.

Welcome to Westfield High.Where dreams go to die and apparently, so do personal boundaries.

“Y/N!”

A familiar voice called out like sunshine through a storm. She turned just in time to see Sam—her childhood best friend, rainbow lanyard swinging, iced coffee in one hand, and a hug already incoming.

He wrapped her up without asking.

“You’re actually here,” he whispered. “In the flesh. Ugh, thank God.”

“I missed you too,” Y/N mumbled into his shoulder.

Sam pulled back and looked her over dramatically. “Okay, okay. So you survived the exile. You look amazing. Slightly homicidal, but amazing.”

“Thanks. That’s my brand.”

He grinned. “Come on, I’ll show you to your locker.”

They walked down the hallway together, Sam pointing out key landmarks like a sarcastic tour guide.

“That’s where Becky D. had a breakdown in October. Don’t lean on the vending machine; it’s rigged. Oh, and don’t talk to Heather Hills unless you enjoy being emotionally slapped with compliments.”

Just then, as if summoned by the sheer mention of her name, Heather Hills rounded the corner with her signature ponytail bounce and a perfectly disinterested expression. She spotted Sam and Y/N instantly.

“Hey, Sam,” Heather said sweetly. Her eyes slid to Y/N. “Oh, you’re the new girl. You’re so brave for wearing those shoes.”

Y/N blinked. “Thanks. You’re so brave for thinking that wasn’t an insult.”

Heather’s smile froze just slightly before she walked off.

Sam cackled. “Oh, she’s gonna hate you. I love it.”

They turned the corner and stopped in front of a row of lockers.

“Here’s yours,” Sam said.

Y/N’s stomach dropped. Because standing right there, leaning on the locker directly next to hers, was Rodrick Heffley.

Black hoodie. Chain wallet. A smirk that could start a war.

Of course.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“You again?” Y/N groaned, already fumbling with the lock.

“This school really has it out for you,” Rodrick said, moving aside just barely. “Maybe it's karma.”

“For what, existing near you?”

“You're welcome, by the way. My locker radiates coolness. Consider it a gift.”

Y/N opened her locker with a satisfying clank. “I consider it a biohazard zone.”

Rodrick snorted and bumped her locker door closed with his hip. “Just don’t get any of your glittery drama on my stuff.”

“I don’t own glitter, Heffley. But if you touch my side of the wall, I will staple your hoodie to the bulletin board.”

Before he could reply with something equally unhinged, the bell rang.

Sam leaned over. “This is like watching a rom-com in slow motion.”

Y/N and Rodrick: “Shut up, Sam.”

~Later, in Science Class~

Y/N walked into the lab and froze.

Two chairs at each table. Name cards already placed. Assigned partners.

She scanned for hers — and found it right next to one she wished she didn’t recognize.

Rodrick. Freaking. Heffley.

He looked up as she approached and just grinned.

“You’re really stalking me at this point.”

She sat down, jaw tight. “This is my personal hell.”

Their teacher, Mrs. Crawley, was already talking about a lab worksheet involving acids and safety goggles. Rodrick spun his pen between his fingers like he was playing drums on his own boredom.

He didn’t write a single thing.

“Are you gonna help, or are you just here to breathe loudly?” Y/N hissed.

Rodrick shrugged. “You’re doing great. Don’t let me ruin your flow.”

“You are so lucky I don’t have access to hydrochloric acid right now.”

He gave her a lazy smile. “Admit it. You’d miss me if I exploded.”

“I’d sell tickets.”

Before their bickering could escalate into chemical warfare, Mrs. Crawley cleared her throat.

“Mr. Heffley. Miss Y/L/N. If you can’t cooperate, I’ll pair you with someone else. But you’ll both fail the next quiz.”

They both shut up. Barely.

The rest of class passed in stiff silence, with Rodrick doodling something that looked like a monster truck flipping off a teacher while Y/N did 90% of the lab work.

As soon as the bell rang, she was out of her seat.

But she caught Rodrick looking at her as she left — a flash of something in his eyes that wasn’t quite sarcasm.

Curiosity?