Chapter 5

PAST

SELENE’S POV:

I had been at Crescent High for four weeks, and it took me exactly four minutes to figure out the pecking order.

It was laughably predictable. It was like someone had copied and pasted the most generic high school cartoons into a single building.

First, we had the nerds. Textbook definition of them. Always with a book cracked open in front of them, thick glasses sliding down their noses. They weren’t here to climb any social ladders. They just wanted to survive the system, make it to college, and never look back. 

In a way, I could’ve fit in with them. But they took one look at me and decided I was the enemy. The reason? I couldn’t understand even if I tried. And I didn’t try. Not really. 

Next, we had the theater kids and the art freaks—too loud, too dramatic, and always so obnoxiously dressed it made my eyes hurt if I looked at them too long. But at least they had their own strange, glittery little world, and they were thriving in it.

The jocks, of course, were easier to spot. Bigger, louder, and somehow always throwing something across the room—usually a football or an insult. Their egos were as inflated as their protein shake bottles.

And then we had Crescent High’s royalty.

The queen bees. Untouchable, unapologetic, and always dressed like someone might roll a red carpet for them as they walked out of math.

They had Maya and Genevieve and a third girl who rarely showed up at school but was absurdly famous despite it. Like absence was a superpower, and only she knew how to wield it.

Which, honestly, was a little terrifying.

Everybody wanted to be them. Or be with them.

I, personally, thought it was all a little boring and that we all, collectively, as a human race, should be over the spectacle that was high school by now.

But no. 

And then, finally, we had the Kings. Grayson Vexley and his friends.

Those boys were something else entirely. A mix of all the best and worst qualities of every high school clique wrapped in one obnoxious package like some overachieving science experiment.

They were athletes, every single one of them. Built like they were sculpted for varsity.

All of them came from money. They weren't just rich—they were the kind of rich that showed. In the way they dressed, the cars they drove, and the way they walked, like they owned the place. Even breathed like they were too good to be inhaling the same air as us peasants.

And if that wasn’t enough, they were smart, too.

Which felt almost insulting. Like the universe had forgotten to deal them a weakness.

If I were being honest, I might’ve been a little jealous.

Even Josh Maddox and Nathan Blanchard, who at first glance looked like your average high school jocks with no brain and even less personality, had consistently been at the top of their classes. Behind the goofy grins and insane pranks, they managed to hand in every assignment on time and were competent enough to hold a debate with the best of us.

Then there was Theodore Reed.

He didn’t look like he belonged with them. Too calm. Too composed. Like the kind of guy who should’ve been grading papers, not setting off fire alarms with the other two. But he did belong—in that strange, grounded way that kept the rest of them from going completely feral. 

I had a suspicion that Theo was the real brain behind their operations. The strategist to Maddox and Blanchard’s chaos.

And finally, Grayson Vexley.

Grayson had unsettled me from the moment I first saw him.

He was quiet but not in the way Theodore was. He was quiet in a dangerous kind of way, like there was a storm brewing under his skin, and one wrong word or one wrong look would be enough to detonate him.

And then there was the problem of his face.

Grayson wasn’t just attractive. He was unfairly attractive. The kind of pretty that made you pause for a second too long before snapping yourself out of it. Everything about him felt sharp and cold—a jaw carved like a blade, hair just messy enough to look intentional, and those ice-blue eyes that had sent my pulse into a frenzy every time they’d landed on me.

And they’d landed on me far too many times for me to be able to ignore it anymore.

I’d been warned about him. About all of them, for that matter. Within the first hour of stepping into Crescent High. People hadn’t known me but still, they’d pulled me aside and told me to stay far away from the boys. 

It had struck me as wild, absolutely insane, that despite the fear in their eyes, their voices were reverent when they’d talked about them.

And because no matter how charming or impressive they sounded, the truth was much simpler; the boys were nothing more than glorified bullies who thrived on the fear they inflicted, who looked down at everyone else like they were dust beneath their obnoxiously expensive shoes.

I’d decided I’d keep my mouth shut and my head down to avoid being noticed by them. 

It worked for all of five seconds.

Because then classes started. And I couldn’t not speak. Couldn’t play dumb just to survive the circus. I liked answering questions. I liked the challenge that came with solving a particularly difficult problem or the satisfaction of diving into a subject I loved with someone who actually knew what they were talking about. Knowledge wasn’t just something I absorbed—it was something I thrived in.

And just like that, my inability to blend in, to become invisible, had put me on their radar.

I’d noticed the way the dynamic had shifted. I wasn’t just a new girl for them anymore. I was prey now. I noticed the way Josh or Nathan would throw a glance my way during class or snicker behind their hands when I passed by. The occasional bump in the hallway that felt a little too intentional. 

It was nothing obvious. Just the idea of a threat. And it had put me so on edge I couldn’t breathe whenever one of them walked by too close.

It was smart, actually.

They didn’t have to do anything real. They just had to exist in my periphery, close enough to keep me wondering if today would be the day they actually made a move. If today would be the day the game changed.

But a month passed. And nothing happened.

No confrontation. No grand spectacle. Just the occasional look from Grayson across the hallway that made my stomach twist in a way I hated.

I didn’t know why they were holding back. Maybe I was just being paranoid, and they weren’t actually interested in making my life a living hell. Maybe Reed was holding them back by their leashes, or maybe it was just a part of their game.

Torture me with the promise of a threat; dangle it in front of me. Let the tension coil and wind and pull until I choke on it all by myself.

I exhaled and closed my notebook with a snap, shoving it into my bag. My phone screen lit up when I tapped it, and I glanced at the time—only five minutes till recess was over. 

And I hadn’t even touched my lunch, too busy dissecting and breaking down every line of the poem my friend had written down in my notebook. The last piece of her I’d been clinging to before I’d left town and put so many miles between us.

I picked up the dry sandwich, took a bite, and immediately put it back down. I needed to work on my cooking skills, or I’d be spending all my pocket money on the cafeteria’s overpriced food.

I had barely made up my mind about completely ditching the sandwich and was about to wrap it back up when I heard very elaborate, thudding footsteps heading my way.

I looked up, and my heart jerked violently to a stop.

The boys were here.

Today, apparently, was the day the game changed. 

And I was so not ready.