"Lost and insecure, you found me lying on the floor, surrounded…"

High school sucked.

It didn't matter which high school you were attending. So far, you'd gone to three different schools. Each had been worse than the last.

You were not looking forward to your first day at Namimori High.

Your mother's job came with unpredictable consequences. She was always being forced to move around. You would be completely unprepared for the change—in fact, you were always told it was time to move again after you had settled in.

This time, her job had led her to Namimori. A small town nestled in Japan's mainland, Namimori wasn't even on the map. It was rumored to be a quiet and peaceful town, one where everyone knew each other. Your mother was excited about Namimori. She claimed it was the perfect town to settle down and make a fresh start.

You didn't share half her enthusiasm. It was mid October, and school was already in session. If Namimori really was the type of town where everyone knew each other, that meant that your classmates would already have formed cliques. It would be difficult for a clique to accept an outsider like yourself.

"Today's the day," she sang as you slowly descended the staircase. Your mother seemed comfortable with the house, even though you'd only moved in two days ago—her favorite apron was tied tight around her waist and she was busy mixing pancake batter in a large bowl, cradling it with one arm.

"Yeah," you sighed.

At your weary tone, your mother glanced up. "Aren't you excited?" she inquired. "I'm sure you'll meet tons of new friends. And this is high school! The best time of your life!"

"Correction, high school is supposed to be the worst time of a person's life," you muttered, but she hadn't heard. She was too busy singing to herself. Ugh. How could your mother be okay with all of this? You hated having to move all the time. You hated switching hometowns and schools.

It wasn't like you'd left behind tons of friends in Italy. You barely had any friends. You weren't close to many people.

Of course, you wanted someone who you could call a friend, but everyone was too cynical. Boorish. Sons of bitches. And so you kept to yourself.

"I'm leaving," you announced, slipping your feet into your worn black flats with the ribbon.

"Don't you want any breakfast? I'm making pancakes."

"Not hungry." You made to brush past your mother, but she gave you a look. You exhaled loudly and bent forward, giving her the cheek kiss she wanted. "See you later, Mom."

"Have fun at school," she called as you headed down the driveway.

"If it kills me," you muttered under your breath.

You lived within walking distance to Namimori High, so there was no need to catch the local bus or find a ride. It was a lonely walk. But you needed the exercise.

The reason was also why you were skipping breakfast.

You remembered the taunting from your elementary days. The terrible remarks about pigs. About your weight. Your love for eating. Your ugly appearance.

That was all in the past now. You had made a complete 360. You weren't fat anymore. There wasn't an ounce of supple flesh on your body. And you were up on top when it came to beauty trends. You had a beautiful figure and striking face that even a paper bag and a shapeless blouse couldn't conceal.

Even so, the pain was still evident with the thought of food.

Ignoring the pang in your gut, you shouldered on, making it to Namimori High with a few minutes to spare. The hallways were filled with students in groups of twos or threes. You avoided friendly glances and hostile glares, focused on finding the main office. You didn't know your way around the school; you had no clue how to get to your first period classroom.

The woman behind the desk took one look at you and smiled. "You're (y/n) (l/n)," she said matter-of-factly. "The transfer student."

"That's me."

She handed you a map and a schedule. "Follow the map," she instructed, turning back to the computer. You glanced at the sheet of paper. With disgust, you noted the size of the school. It was gigantic. You could get easily lost.

When you looked back at the woman, you found her buried head-first in a pile of work. It would be best not to distract her. Sighing, you trudged out of the office to trek around the school.

Eventually you found the classroom you were looking for. By now, class had already started, and the teacher's monotone voice drifted out through the slightly ajar door. Oh, man. Everyone's attention would be directed on you when you walked in.

You took a moment to brush off imaginary dirt from the skirt of your Namimori outfit. Then you squared your shoulders and strode in with a confidence you didn't quite possess.

Immediately, you felt the weight of twenty-something students staring at you. It was almost enough to make you falter. You paid them no mind as you moved for the teacher, reaching out to give him a slip of paper with all of your introductory information on it.

He scanned it over quickly. "Okay, class," he said then, setting the paper aside. "We have a new transfer student. Please introduce yourself."

Inhaling once, you raised your head and met the gazes of your peers. "Hi, I'm (l/n) (y/n). I'm from Italy." You gave the customary bow, ducking your head quickly. "Please take care of me."

Whispers immediately started up. Many of the females were eyeing you enviously, jealous of your hair or the bracelet looped around your wrist. A couple of guys sent you flirtatious looks. There were students who seemed uninterested in it all.

You did a fast scan for potential companions. A girl with short light-brown hair and wide hazel eyes was smiling at you in the front row.

Behind her, a raven-haired male with the most intriguing caramel irises was grinning, like he knew a joke that was absolutely hilarious.

Over by the window, a brunette male with spiky brown hair and matching eyes was gazing out the window, a dreamy love-struck expression on his face.

Your eyes jumped to the person seated beside him. And your stomach proceeded to plunge to the floorboards.

Silver hair. Sharp olive eyes. A scowling mouth. An angular face.

You knew that face.

Gokudera Hayato lifted his eyes and met your dumbfounded stare head-on. Then the corner of his mouth twitched upward into an amused smile.

He remembered you.