Chapter 1: Face Blindness, Fist Fights, and First Impressions

I’m face blind—like, really face blind. Once, I even confused the school’s notorious bad boy with the campus valedictorian.

It’s wild, honestly. My brain just refuses to process faces right. Sometimes I can’t even spot my own best friend in a crowd. But that day? That day was a whole new level of embarrassing.

The bad boy was about to throw down behind the local gas station. I ran over, SAT prep book in hand, to ask him about calculus.

Picture this: the sun blazing down on cracked pavement, a couple of guys circling each other, and me, clutching my Princeton Review, cheerfully clueless—like I’d wandered onto the wrong movie set. I must’ve looked like the world’s most confused referee.

The valedictorian was tutoring freshmen in the student lounge, and I rushed up with a broom to break up what I thought was a fight.

I barged in, swinging like I was about to bust up a bar brawl. Only then did I realize everyone was just huddled over algebra problems. I still remember the stunned silence. The way the freshmen stared at me—like I’d shown up in a chicken suit or something.

The next time I mixed them up, the bad boy finally snapped. He grabbed my collar and asked:

"Josie Monroe, do you really not know what your own boyfriend looks like?"

His voice was rough, but I could tell he wasn’t actually mad—just exasperated. Was he joking? I couldn’t tell. Either way, my face burned.

The valedictorian batted his hand away, his eyes flashing: "She came to see me."

He said it with a chill that could freeze lava, but there was this flicker behind his glasses. Competition, maybe. I felt like I’d accidentally started World War III in the quad.

This was bad.

Because I’d taken a break from school for health reasons, I’d switched both dorms and classes, so I was surrounded by new faces.

Everything was unfamiliar: new hallways, new professors, even the laundry room had that weird mix of detergent and pizza grease. It felt like freshman year all over again—except this time, everyone already had their squads.

Luckily, my warm-hearted roommate, Maribel Sanchez, noticed my awkwardness. She waved me over, scrolled through her phone, showing me every campus celebrity, and pointed them out every time we passed someone.

Maribel was a lifesaver. She took it upon herself to be my personal tour guide. Her phone was packed with candids, event snaps, even a few questionable selfies with the football team. She was determined to help me blend in.

"This is our campus queen—seriously, she’s gorgeous. I saw her at a theater elective and I swear, I forgot how to breathe. Even prettier in person than in pictures."

Maribel’s voice went all dreamy, like she was talking about a celebrity crush. I tried to focus on the details—chestnut hair, curls, nose mole—repeating them in my head, hoping something would finally stick this time.

I nodded, doing my best to memorize the features of this campus queen.

I squinted at the photo, repeating her description in my head, trying to lock in the details. I even wrote a note in my phone: “Queen: chestnut hair, curls, nose mole.”

To not waste Maribel’s efforts, I kept my minor face blindness a secret and tried to memorize the campus queen:

Chestnut hair, loose curls, a little mole on her nose—that’s the campus queen.

I muttered it under my breath like a spell. Chestnut, curls, mole. I could do this.

"And this one—he’s the top student in our department, straight A’s. Rumor is, he aced the SAT."

She showed me a picture of a guy who looked way too serious for a Tuesday afternoon. I half expected him to start reciting the periodic table.

Black hair, always in white button-downs—that’s the valedictorian. Easy enough, right? Wrong.

I stared at his photo, trying to memorize his jawline, the arch of his eyebrows, the crispness of his shirt. I even noticed his shoes—clean, white sneakers. Maybe if I focused on his shoes, I’d remember next time.

...

"Last one! Josie, you’ve got to watch out for him. Don’t let the clean-cut look fool you—he’s got a temper and is always in trouble."

Maribel’s voice dropped to a whisper, like she was sharing a state secret. I leaned in, feeling the suspense.

Black hair, never stands still—always slouching or leaning against something—that’s the bad boy.

I nodded hard, showing I’d committed these people to memory.

I even mimed writing notes on my palm, just to make Maribel laugh. She grinned, waving her phone like a badge of honor, clearly pleased with my effort. If only my brain worked as fast as my pen.

Just a week later in class, I saw one of the big names.

Black hair, white shirt.

My heart did a little flip. Was this my chance to finally fit in?

Sean Wilder pretended to adjust his glasses on his nose, holding a blank notebook, and slid into a seat.

He looked like he belonged in a college brochure—except for the way he slouched, like he was too cool for posture. Figures.

I’ve always been an average student. What others get in an hour takes me two.

I’m not dumb, just… slow. I have to work twice as hard for a B, but I’m stubborn as hell.

After stumbling into this prestigious university, I admired the top students even more.

I mean, these people made 4.0 GPAs look effortless. Some people just make it look easy. Me? Not so much.

Especially since there was a real-life valedictorian sitting right in front of me, in my own major.

It felt like seeing the biggest turtle in the wishing pond!

I stared at him with starry eyes. Sean Wilder awkwardly scratched the back of his neck.

He caught me looking and gave a half-smile, like he wasn’t sure if I was about to ask for notes or challenge him to chess.

During this sleepy calculus class, I zoned out for just a few minutes and was totally lost.

The professor’s voice was like white noise. I blinked and the board was covered in Greek letters. Classic.

I ended up just copying the professor’s notes, planning to study them later.

My handwriting got messier with every page. I told myself I’d make sense of it later, but I knew I was lying. Classic Josie.

But when I glanced at Sean Wilder, he was already snoozing on the desk.

I couldn’t believe it. The campus legend, out cold during class? I wanted to snap a pic, just for the group chat.

As expected of the valedictorian—I looked at the back of his head in awe, wondering what kind of brain made a genius.

Maybe he’d already learned this stuff in high school. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Either way, I was impressed.

During the five-minute break, I couldn’t help peeking at Sean again. In that short time, he’d even started playing a mobile game.

He was all thumbs, tapping away like he was speedrunning the universe. I wondered if he min-maxed everything in life, even bathroom breaks.

Even in League of Legends, the valedictorian must have every move mapped out.

I looked at my wrong answer and sighed.

I felt like a potato next to a rocket ship.

Not paying attention in class, I realized by the end it was as if I hadn’t attended at all.

I’m not the self-taught type, so I’d probably have to find some YouTube tutorials to watch.

I made a mental note to search for “Calculus for Dummies” later. Again.

As I walked slowly to the library with my books, I saw the “top student.”

Same white shirt as in class.

Without thinking, I followed.

I felt like Sherlock Holmes, minus the clue. Maribel said the valedictorian was nice and would patiently answer questions if you asked.

So I followed Sean out the campus gates, across the street, and into a narrow alley behind a pizza place.

...Something felt off.