Eden Anderson shook her head violently, trying to rattle that infuriating boy out of her brain. It was no use. Lucas Powell was truly, hopelessly, and utterly exhausting.

Ever since that day, Eden had come to a harsh conclusion: she would no longer wait for someone to reach into the depths of her heart and understand the exhaustion hiding beneath her smile. She had tried opening that small door once, inviting someone in to see the real her, but the attempt had been a disaster.

The real Eden wasn't particularly remarkable. To be admired, to be liked, she had to play the part of the flawless golden girl.

She stopped fidgeting at family dinners, opting instead to memorize flowery toasts, delivering them with practiced, heartfelt conviction. She stopped wasting time on video games or TV, pouring every spare second into her studies. Eventually, she became the girl who scored a perfect hundred on every exam, never leaving a single math problem unanswered on the page.

She stopped asking why her cousin Bryce could live so freely and happily while she remained shackled.

She stopped asking altogether.

Slowly, she transformed into the version of Eden that left every adult—especially her mother, Linda—impressed. She was the model of excellence, the responsible one, especially compared to her noisy, careless cousin. Her aunt Gloria stopped taking digs at her, and the adults now constantly scolded Bryce, asking, "Why can't you be more like your cousin?"

Bryce would just sneer, "Why on earth would I want to be like her?"

Eden echoed the sentiment in her heart. *Bryce, don't ever be like me. If you ever became like me, you would be miserable.*

At twelve years old, Eden lived like an adult of twenty.

On the first day of sixth grade, Eden, the class president, arrived early with her bag packed. She had just pulled out her literature textbook and was heading to the front of the room to lead the morning reading when the homeroom teacher walked in. Beside her was a boy Eden had never seen before.

He was a transfer student. He was stunningly handsome, carrying himself with an effortless grace that made Eden’s internal alarm bells scream. She felt it in her gut: the second Bryce had entered her life.

Around the room, her classmates looked up, their eyes buzzing with curiosity and excitement. Eden, however, buried her face in her book, silently praying. *Please be a complete disaster. Please be a troublemaker with zero brains and an even worse personality.*

But she couldn't help it. She peeked.

He was just too good-looking. She had grown up around Bryce’s face her entire life; she was immune to mere good looks. But Lucas… he looked like a prince ripped from the pages of a fairy tale, tempting her to look just once more.

"Hi everyone, I'm Lucas Powell," he said, standing on the podium, his tone friendly and poised. "It's a pleasure to be here."

"Oh, look at that! A match made in heaven!" a joker from the back row shouted, dragging out the syllables. The entire class erupted in giggles, eyes darting between him and Eden.

Heat flooded Eden’s face, creeping up to her neck. The shame of being teased in front of the teacher and the entire class shattered her carefully constructed veneer of composure. She snapped her head up, ignoring the joker and fixing the culprit on the podium with a cold, piercing glare.

Lucas met her gaze, looking completely bewildered. He hadn't the faintest idea what he had done wrong.

The teacher frowned and banged a ruler against the desk. "Enough! If you put as much energy into your studies as you do into gossiping, we'd all be geniuses." She scanned the room and settled on the only empty seat—right next to Eden in the front row. "Lucas, go sit there. Next to Eden."

"Oooooh!" the boys jeered again, only to be silenced by the teacher’s sharp rap on the chalkboard.

Eden stared straight ahead, her face burning, burying her nose in her book. That front-row seat by the window was something her mother had begged the teacher for behind her back. Eden hated the special treatment, but she was the one who had to deal with the fallout.

She had never had a deskmate, and certainly not a close friend she could confide in. The girls were polite but distant, keeping a wary, respectful space. As for the boys? To Eden, they were all the same—disruptive, loud, and chronically allergic to discipline.

And now, she was trapped with one. A boy who looked like he had everything.

Lucas walked over, dropped his bag, and nudged her arm the moment he sat down. He gave her a wide, sunny grin. "Looks like we have a connection, classmate."

Years later, Eden would still remember that first moment. She would always remember his opening line: *We have a connection.*

Did they?

Their connection was as fleeting as sand slipping through fingers. Eden had tried so hard to hold on, only to be left with the singular, beautiful memory of that sixth-grade year.

But back then, all she could think was, *who cares about a connection with you?*

Eden didn't acknowledge him. She gripped the sides of her chair and shifted it toward the window. Then she pushed her pencil case, her books, and her water bottle as far as possible to the side. The space was so cramped she couldn't even stretch her arms, but she would have squeezed herself into a splinter of wood to get away from him.

Within a single day, her fears were confirmed. Lucas Powell wasn't just a transfer student; he was a second Bryce. Just as handsome, just as naturally gifted, just as popular.

In math class, the teacher always spent the last ten minutes presenting a "challenge question." Usually, Eden would solve it quietly and wait for the teacher to ask for volunteers. When the room went silent, she would be called up to the board, writing out the solution in clean, precise strokes, bathing in the praise of teacher and student alike.

But today, the moment the teacher finished speaking, Lucas’s hand shot up. Before Eden could even organize her thoughts, he was already rattling off the correct steps and the final answer.

The class cheered. The boys in the back hooted. To Eden, every word of praise directed at him sounded like a taunt: *Eden, you’re not good enough.*

In that moment, she realized the truth: her opponent wasn't just Bryce. Even if she defeated Bryce, fate would just throw a Lucas in her path. Would there be more Lucas Powells waiting for her, for the rest of her life?

How was she supposed to stay on top? How was she supposed to beat everyone?

She was spiraling into a existential crisis when she heard a voice beside her. "The department head told me to head to the gym to get my uniform, but I'm lost. Would you mind showing me the way?"

"I don't know the way either," Eden said.

Lucas paused, looking confused. "Aren't you the class president? Don't you usually handle the uniform distribution?"

"Just because I've been there doesn't mean I remember the route," Eden retorted. "I forgot."

When the final bell rang, the teacher called Lucas to the podium to explain some transfer protocols. Eden packed her bag and stood by her desk, waiting.

"Are you waiting for me?" Lucas asked, jumping down from the stage, looking surprised.

"No," Eden snapped.

"Oh." Lucas pouted, slow to shove his gear into his bag.

"Can you hurry up?" Eden asked, her tone sharp. "My mother is waiting at the school gate. If I'm late, she’ll..." She caught herself and bit her tongue.

Why was she telling a transfer student about her personal life? She had never told anyone.

"Almost done!" Lucas hurried, snapping his bag shut and following her out. "So, you said if you're late, what happens with your mom?"

"Why do you care?"

"You're the one who started the sentence!" Lucas said, sounding genuinely aggrieved.

They exited the building and passed the school cafe. Lucas gestured inside. "I want to grab something. Wait here?"

Eden checked her watch and nodded, impatient. She didn't want to deal with the crowd inside, so she stood on the curb. A few minutes later, he walked out with two popsicles.

"Here. For helping me."

"I don't want it. You eat it," Eden said.

"I can't eat two," he said, shoving one into her hand. "Take it home!"

"My mother doesn't let me eat these."

Lucas stared at her, cutting straight to the heart of it. "So, is it that you don't want it, or that you're just saying you don't want it because your mother won't let you?"

"Does it matter?"

"It matters a lot. She's stripping you of your choices. You have to learn to fight back."

Eden looked at him and finally laughed—a bitter, hollow sound. Finally, someone had said it out loud… even if it was that infuriating boy who kept stealing her spotlight.

"What if I can't fight back?" she asked.

"Then you exercise your rights whenever she isn't looking," Lucas said, thumping his chest confidently. "Like when you're with me. Go on, eat it!"

Eden hesitated, then whispered a soft "thank you." She took a bite of the popsicle, her teeth aching from the cold, but for the first time, the sunset hitting the asphalt seemed a little bit warmer.

When they reached the school gate, the area was mostly empty. Linda Anderson was standing under the shade of a tree, checking her phone with an irritated expression. Seeing Eden finally emerge, she walked over.

"Why are you so late today?" Linda asked, holding back her temper.

Before Eden could speak, Lucas stepped forward, giving a polite nod. "Hello, Mrs. Anderson."

Linda’s expression softened. "Hello."

"I'm the new transfer student," Lucas explained smoothly. "The teacher asked Eden to help me pick up my uniform after school. Sorry for the wait."

"It's fine," Linda replied. "She's the class president; helping is her duty." She looked at Lucas, then back at her daughter. "She’s… a competent president, right?"

Eden felt a flare of panic and shot Lucas a warning glare.

"Oh, she’s—absolutely—the best!" Lucas said, his voice comically enthusiastic, over-emphasizing every word. "She’s so helpful. She’s been incredibly welcoming to the new kid!"

"Good," Linda beamed. "Alright, we're heading out. You get home safe, too."

"Will do," Lucas said. "Goodbye, Mrs. Anderson. See you later, President!"

Back home, Eden noticed her mother was in an uncharacteristically good mood. They finished dinner in an uneasy silence, but there were no critiques or nagging.

In her room, Eden sat at her desk to study, but her mind kept drifting to a phantom image, floating around like a stray spirit.

*We have a connection.*

*She's stripping you of your choices.*

*Exercise your rights whenever she isn't looking.*

She couldn't understand why his words, his expressions, and his actions were carving such a deep path into her memory.

Eden shook her head hard, trying to rattle Lucas Powell out of her brain, but he was stuck. He was truly, hopelessly, and utterly exhausting.

She picked up her fountain pen and opened her workbook. Before she even reached the first problem, she caught herself scribbling his name on the scratchpad. Annoyed with herself, she dug the nib of her pen into the paper, stabbing at the characters of his name until the ink bled through the page.