Marc was the kind of person who didn't walk into a room—he entered like a season. Like the weather had changed.
He took his sweet time strolling through the cafeteria, like he didn't know (or didn't care) that every set of eyes was locked on him. Girls whispered. Boys stared. Teachers peeked out from classrooms and immediately regretted it.
He was tall, in that effortless way that made lockers look smaller. Tan from a life that involved more sun than math. Messy dark hair that had probably never seen a comb but somehow looked like a shampoo commercial. Rings on every other finger, a leather jacket slung over one shoulder.
A rebel and a flirt?
The senior girls were about to lose their minds.
But Marc wasn't looking at them.
He was looking at Scott.
Still no hello.
Still no words.
Just that cocky smirk and the slow walk of someone who'd been waiting a long time to crash someone else's world.
Penelope had never seen Scott look afraid.
Not even angry.
But as Marc passed by, Scott's jaw locked tight. His fists clenched. The boy who'd always seemed so calm… suddenly looked like he was fighting every instinct to run.
And Penelope noticed.
Because she noticed everything.
---
After lunch, the whispers started again.
But not about Penelope this time.
About Marc.
"Did you hear he got expelled from two schools?"
"I heard he burned down a library in Chicago."
"Is it true he once dated a girl and her mom at the same time?"
None of it was confirmed.
All of it was probably lies.
But that didn't stop Marc from smiling every time a new rumor reached his ears.
He was enjoying this.
The attention.
The chaos.
And worse—he knew exactly what he was doing.
---
Penelope found Scott in the art room later, staring at a blank canvas like it owed him an apology.
"Who is he?" she asked quietly.
Scott didn't look up. "No one."
"Scott—"
"He's just someone I used to know."
She crossed her arms. "Does this someone have a name?"
He sighed. "Marc."
"Marc what?"
Scott hesitated. "My cousin."
Penelope blinked. "Cousin?"
"More like... former cousin. Technically we're still related, but... he's not family."
She frowned. "Then why does he look at you like he wants to set you on fire?"
Scott stared at the canvas. "Because once, I left him behind. And Marc doesn't forgive."
Penelope sat on the stool beside him. "What did you do?"
Scott didn't answer.
But his silence was loud.
---
Meanwhile, Julian was in the computer lab, watching the same video for the fifth time.
It was security footage. Grainy. Probably illegal to have. Definitely illegal to show.
And it showed Marc.
From last year.
Punched a guy in a parking lot so hard, the guy didn't get up for three minutes.
Julian clicked pause.
He leaned back.
So that's the new player.
He didn't like it.
Not just because Marc was dangerous—but because Penelope had noticed him.
And not in the "oh he seems nice" way.
In the way she used to look at him.
With curiosity.
With interest.
With possibility.
Julian clenched his fists. "Hell no."
---
After school, Marc found Penelope by the vending machines. She was kicking one that had eaten her dollar and refused to give up her juice box.
"Need help?" he asked, leaning against the machine like a bad idea.
Penelope looked up. "Only if you can speak fluent soda machine."
Marc grinned. "I'm more of a snack whisperer. But let's see."
He tapped the glass once. Then again. Then slammed his palm into the side like he was arguing with a stubborn horse.
The juice box dropped.
Penelope blinked. "Are you magic?"
"No," he said with a grin. "Just very persuasive."
She took the drink. "Thanks. You didn't have to."
Marc shrugged. "I wanted to."
Silence.
Then he said, "You're Penelope, right?"
"Depends. Who's asking?"
"Just a guy trying to figure out why you look like every poem that ends in heartbreak."
She stared at him. "You always talk like that?"
"Only when I'm flirting."
"Oh," she said, trying not to laugh. "Then you should probably stop."
Marc raised an eyebrow. "Too soon?"
"Way too soon."
He smiled again. "I'll try again later."
And just like that, he walked off.
Leaving her flustered, amused, and very confused.
---
That night, Penelope lay on her bed staring at the ceiling.
Scott hadn't told her everything. She could feel it.
Julian was watching her again, from the shadows, like a ghost with unfinished business.
And now Marc was here, pulling attention like gravity and threatening to tear her already messy world in half.
Her phone buzzed.
A message.
From an unknown number.
> _You don't know me yet, Penelope. But I know you.
And I know who's lying to you.
Don't trust him.
M_
Her heart pounded.
She had no idea who "him" was.
But she had a very bad feeling she'd find out soon.