"So you are a stalker," she said without looking up, brush still gliding across the canvas.
"I'm not a stalker," Vince replied quickly. "This is a total coincidence."
"Hard to believe that," she said, finally glancing his way. "Your eyes are glued to my face."
He scratched the back of his neck, scrambling. "Ah—so you're a painter?"
"Nice deflection," she said, unimpressed. "Yes. I paint for the art club."
"Really?" Vince stepped closer.
She immediately raised her brush like a sword. "Five feet. Minimum."
"Ah—my bad." He threw up his hands and backed off.
He watched her add another stroke of gold to the field. "You always paint this early in the morning? Did you get to school like... an hour before everyone else?"
"I live nearby," she said, not missing a beat.
"I see..." His eyes shifted back to the canvas. "That field—have you been there before? Or just painting from imagination?"
She paused. "You ask a lot of questions."
"Only because I'm curious about you," he replied without thinking.
That got her attention. She looked at him, one brow raised. "Is that why you followed me yesterday?"
"Umm..." Vince opened his mouth to reply—but the school bell rang, loud and sharp, saving him from digging himself in deeper.
She stood, packed up her things with quiet efficiency.
"I'll see you around," she said, slipping her bag over her shoulder.
And like that, she was gone again.
Vince groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. "Damn it. Why is every conversation with her so awkward?"
Later that day.
Lunchtime buzzed through the cafeteria like usual. Vince sat by the windows at his usual spot with Dale and a few other friends, laughing and cracking jokes. Around them, the room broke into its predictable cliques—sports teams at the back tables, science club near the vending machines, drama kids rehearsing lines over sandwiches. Just another day in the great ecosystem of high school.
Mid-conversation, Vince's attention snapped away from the table.
Across the room, Vanessa entered—shoulder-length blonde hair swaying, eyes as unreadable as ever. But what caught Vince off guard wasn't just her.
It was who she was with.
Darian.
Slender, smug, and wearing his baseball jacket like a badge of entitlement. Darian was the kind of guy who could flirt his way into a teacher's good side and out of detention. And now he was walking next to Vanessa like they knew each other.
What the hell is that bastard doing with her? Vince thought, narrowing his eyes.
His stare sharpened into daggers, and—whether by coincidence or instinct—Vanessa looked up and met his gaze.
Their eyes locked.
It only lasted a second, but it hit like a spark. She looked away first.
"Who are you staring at?" Dale asked, trying to follow his line of sight. When he caught it, his eyes widened. "Wait... don't tell me—you're checking out the art club president?"
"Art club president?" Vince asked.
"Yeah. Vanessa. She's won like, a dozen awards. I heard she's trying to land a scholarship overseas."
Vince leaned back in his chair. "Why didn't I know about her before?"
Dale gave him a flat look. "Because you skip class more than you breathe. And somehow still pull A's. It's honestly disgusting."
Vince smirked. "Hey... is she single?"
"Huh? Wait—are you interested in her?" Dale blinked. "Seriously?"
Before Vince could answer, Karina—brunette, blunt, and always halfway in their business—leaned in from across the table.
"You can't date her."
Vince frowned. "Why not?"
"Because she turns everyone down," Karina said, flipping her hair like she was on a magazine cover. "Besides, I'm right here. I mean, come on—brown hair, good grades, future model... Hello?"
"I'd rather not," Vince said with a deadpan face.
"Rude," Karina muttered, pretending to be wounded.
But Vince had already tuned her out.
His eyes kept drifting back to Vanessa, watching her from across the cafeteria. The way she barely spoke. The way she didn't laugh at Darian's jokes. The way her presence seemed both distant and magnetic.
There was something about her. Something he couldn't figure out.
And that only made him more curious.