Chapter 1

It seemed like I had never gotten ready as quickly as I did that morning, rushing to school and dreading being late. Of all days, I had to oversleep—on what was practically the first day of school. Reckless. My alarm, as if out of spite, hadn't rung at all—not even a faint beep. And only after my mom's words jolted me awake—telling me I had overslept—did I notice, as I scrambled out of bed like a lunatic, that it was completely broken. 

Throwing on my clothes in a hurry, not even bothering to eat the usual breakfast of a sandwich and tea, I barely managed a quick, incoherent "Bye, Mom" before slamming the front door shut, cursing my scatterbrained self under my breath.

"Eva!" My mom called after me from the apartment landing, holding my helmet—something I, in my absentmindedness, had forgotten to take. I was already two floors down when she yelled, "You forgot this!"

I stopped abruptly on the next step and smacked my forehead, amazed at my own forgetfulness. But going back up would waste precious time—time I didn't have. So instead, I shouted back:

"Throw it down, Mom!"

"Are you sure you'll catch it?"

"I hope so." Bracing myself against the railing, I looked up at her and stretched out my arms. Mom hesitated for a second, then let go.

"Thank God!" I exclaimed moments later, clutching my helmet to my chest as relief washed over me. I even crossed myself three times—why, I had no idea.

Mom chuckled before mumbling something under her breath and heading back inside. I didn't hear what she said—I was already sprinting downstairs like a bat out of hell. The last thing I needed was to barge into biology class after the bell had rung and spend half the lesson listening to Mrs Robinson's lectures on discipline. That woman sure knew how to scold—thoroughly and effectively.

My trusty ride awaited me by the entrance—oh, my dear motorcycle! Slipping on my leather backpack, which held a couple of notebooks, textbooks, and a pen, I strapped on my helmet, already anticipating the number of traffic laws I'd have to break just to make it to school on time.

Our school was so massive that finding the right classroom on the first try was a challenge. The enormous building was now teeming with sullen teenagers, hurriedly passing by, filling the halls with their chatter. I stood by the schedule board, squinting at the blurry text in an attempt to figure out where my biology class was. Ugh, my eyesight was getting worse! All those sleepless nights reading textbooks on subjects I hated, desperately trying to make sense of the nonsense written inside, had done me no favors.

Digging my glasses out of my backpack, I finally spotted "209" listed under "Biology" for class 11-B. I sighed heavily—fifth floor. Of course. Just my luck, especially since our school had no elevators. Guess I'd be climbing up with my own two legs. My watch was showing 8:24 a.m. If I didn't collapse from exhaustion on the way up, I might just make it before the bell rang. Hopefully.

Steeling myself, I hurried toward my classroom, already dreading the next forty-five minutes. I hated biology. Partly because I didn't understand it. But my hatred deepened when I realized I had to take it for my university entrance exams. Endless late-night studying just to ace quizzes, tests, and class discussions drained me more and more each day, gradually snuffing out my enthusiasm for medical school. By the time I finally admitted to myself that this path wasn't for me, it was too late to turn back. My parents insisted on it.

"Eva," I thought I heard someone call from behind me. I turned my head while still walking but saw no familiar face. Great, now I was hearing things. Just what I needed. But before I could dwell on it, I suddenly crashed into someone—so hard that my backpack, which had been loosely hanging off one shoulder, tumbled to the floor, spilling its contents everywhere. I must've forgotten to zip it up after grabbing my glasses.

"For God's sake," I muttered under my breath, scowling at the mess of books and notebooks scattered on the floor. But it was unlikely my words had gone unnoticed by the person I had just slammed into.

"I'm terribly sorry," a young man said apologetically, crouching down to help me gather my things.

"Oh, no, this is entirely my fault," I waved it off, stealing a quick glance at him. He looked young—but not young enough to be a student. Short dark hair, blue-gray eyes, and a sharp jawline dusted with light stubble, making him look a few years older. I only realized I had been staring when he handed me the last of my books and locked eyes with me.

"Thanks," I muttered, quickly looking away and shoving everything back into my backpack. We both stood up at almost the exact same time, and he apologized again for the collision.

"It's fine," I gave him a faint smile. But then, as if on cue, an earsplitting sound rang through the school, practically bursting my eardrums. The bell. The very bell I had been dreading hearing before making it to my classroom.

Forgetting about the guy, the crash, everything, I bolted towards room 209, knowing I was screwed.

"Eva!" My best friend and desk partner, Sarah, greeted me at the classroom door with open arms. Surprisingly, Mrs. Robinson was nowhere to be seen. That was odd—she was never late. Ever.

"Did you hear the news?" Sarah started, linking arms with me, but Linn Cruise—the self-proclaimed queen of our class—cut her off.

"Turns out she is retiring!"

"What?" I frowned, sinking into my seat, but Linn ignored me and went on:

"They say a new teacher's coming to replace her. Young. And pretty cute, too."

"Oh, and you've already seen him?" Sarah snorted, lounging back in her chair, while I, still stunned by the news, tuned the rest of Linn's words out.

Before Linn could snap back, the classroom suddenly fell into complete silence. An eerie hush swept through the room, sending shivers down my spine. The sharp click of heels echoed in the hallway before the door swung open, revealing our deputy principal, Mrs. Smith.

A short, stocky woman with a neat bun of white hair, she peered at us over the rim of her glasses with her usual piercing gaze. Holding a stack of papers, she stepped inside, ushering in someone else behind her. At first, I paid no attention to him—all my focus was on her. And not just mine.

"Take your seats, children," she instructed, nodding at those who had bothered to stand and greet her. (Unlike me.)

"As you may have heard, Mrs. Robinson has decided to leave our lovely school and retire," she announced, her voice shrill and grating—completely at odds with her stern, fearsome presence.

"Therefore, I'd like to introduce your new teacher, who will be with you until the end of the academic year and will prepare you for your upcoming exams." She gestured toward the man standing beside her, finally giving us permission to look at him.

Holy Mother of God.

I nearly gaped as I realized it was the same guy I had bumped into in the hallway earlier. A smirk played on his lips as he introduced himself:

"My name is Mr. Gilbert."

I eyed him skeptically, my thoughts ringing loud and clear:

"This guy—who looks like he just graduated high school himself—is supposed to teach us biology? And prepare us for our exams?"

I had a bad feeling about this. A very bad feeling. This year was going to be rough. Oh, so very rough.