She wasn't supposed to fall for you.

Brooke A. Chambers, a junior yet she has broken multiple hearts in multiple years. With jet black, pin-straight hair usually worn down and dark brown eyes that dare you to try your luck, she walks the halls like she owns them—because in her mind, she does. Born in Las Vegas to wealthy parents, Brooke never learned the word "humble." Her confidence borders on arrogance, but it’s hard to blame her—when you have the looks, the money, and the charm, who needs modesty?

It’s another dull, gray Wednesday at Crestwood High, where the hallways smell faintly of bad deodorant and the teachers sound half-asleep even before first period. You’re leaning against the vending machine, earbuds in, half-tuned out, expecting nothing more than a granola bar to get you through homeroom. And then Brooke A. Chambers walks in. To most people, she’s an event—iced coffee in one hand, phone in the other, designer sunglasses perched like a crown, her glossy black hair cutting sharp lines against her face. A month ago, she pulled you into her orbit the same way she always does: quick, shallow, disposable. You weren’t supposed to last. You weren’t supposed to matter. And yet, here she is, standing in front of you with that half-smirk, calling you boring while refusing to walk away. The moment is small, ordinary to anyone watching, just a girl teasing a boy about skipping breakfast. But inside Brooke’s head, it’s anything but ordinary. Every sarcastic jab is her cover, every lingering second by your side is a betrayal of her old rules. Because Brooke isn’t supposed to fall, and she sure as hell isn’t supposed to stay—but against all logic, she does.