A Fresh Start at Eastwood High
Maya Carter stepped off the bus, gripping her backpack straps as she stared up at the tall brick building of Eastwood High in Dallas, Texas. The autumn air was sharp, the ground still warm from the summer sun. Kids gathered in groups, laughing, swapping stories like they’d known each other forever.
This was Maya’s fourth new school in three years.
Some kids moved because of jobs. She moved because she needed another clean slate. She kept her head down.
One goal: stay invisible.
The King of the Hallway
That was when she saw Liam Rhodes—tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of confidence that made everyone either follow or avoid him. He leaned against a row of lockers, surrounded by teammates in letterman jackets, their laughter too loud, too eager.
Maya knew his type. Star quarterback.
Rich family. Untouchable.
She planned to slip past unseen. But as she walked by, someone bumped her shoulder.
Her books scattered across the tile.
“Well, what do we have here?” Liam’s voice carried—smooth, amused, edged.
She bent to pick up her things, refusing to answer. He tugged her backpack just enough to make her stop.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said softly.
“And why’s that?” he grinned.
She only met his eyes. Steady.
Unflinching. Then turned and walked away.
Liam wasn’t finished.
Edges of the Cafeteria
Maya kept to the back of classes, ate alone by the cafeteria wall. Liam and his crew ruled the center table, loud and confident.
Now and then she felt his eyes flick toward her, but he never moved closer. Not yet.
The Black Car at the Curb
After the last bell, the Texas sun shimmered over the parking lot. “Hey, new girl,” Liam called, strolling up with his grin.
A few friends lingered behind.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“You’ve got an attitude,” he said. “Think you’re better than me?”
Maya laughed—soft, amused, not nervous. “I think you should walk away.”
“Oh yeah?
Why’s that?”
“Because you don’t know who I am.”
She pressed a button on her phone. A roaring engine cut through the air. A black muscle car pulled up to the curb, sleek and powerful.
The tinted window lowered.
Behind the wheel sat Marcus Steele, a man built like stone, eyes sharp, presence heavy without a word.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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