Bellarina Mathews
I wave goodbye to Eva, flashing her a quick smile before sprinting across the courtyard. The morning sun is blazing, and the heat isn't helping my already frantic pace. I'm late on the very first day of class. Brilliant start. But hey, not everything that starts off messy ends that way, right? Positive vibes only.
After running around guided by map in my hand as the only help I finally spot Room B12. I exhale in relief, only for that breath to hitch again, the lecturer's already inside. Great.
I rush to the door, rehearsing a polite excuse in my head, when suddenly — bam!
I'm shoved forward by someone from behind. My bag slips off my shoulder, and I prepare myself for the ultimate humiliation: falling flat on my face at the doorway in front of a room full of strangers.
But just before gravity claims me, two strong arms catch me around the waist, stopping me mid-fall like a dramatic slow-mo scene from a cheesy rom-com. I'm literally dangling in the air, awkwardly cradled by a complete stranger while the entire class stares, amused and entertained.
Mortified, I scramble to my feet, cheeks flaming like I've been roasted alive. My heart's still trying to catch up from the shock, one second I was walking, the next I was airborne.
I whirl around, ready to confront my so called "savior" or more accurately, the culprit behind the accidental body check that almost turned me into public floor art.
Behind me stand two guys, both drenched in sweat, clearly just off the basketball court, and very much not sorry.
The one in front, definitely the one who sent me flying and also caught me in time towers over me with a build that could've been carved out of stone. Chocolate brown hair, soaked and curling slightly at the edges, clings to his forehead. Golden eyes flicker with amusement, and the smirk playing on his lips makes it clear he finds this whole thing hilarious.
Typical.
The guy behind him is just as tall, but a little leaner, with bright red hair and a grin so wide it could be sponsored. He's twirling a basketball in one hand like he's on break from filming a Nike commercial, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
I blink. Once. Twice.
Yep. Still surrounded by sweaty chaos and smugness.
"Seriously?" I snap, brushing invisible dust off my jeans even though the damage is entirely internal at this point. "Do you just knock people over for fun or-?"
Golden Eyes raises a hand, still smirking. "Technically, I saved you from eating concrete."
"You pushed me."
"A gentle redirect."
Red curls laughs behind him. "To be fair, it looked pretty graceful. Like a cartoon swan dive."
I glare at both of them. "You're both the worst."
Golden Eyes just shrugs, utterly unfazed. "You're welcome, Floor Princess."
I groan. Loudly.
Basketball boys: 2. My dignity: 0.
He goes on "Where's my than-"
Before he can complete, a voice interrupts.
"You three there, get in. You're already late."
It's the professor. Calm, poised, and every bit as elegant as her presence commands. Just like that, I snap out of my stunned state, mumble an apology, and rush inside. The two sweaty basketball boys trail behind me, still whispering and laughing under their breath.
Of course, the only empty seats left are in the back row, one next to a blonde girl and two beside that. I slide into the seat beside her, still fuming, and the two guys take the ones next to me, their energy loud and carefree.
As I try to catch my breath and make sense of the chaos, a small folded note slides onto my desk. I glance sideways it's from the guy beside me. In neat, teasing handwriting, it reads:
"Not even a thank you?"
I slowly turn to look at him. He has that smug look like he's proud of saving me from a fall he almost caused in the first place. I raise an eyebrow and shoot him a sharp glare. He just smirks wider, clearly amused. Typical.
I ignore him and turn to the blonde girl beside me. "Hey, did I miss anything important?" I whisper.
She smiles. "Nah, class hasn't really started yet. You only missed the professor's intro." she says spraying perfume to get rid of the sweaty odor.
That's a relief.
"By the way," she adds, "I'm Lexi."
I introduce myself, and she leans in conspiratorially. "Our professor is Miss Natalia Williams. She's… kind of a legend here."
I glance toward the front. Miss Williams is indeed captivating-composed, intelligent looking, with an aura that commands respect. No wonder half the class seems starstruck.
Lexi chuckles softly. "Oh, and in case you're wondering why there are so many guys here? Most of them aren't even enrolled in this class. They just come to... 'learn from her.'"
I suppress a laugh as I realize nearly every guy is either trying to sit up straighter, fix their hair, or ask unnecessary questions, all while sneaking glances at the professor.
I sigh. First day, and I'm already caught in chaos, unsolicited drama, and the strange popularity politics of college life. This is going to be interesting.
I lean back in my chair, trying to process everything from the unintentional stunt at the door to the smug basketball guy now casually drumming his fingers on the desk beside me.
Lexi nudges me. "You've already made an impression, huh?"
"Yeah," I mutter. "Just not the kind I was going for."
Before she can respond, Miss Williams clears her throat at the front of the class, instantly silencing the room. She has that kind of authority, not loud or forceful just effortlessly commanding. The boys pretending to be overly invested in business studies immediately drop their pens in synchronized admiration.
"Alright," she begins, "since it's the first class, we'll start with a quick round of introductions."
Cue collective groans.
"And yes," she adds with a faint smirk, "I will remember your names. Especially if you're not supposed to be in here."
I glance at Lexi. "Is she serious?"
"She remembers birthdays, shoe sizes, and what pen you used on your midterm. So yes. Dead serious."
The intros start. One by one, everyone stands up, says their name, major, and something "interesting" about themselves. Most responses are as exciting as watching paint dry.
Lexi is up next.
"Hi, I'm Lexi Sinclair. Business major," she begins, flipping her perfectly curled blonde hair over her shoulder with expert precision. "Interesting fact? I own four different blazers in the same color because apparently, I take 'corporate chic' way too seriously."
A few people chuckle. Basketball boy beside me whistles softly. "Dedication."
Lexi gives him a quick wink. "Fashion is a business, darling."
Hmm she's confident, polished, and very aware of her effect on people.
Then it's my turn.
I rise, clearing my throat. "Hi, I'm…" — and I pause, because I realize I never actually said my name to the class. Great. Identity crisis on day one.
Before I can recover, Smug Basketball Boy whispers just loud enough, "Falling Star."
Snickers spread through the back rows.
I shoot him a death glare, but Miss Williams just raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Go on, Falling Star."
Fantastic. This nickname is never going to leave me.
I power through. "I'm not Falling Star, actually. I'm Bellarina Mathews. Business major. And apparently very good at unplanned entrances."
A few chuckles ripple through the class. Smug Boy holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, could've been worse. I could've let you hit the floor. That would've made you a Crashed Comet."
The class laughs. Even Miss Williams allows herself a small chuckle. "Enough space themed banter. Next?"
I sit back down, cheeks warm, resisting the urge to chuck my pen at his head.
When it's his turn, he stands with zero shame. "Name's Zade Morgan. I play forward for the basketball team. And my interesting fact is that I have quick reflexes. You're welcome." and he winks at me.
The nerve.
Lexi leans in, whispering, "Oh, he's loving this. Zade's the type who collects reactions like trophies."
"Good to know," I say. "I'll give him zero."
The guy next to Zade stands up, casually tossing a pencil between his fingers like he's done this a thousand times.
"Dexton Carter just call me Dex. Also basketball." He pauses, letting the murmurs settle before adding with a smirk, "Fun fact? Zade is usually the reason people get into trouble and I'm usually the one enjoying the show… preferably while playing background music on the piano."
A few heads turn.
"Wait… you play piano?" someone asks from the front.
Dexton grins. "Classical, jazz, dramatic theme music for Zade's disasters, I do it all."
Zade groans beside him, shaking his head. "He once played the Jaws theme in the cafeteria while I was trying to ask someone out."
Dexton shrugs, totally unbothered. "It added suspense."
Laughter erupts across the class, and Miss Williams actually cracks a smile as she scribbles something on her clipboard. Probably a note that says "keep these two away from fire drills."
I glance at Lexi. "They're like a walking sitcom."
"Oh," she says, already texting something under the desk. "Trust me people come to class just for their chaos."
As the intros end and the class continues, Zade slides another note onto my desk.
This time it says:
"Still no thank you. You really are stubborn."
I smirk, scribble back:
"Still proud of yourself? You really are annoying."
He reads it, grins, and mouths, "You'll warm up."
Not a chance.
As class wraps up, Miss Williams walks back to her desk and claps her hands once, silencing the room.
"Oh, and before you go," she says, flipping open a notebook like she's about to drop something simple. "You'll be working on an icebreaker group presentation for next week. Five minutes, topic of your choice but it needs to be creative and collaborative."
A few relieved sighs follow. Group work always sounds easier... until it isn't.
"You'll be working in groups based on your row," Miss Williams adds casually — like she hasn't just dropped a social hand grenade in the middle of the classroom.
The relief that had briefly washed over me evaporates on the spot.
Heads swivel. Whispers start. Panic sets in.
I freeze.
My row: Lexi, Zade, Dexton and me.
I blink slowly. Four wildly different humans, one vague assignment. This isn't a group project — it's a chaotic social experiment in slow motion.
Lexi lets out a sigh so dramatic it could win an Oscar. "Great. I'm stuck with you clowns." She flicks a strand of perfect blonde hair over her shoulder like we've already disappointed her. "Let's just make one thing clear: I do not do cringey TikTok dances."
Dexton leans back in his seat, arms crossed. "What if there's piano involved?"
Lexi narrows her eyes. "Depends on the lighting."
Zade's already spun his chair to face us, way too into this. "Okay, team chaos. What are we thinking? Mock Shark Tank pitch? Fake startup?
Bella runs the numbers, I sell the dream, Lexi looks expensive, and Dex scores the dramatic intro on piano."
I turn slowly. "Excuse me, who gave you right to call me Bella?"
He shrugs. "It's cute. Short for Bellarina. I don't see the problem here."
Dexton throws in a deadpan, "I'm not your soundtrack," but then smirks. "Still... I'll bring the flair."
I blink. "Why do I feel like I'm going to end up doing all the actual research?"
Lexi and Dexton say in unison, "Because you will."
I bury my face in my notebook. "This is going to crash and burn."
Zade flashes that insufferable grin. "Nope. It's gonna be legendary."
Miss Williams calls out, "You'll present at the start of next week's class. And I expect creativity. Think outside the box."
Dexton raises his hand without hesitation. "What if we are the box?"
She doesn't even blink. "Then I suggest you decorate it well."
As everyone begins packing up, our little circus stays in a loose huddle.
"Library meetup later?" I suggest.
"Basketball practice," Zade replies.
"Piano rehearsal," Dexton adds.
Lexi rolls her eyes. "Some of us have mani-pedis booked, you know. Self-care is part of the hustle."
Zade leans over to me. "Guess that leaves just you. Or… I could tag along."
I stare at him. "What?"
"Brainstorming session," he says with that irritating, confident smile.
"Star-crossed teammates gotta start somewhere." Dexton adds
I groan. "Don't call us that."
"Falling Star and Rising Ego," Lexi mutters, already walking off. "Perfect match."
'Perfect my foot', I mutter, aggressively jamming my notebook into my bag. I need caffeine. Sugar. A solid vent session. Maybe all three.
With fifteen precious minutes of freedom, I text Eva on the way to the cafeteria.
Me: Please tell me you're free. I need to emotionally scream into a muffin.
Eva: Already at the caf. Window table. Muffin's waiting.
Bless her.