The Day Everything Went Slightly Wrong
The first time Ethan Walker looked at me like that, I was holding a stack of textbooks that were definitely about to ruin my life.
Okay—ruin might be dramatic. But at seventeen, embarrassment in a crowded school hallway feels dangerously close to the end of everything.
It was third period, which meant the hallway outside the English wing was packed with people who walked like they owned the place. I did not walk like that. I walked like someone who planned their steps three seconds ahead and still managed to trip over nothing.
I should've known the day was cursed when my locker jammed.
Again.
I tugged at the handle, trying to stay calm. Calm was my thing. Calm, organized, prepared. The kind of girl who color-coded her notes and never missed a deadline.
The locker did not care.
"Come on," I muttered under my breath, giving it one final pull.
That was when it gave up.
The door flew open with aggressive enthusiasm, and my carefully stacked books launched themselves directly into the hallway like they were escaping a sinking ship.
Papers scattered. A notebook slid across the floor. Someone stepped on my chemistry worksheet.
And then—because the universe enjoys overachieving—I collided with someone solid.
Very solid.
"Whoa—!"
Strong hands grabbed my arms, steadying me before I completely face-planted in front of half the junior class.
I looked up, heart racing, already preparing an apology speech that would probably include the phrase I'm so sorry, this never happens.
That's when I saw him.
Ethan Walker.
Of course it was him.
He was taller than I remembered—broad shoulders, messy dark hair that looked like it had never met a brush and won every argument because of it. He wore a hoodie despite the late spring heat, headphones resting around his neck instead of on his ears.
And he was looking at me with an expression I couldn't immediately place.
Not annoyed. Not amused.
Curious.
"Easy," he said, voice low and calm, like he hadn't just stopped me from publicly dying of humiliation. "Your locker attacked first."
For half a second, I forgot how words worked.
Because Ethan Walker wasn't just a guy. He was that guy. The one people whispered about. The one teachers watched a little too closely. The one girls warned each other about like he was a storm system moving through town.
I'd never actually spoken to him before.
I was pretty sure he'd never spoken to me either.
"I—uh—thanks," I finally managed, pulling myself back and immediately wishing I hadn't because my arms felt weirdly empty without his hands there.
Get it together, Emma.
I crouched down to collect my books, cheeks burning. "I'm fine. Really. I just—my locker hates me."
"Seems personal," he said.
I glanced up at him again, surprised.
Was that… humor?
He was kneeling too now, picking up my fallen papers before people could trample them. His fingers brushed a pink sticky note stuck to one of my notebooks.
He raised an eyebrow. "You label your feelings?"
My stomach dropped.
I snatched the notebook from his hands. "That's not what that is."
He smirked. A real one this time. Quick. Dangerous.
"Relax," he said. "I won't tell."
"I don't even know you," I blurted.
His eyes flicked up to mine, something unreadable passing through them.
"Yeah," he said softly. "I know."
That should've been the end of it. Awkward hallway moment. Minor embarrassment. A story I'd tell Maya later while dramatically reenacting my near-death experience.
Instead, the bell rang.
And Mrs. Holloway's voice echoed from the classroom behind us.
"Emma Carter. Ethan Walker. Since you're both already here, why don't you come in?"
My heart sank straight through the floor.
Ethan stood, offering me a hand again. This time, I hesitated.
Then I took it.
If there's one thing you should know about Mrs. Holloway, it's that she loves group projects the way some people love chaos.
She waited until everyone was seated before smiling like she'd been planning this for weeks.
"For our final unit," she announced, "you'll be working in pairs. Six weeks. One project. One presentation."
Groans filled the room.
She ignored them completely.
"I've already assigned partners."
I had a bad feeling. A very bad feeling.
"Emma Carter," she said.
I straightened. Of course.
"And Ethan Walker."
The room went quiet.
I felt it before I heard it—the shift. Whispers. Side glances. Someone behind me muttered, "Good luck."
I turned slowly toward Ethan.
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, looking entirely too relaxed for someone who'd just been paired with the school's resident overachiever.
"Well," he said quietly, eyes meeting mine. "Guess we're a team."
I swallowed.
Six weeks.
Six weeks with Ethan Walker.
This was not in my planner.
By the end of the day, I was exhausted.
Not physically—emotionally.
Everywhere I went, it felt like eyes followed me. Like my name had been temporarily redefined as the girl paired with Ethan Walker.
Maya found me at my locker after last period, eyes sparkling with unrestrained curiosity.
"EMMA."
"No."
"Oh my god, YES."
She grabbed my arm. "You and Ethan Walker. Tell me everything."
"There is nothing to tell," I said quickly. "It's just a project."
She gave me a look. "That's how every story starts."
I rolled my eyes. "You read too many romance novels."
"And you live in one and refuse to notice," she shot back.
I tried to laugh it off, but my mind betrayed me—replaying the way Ethan had looked at me in the hallway. The way his voice had dropped when he said he knew who I was.
"Be careful," Maya added, softer now. "He's… complicated."
"I'm not planning on anything," I said. And I meant it.
Mostly.
Later that night, I sat on my bed, laptop open, staring at a blank document titled:
English Project – Carter & Walker
I sighed.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
I frowned, then opened the message.
Ethan:Mrs. Holloway gave me your number. Hope that's okay.
My heart did something unpleasantly enthusiastic.
Me:Yeah. That's fine.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Ethan:So… how do you want to do this?
I hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.
Logical answer: schedules, outlines, clear boundaries.
What I typed instead:
Me:I like to plan things.
A pause.
Then:
Ethan:Good. I like surprises.
I stared at the message, a strange smile tugging at my lips despite myself.
Somewhere between the lockers, the whispers, and a text message sent far too late at night, something had shifted.
I didn't know it yet.
But the careful, predictable version of my life had just cracked.
And Ethan Walker was standing right in the middle of it.
End of Chapter One