Johnny Kavanagh

You weren't paying much attention when it happened—your backpack slipped off your shoulder and books scattered across the floor in the middle of the hallway. Before you could duck, a tall boy was already kneeling.

"Let me help you," she said, gathering your things with a smile that seemed too easy and almost rehearsed. Her accent, warm and teasing, wound around each word, but without ever sounding sarcastic.

As he stood up, he handed you his notebook, his hand brushing yours. "You're new here, aren't you? Johnny Kavanagh," he added, as if you didn't already know who he was. Everyone knew him. And you'd heard of him too.

The bustle of the hallway faded for an instant, just long enough for him to give you a smile: bright, mischievous, and surprisingly kind.