Sheila’s POV
The classroom feels too perfect.
Everyone looks polished and rich, like they belong here more than I ever will. Glossy hair. Fresh nails. Designer sneakers tapping against the floor while they laugh like this is their second home.
And then there is me.
The outsider. The girl with the scuffed backpack, the pen that keeps skipping, and the nerves crawling under my skin like I’m seconds away from being called out for being fake.
I try to focus on the professor setting up slides, but then I feel it.
His stare.
Brendan.
I don’t even have to look to know it's him. That heat pressing against the side of my face, that weight leaning into me without a single word, makes my pulse stutter.
When I finally glance over, he’s already smirking. That same cruel twist of his lips I rem
