Zendaya’s pov
The morning rush still clung to me like leftover adrenaline as Beatrice and I hurried to class. Students flooded the walkways in every direction, some energised, some half-asleep, others already laughing like the day had nothing on them.
“Walk faster,” Beatrice muttered, gripping my arm.
“I am walking fast,” I protested.
“No, you’re gliding. This isn’t a runway, Zendaya.”
I let out a soft laugh but picked up my pace anyway, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. The sun sat just high enough to warm everything without being harsh, and for a second, it felt like one of those days where everything could go right.
Until I saw him, my steps slowed instinctively. Across the courtyard, under the shade of one of the large trees near the administration block, stood Ransford. Of cour
