Chapter 1
The sun’s out. Birds are probably chirping. And I couldn’t care less. My head’s down, my mood’s shot, and I’m stuck in a classroom that smells like chalk dust and wasted potential.
So no, this isn’t pleasant. But it’s not a crisis either—it’s just another Tuesday.
I go to Juilliard. I’m a dance student. My life normally moves to rhythm and beats—not monotonous lectures by some old guy whose voice could be used as a sleep aid. But today? We’re blessed with boredom wrapped in tweed.
Apparently, we have a new professor.
What’s his name again? John? Tom? Honestly, I was too busy trying not to fall into a coma to care. He introduced himself and I blinked right through it. Let’s just call himsirand move on.
“I also have a daughter, Daisy, who’s studying fine arts here. I’m sure most of you know her.”
Oh? We’re playing nepotism already? How quaint.
And no,sir, I don’t know Daisy. But judging by your vibe, I’d bet good money she’s just as bland.
A girl stood up. Average-pretty. Curly hair, pink sweater, black cargos. Sneakers. Gold jewelry that tried its best to distract from the overall mediocrity. She was tall. Not model-tall. Just tall enough to make short guys insecure.
“Hi, I’m Daisy. This is my father, Dom.”
Dom.Right. Of course.
He whispered something to her. She nodded and sat next to me—front row. Not because he’s monitoring her, just because that’s where I sit. I like to see people when they lie.
I caught her from the corner of my eye. She looked… into it. Like her father’s voice was the highlight of her day.
“You seem interested,” I said, raising a brow.
“I’m not.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“I have to look like I care. He’s my dad.”
“Well, you’re nailing it.”
“I’m an acting student.”
“Makes sense,” I said, turning away. I wasn’t interested. But I was watching.
A few seconds passed.
“What do you study?”
“Dance.”
She nodded. Then made a face like I said I collect toenails for fun.
Wow. Okay.
...
“Do you want to be friends?”
The question came out of nowhere—confident, like she already assumed the answer.
“Sure,” I said, because why not? I’ve made worse impulsive choices.
“May I get your number?”
“987xxxxxxx.”
Class ended. I left fast. Music in, world off. I was halfway into my walk when my phone started vibrating—unknown number. I usually let those die in silence, but something told me to answer.
“Hello?”
“Hey. I’m Daisy’s brother. Found your number in her contacts. Figured you might be her friend or something—her birthday’s next week. She doesn’t know, but I’m throwing her a party. You in?”
His voice? Deep. Casual. Like he was calling from a rooftop with the city at his feet and not a single care in the world. Smooth, sure—but with that smug,I know you’ll say yestone.
“Who else is invited?”
“Whole school, basically. Dad’s on staff. Can’t exactly keep it low-key.”
Ah. So he’s not just cocky. He’s legacy cocky.
“Fine. Send me the details.”
“You’re lucky I’m calling from my number. Go ahead and save it—I’ll text.”
“You sound like you expect me to.”
“I do.”
Click.
I was barely two steps back into my playlist when my phone lit up again.
Same number.
“Hello?” I said flatly.
“Just making sure you saved it. Would hate for you to miss my texts.”
I could practically hear the smirk.
“You’re persistent.”
“I’m unforgettable.”
He hung up before I could respond.
I stared at my phone for a second before saving his contact.
‘Cocky Caller #1’
Felt accurate.
