Play Me Like a Love Song

Rachel

I hadn't even started school yet, and already I hated it.

The library was quiet, and not in the peaceful way I liked. Dead quiet. Empty aisles, fluorescent lights humming too loud overhead, the faint scent of old pages that should've felt familiar but didn't.

Maybe it was the fact that I was thousands of miles from home, from my friends, from everything I knew. Or maybe it was because no book could distract me from the ache in my chest that came with starting over.

I grabbed the textbooks I needed for Westfield High. Algebra II, World History, English Lit, and tossed in the latest Jennifer Hartman book for some emotional damage and escapism. If I was going to be miserable, I might as well be dramatic about it.

I was halfway out the door when someone bumped into me. Books flew everywhere, pages scattering across the floor. I crouched down, heart pounding, scrambling to collect them.

"Excuse me?" a voice said. Flat. Bored. Male.

I glanced up, expecting maybe an apology. Instead, I saw him.

Tall. Careless. His dark amber eyes didn't even flicker in my direction, too busy scrolling through his phone, like the collision was a mild inconvenience in his otherwise perfect day.

I stood, brushed off my jeans, and glared at him. "What?"

He finally looked up, his gaze colliding with mine. Cold. Bored, like I was already taking up too much of his time.

"You bumped into me," he said flatly.

I scoffed, brushing my hair behind my ear. "No, you bumped into me." I pointed at his phone. "Maybe try looking up from your screen next time."

He raised an eyebrow, like I was a fly buzzing too close to his ear, then huffed a breath and walked past me like I didn't exist.

God. People like him got on my nerves. The too-cool-for-anything types with perfect bone structure and zero manners. If this was a preview of what high school in America would be like, I was already over it.

I stormed out of the library, clutching my books tight, and climbed into my dad's car. I slammed the door, not caring that it echoed through the quiet street.

Dad raised a brow from the driver's seat. "Rough library visit?"

I shook my head, letting the silence speak for itself. I didn't want to talk about arrogant strangers or the life I'd left behind. Saying goodbye to my old school, my friends, and everything I'd built over sixteen years was already tearing me up inside.

Dad sighed as he pulled into traffic. "You'll meet the school registrar tomorrow. Just focus on settling in, okay? The rest will fall into place."

I didn't say anything. I wasn't sure if I believed him.

---

The next morning, I was dragged out of bed by the sound of Mom yelling up the stairs. "Rachel! Are you trying to be late on your first day?"

I groaned and rolled over. "I don't want to go. I don't want to meet new people. Or new teachers. Or pretend like I'm not dying inside."

"If I have to come up there, young lady—"

Ugh. Fine.

I got out of bed, shuffled to the bathroom, and stared at my reflection. My hair was a mess, my eyes still heavy with sleep and regret. I didn't want to put on the uniform or smile or act like today meant anything. But I did it anyway.

Downstairs, Dad was adjusting his tie in the hallway mirror. "Forecast says rain," he said, handing me an umbrella.

I looked out the window. The sun was practically blinding. "It's like, 6 a.m. and it's already boiling."

He shrugged. "Better safe than soaked."

I grabbed my bag, my lunch box, and rolled my bike out of the gate.

That's when it happened.

The gate next door opened at the same time. Another student, same uniform, same exhausted look, rolled his bike out too. We both froze when we saw each other.

"You?" I said, pointing.

It was the same arrogant boy from the library.

His stupid hair fell into his face, and he flipped it aside with the kind of practiced nonchalance that made me want to scream. He didn't even acknowledge me properly, just sighed, got on his bike, and rolled away.

I glared at his back. Apparently, I was cursed to see it every morning for the next two years.

Perfect.

---

The school was massive — gothic bricks, sprawling gardens, and a ridiculous number of hallways. I met the registrar, who gave me a schedule and a campus map. I got lost twice before I found my Government class. Thankfully, Mr. John didn't make me introduce myself. He just pointed to an empty seat near the middle.

A girl with bouncy curls and a killer smile leaned over. "Jessica Lawrence," she whispered. "You're new, right?"

I nodded, grateful someone was talking to me.

"Cool. You'll love it here. Well… mostly."

We hit it off pretty fast. During break, Jessica offered to show me around. "Come on, I'll take you to the pool. It's why half of us picked this school in the first place."

I blinked. "Wait, students can actually use the pool?"

"Yup. Perks of being in a school co-founded by billionaires."

As we walked past the courtyard, music stopped us in our tracks.

A boy was standing by the garden, violin tucked beneath his chin, eyes closed. The notes danced through the air — smooth, sorrowful, stunning. His brown hair fell softly across his forehead, his lips slightly parted, like the melody was pouring straight from him.

"Josh Wilkins," Jessica whispered, like speaking louder would break the spell. "Lives with his grandfather. Paul Wilkins. One of the co-founders."

The way he played made the world blur around me. It wasn't just music. It was heartbreak and longing and something achingly beautiful.

I closed my eyes, letting the sound wrap around me like a blanket. For a moment, I forgot the chaos in my head, the sting of being new, the library boy's glare.

When I opened my eyes, the music had stopped.

And Josh was staring at me.

His dark blue eyes locked on mine — searching, like he'd caught something in me he didn't expect to find.

Something shifted in my chest, and I had a feeling that this school, this city, this boy, was about to change everything.