Chapter 1

The applause felt warm, a good end to my speech at the Annual Honors Convocation.

I smiled at my parents, their faces proud in the crowd.

Time to get off this stage.

"Sarah, one moment."

Mr. Davies' voice cut through the lingering claps. He stood by the lectern, his expression unreadable.

He was my history teacher, the renowned advisor for our school's Model UN club. Known for his brilliance, and his near-fanatical obsession with school discipline.

He held up a small, cream-colored envelope. Sealed.

"An 'admiration note,' it seems," he announced, his voice amplified by the microphone, reaching every corner of the auditorium. "Found in your textbook, Sarah."

My stomach dropped.

He actually found it in Ethan's bag when it spilled in his office, I'd bet anything. Ethan, his son. And he thought someone else wrote it *to* me.

"I believe this assembly, with students, parents, and esteemed board members present, is the perfect opportunity to address the growing concern of... distracting and inappropriate romantic notions within our student body."

A murmur rippled through the audience. My parents shifted, their smiles gone.

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I recognized the paper, the careful calligraphy. Ethan. It had to be.

He wouldn't. Not like this.

Mr. Davies continued, his gaze sweeping the room. "We must nip these things in the bud. Such distractions are detrimental to academic focus."

I stepped closer to him, away from the microphone's direct line.

"Mr. Davies," I whispered, "could we perhaps discuss this privately?"

He gave me a look that could freeze water. "Privately, Sarah? Does a desire for privacy indicate an awareness of wrongdoing? An attempt to shield someone?"

His voice, though lowered, was sharp.

"Today, we will see what kind of immature and superficial sentiments are being circulated. And we will identify the individual irresponsible enough to disturb a fellow student's academic pursuits."

He wanted a spectacle. My public embarrassment was his teaching tool.

I glanced at where Ethan usually sat with the swim team. He was there, his shoulders rigid. He wouldn't meet my eyes.

This was a nightmare. Mr. Davies, champion of order, was about to crucify someone over a note.

And the someone was very likely his own son.