Chapter 2 The Girl Who Doesn’t Fit

Tasha’s POV

EVERYTHING HERE at the Vanguard International Academy looked… finished.

The buildings alone were enough to make my chest feel tight—towering glass and steel structures. Expensive cars lined the driveway like a showroom display—sleek, glossy, untouched by dust or time. Students moved through the campus like they belonged in a magazine spread.

No one looked lost. No one looked unsure. No one looked like me.

I swallowed as I looked around the perfect place with perfect-looking student. I wanted to go home—to Old Reyes Garage, but then his voice echoed in my head:

“You can’t run from your past, Tasha…” he said as he helped me with my bags. “This is already written in your stars.”

“But I prefer to hide,” I said quietly and started to look for that particular class that Sir Pablo told me to join on my first day.

It didn’t take long for me to find it. Because the mechanical training facility was bigger than the entire garage back home.

That was my first thought the second I stepped inside.

The space stretched wide and open, lined with high-performance equipment, diagnostic stations, and engines that looked like they belonged in a museum rather than a classroom.

Voices echoed across the room—confident, loud, overlapping in a way that suggested familiarity, like everyone already knew each other and their place in the hierarchy.

I hesitated near the entrance, scanning the space, trying to figure out where I fit into all of it.

And then I saw him.

Carlos Santiago.

Even if I hadn’t seen him clearly on that screen back in the garage—his name flashing across Monaco’s track like something untouchable—I still would’ve known who he was.

And people like him didn’t blend in. They pulled everything toward them.

He stood near one of the central workstations, surrounded by a small group of students who leaned in slightly when he spoke, like they were orbiting him without realizing it. He was explaining something—low voice, steady, precise. I couldn’t hear every word from where I stood, but I didn’t need to.

I could see it in the way the others watched him.

My chest tightened slightly. So that’s him. The guy from the screen. He was already handsome in Old Reyes’s flickering TV screen, but in person… Carlos Santiago wasn’t just good-looking—he’s dashing and perfect. With his ash brown hair, thick lashes, pointed nose, and pink lips, he looked like he just got out from a bachelor’s magazine.

I exhaled slowly and stepped further into the room quietly so no one would noticed me.

“…which means the calibration is compensating instead of correcting.” Carlos voice carried just enough for me to catch the last part.

I stopped. Not on purpose. Just… instinct. Because something about that sentence didn’t sit right.

I tilted my head slightly, eyes drifting toward the engine setup they were gathered around.

And there it was. The mistake. Small and subtle. But there.

“It’s not compensating,” I heard myself say before I could stop it.

Silence fell faster than I expected and every head turned.

Including his.

Carlos’s gaze landed on me like a weight—sharp, assessing, immediate.

“What?” he asked, not harsh, but not welcoming either.

I swallowed once, stepping forward just enough to not look like I was trying to disappear mid-sentence.

“The calibration,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “It’s not compensating. It’s lagging.”

A few people exchanged looks. But Carlos didn’t. He just watched me.

“Explain,” he said. Not a request but a test.

My fingers curled slightly at my sides as I stepped closer to the workstation, my attention shifting fully to the engine in front of him.

“If it was compensating,” I continued, pointing lightly toward the system without touching it, “you’d see a consistent adjustment across the output. But it’s not consistent. It spikes, then drops.” I glanced up at him briefly. “Which means it’s reacting late, not correcting early.”

One of the students frowned, looking back at the data display. “…she’s right,” he muttered after a second.

I shouldn’t have looked at Carlos again. But I did. And for a fraction of a second something shifted in his expression. Surprise. But gone almost immediately.

“And who are you?” he asked in arched brows.

“I-I’m Tasha…” I answered, trying my best to ignore my hammering chest.

His gaze dropped briefly to my clothes—my shoes, my bag, everything that didn’t match the polished environment around us.

Then back to my face. “And you think you can walk in here and correct me on your first day?”

I felt the heat rise slightly in my chest—not embarrassment. Something sharper.

“I wasn’t correcting you,” I said, meeting his gaze evenly. “I was fixing the problem.”

“Really?” he said quietly, stepping closer—not enough to invade my space, but enough to make the distance feel intentional. “What makes you think I need you to correct me?”

I was about to answer when another voice cut in the silence.

“Well, this is… interesting.”

Heads turned.

Bianca Laurent didn’t walk into a room. She arrived in it.

Of course I know her, I’ve seen her on screen with Carlos a couple of months ago… months ago, but not anymore. I wondered why…

Everything about her was controlled—perfectly styled hair, flawless makeup, clothes that looked effortless but cost more than anything I owned combined.

Her gaze landed on me almost immediately.

“Oh,” she said lightly, her lips curving into something that almost passed for a smile. “You must be the charity student that Sir Pablo told us about yesterday.”

I straightened slightly, ignoring the way a few people shifted closer to her without thinking.

“Yes,” I said, trying my best to ignore how she labeled me.

“And you already caught Carlos’ attention?” she asked as he looked at me from head to toe.

I waited for Carlos to answer or at least correct Bianca, but he didn’t. He just continued with what he was doing as if none of this worth of his attention.

“You’ll want to be careful,” Bianca added, her tone still light, still pleasant. “Places like this can be… overwhelming.”

A soft laugh came from somewhere behind her.

But the way she said it? It wasn’t an advice—it was a warning.

**

BY THE time I made it to my dorm room later that day, my head felt heavy.

But thankfully, the room itself was simple—clean, quiet, a sharp contrast to everything else I’d seen on campus. My bag dropped onto the bed with a soft thud as I exhaled, running a hand through my hair.

“Carlos Santiago… I thought you’re a nice guy,” I muttered as I replayed in my head everything that happened on my first day.

Then, a soft knock sounded on the door before I could think too much about it. I frowned slightly, stepping forward to open it.

A girl stood on the other side—bright eyes, easy smile, the kind of energy that filled a space without forcing it.

“Hi,” she said, like we were already friends. “You must be my roommate.”

I blinked. “…I am?”

She laughed, stepping past me before I could respond.

“Lila,” she introduced, dropping her bag onto the other bed. “And you are definitely the girl everyone’s already talking about.”

My stomach sank slightly. “A-Already?”

She grinned. “Oh yeah. You went after Carlos Santiago on your first day?” She turned to look at me, eyes sparkling. “Bold. I like you already.”

I leaned back against the door, exhaling slowly. This place… It moved fast. Too fast.

“I didn’t go after him,” I said.

“Sure you didn’t,” Lila teased lightly. 

I shook my head, a small smile slipping through despite myself. But as the day settled around me, one thought stayed louder than the rest.

I came here to stay invisible.

My gaze drifted toward the window, toward the campus I still didn’t quite understand.

But somehow… I’d already been noticed by all the wrong people.