I’ve always been the type to throw myself into things when I want to escape—sports, classes, anything that can distract me from the complications of life. And after running into Alexander in my International Relations class, I’ve been in need of a serious distraction. Volleyball has always been that for me. Something about the rhythm of it—the way the ball moves, the precision required—gives me a sense of control I don’t often feel anywhere else. Today is the volleyball tryouts, and I’m more than ready for the reprieve it promises. I grab my gear and head out of my dorm. I’ve been seeing Alexander everywhere lately. It’s like the universe keeps throwing him in my path, daring me to figure him out. It’s maddening, and yet, a part of me is drawn to the mystery of him. When I arrive at the gym, the atmosphere is already buzzing. Girls are stretching, chatting excitedly, and eyeing the court with anticipation. I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the weird tension that’s been following me around since my last encounter with Alexander. Volleyball. That’s what I need to focus on right now. Just volleyball. As I start warming up, I overhear a few of the girls nearby. They’re talking in hushed voices, but I can still make out what they’re saying. “Did you see Alexander Hawthorne at the game last week? He’s even hotter in person.” “I heard he’s going to the gala next month. My parents got an invitation. Can you imagine getting to dance with him?” I roll my eyes, already regretting my decision to eavesdrop. Of course, _Alexander_ is the topic of conversation. He’s everywhere these days—at parties, in my classes, and on every girl’s mind, apparently. It’s like no one can resist him; even the volleyball team isn’t immune to his so-called charms. I try to tune them out as I move through my stretches, but their voices follow me like a bad echo. “I’d give anything for him to notice me,” one of the girls sighs dramatically. “I mean, who wouldn’t? He’s perfect.” Perfect. That word sticks with me, and I can’t help but think back to my interactions with Alexander. He’s definitely not perfect—not by a long shot. He’s infuriating, arrogant, and entirely too smug for his own good. And yet… he gets under my skin in a way no one else does. As the tryouts begin, I force myself to focus. The ball is in my hands, and that’s where my attention needs to be. I serve, set, and spike with precision, letting the game pull me into its rhythm. For a few blissful moments, the rest of the world fades away, and it’s just me and the court. But when the tryouts are over, and I’m heading back to my dorm, the girls’ chatter about Alexander creeps back into my thoughts. How is it possible for one person to have such a strong pull on everyone around him? And why can’t I seem to shake the feeling that no matter how hard I try, Am I not immune to it either?