Walk into class before the bell rings.

After parting ways with Anna, you head to class with nothing else to do. As you walk through the door, you’re surprised to see that Angel has somehow beaten you there.

‘I guess she found someone else to show her around.’

You’re pretty sure she’ll never warm up to you, not after you got caught staring at her chest and then half-heartedly offered to give her a tour. That’s fine. If you ever get a third chance at life, you’ll make a point to be nicer to the next bitchy new girl. You walk past Angel to your desk. She doesn’t even glance your way, completely ignoring you. You reach your seat and drop your backpack next to the desk. As you sit down, you turn to the girl sitting beside you and give a small wave.

Her name is Kaguya, and she’s been sitting next to you in math class all year. She’s absorbed in reading a manga on her phone, and you hope she’ll acknowledge your presence. Not that it matters much—she’s been too shy to say more than a few words to you since the start of the year. Still, you make an effort to say hi, hoping that one day she might respond. If she does, maybe you’ll finally have a chance with her. She might even be the key to achieving your ultimate goal of losing your virginity.

To your surprise, she looks up, her elegant dark-brown eyes meeting yours. She’s beautiful—way out of your league. Her black, shoulder-length hair shines slightly under the fluorescent classroom lights, like a halo framing her pale face. She looks like one of those idols you see on foreign television. If you weren’t so embarrassed, you’d ask her if she was training to become one before her family immigrated to the U.S. last year from Japan.

“Good morning, Kaguya,” you say, figuring that eye contact is enough to justify a greeting.

“Oh, hi John,” she replies neutrally before looking back down at her manga. You try not to show your surprise at actually getting a response. It’s been so long since she last spoke to you that you’d almost forgotten what her voice sounded like.

“What are you reading?” you ask, eager not to waste this rare opportunity to talk to her.

“A Japanese comic book,” she replies, not looking up. It’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking—whether she’s annoyed by your interruption or indifferent.

“Oh, those are called manga, right?” You know it’s called manga, but you don’t want to come across as a weeb, especially not to someone from Japan. Despite your new life, you haven’t been able to shake your love for all the nerdy things that got you bullied in the past. You’ve tried to keep it low-key this time around, only discussing tech and comic books with your two best friends. Outside of that, you do your best to seem like a sports-loving, “normal” guy.

“That’s correct,” she says matter-of-factly. She slides to the next page with her slender fingers, and you notice the text isn’t in English, and the characters don’t look familiar.

“What’s the series called?” you ask, genuinely curious and secretly hoping she might recommend it. “Sorry, I can’t read Japanese.”