Wishful thinking is more like it. Men like Mr. Park don’t want girls like me. They want voluptuous and funny and clever.

Not shy and fearful and sad.

We might as well add awkward to that list too of what he won’t like.

Somehow, yesterday, I convinced myself that he saw through to me. The person buried so deep, alone and afraid. I’d allowed myself to paint him as my chivalrous hero, saving me from the life I hate, showering me with love and protection.

I’m a dreamer.

And it sucks when I wake up to this wicked reality.

Someone barks out a laugh in the hallway, drawing my attention. Dempsey Park is messing with his twin sister, Gemma, near a bank of lockers. They’re the younger siblings of my stupid-hot teacher. Everyone in the Park family, as far as I know, is gorgeous.

Especially Mr. Park.

Speak of the devil.

He steps into the threshold of his classroom door, filling the walkway with his massive, muscular frame. A tiny whine crawls out of my throat. Not because he terrifies me. No, because I find him so sexy it hurts.

It’s a thing.

I physically ache when I look at him. It starts in the center of my chest and pulsates this fiery, painful throb all the way down my appendages. It’s frustrating, to say the least.

“Hey,” Mr. Park calls out as he leans a shoulder on the doorframe to make room for someone entering the classroom. “Have either of you seen Spencer?”

Dempsey, a younger, but still handsome version of his brother, gives Mr. Park a chin lift. “Yeah, I think he was getting high in the bathroom earlier.”

Mr. Park doesn’t take the bait. “Tell him I’m looking for him.”

“Is he in trouble?” Gemma asks, brows scrunching together. “What did he do?”

I find myself drawn to the three of them, slowly approaching as though by being near them, I’ll somehow become one of them.

The Park princes and princess.

Royalty among the average townspeople.

More money than God.

If the rumors are true anyway…

“He’s trying to fail Miss Collins’s class.” Mr. Park frowns at Gemma. “What’s your grade in there?”

She scoffs, huffing in an indignant way. “Seriously, Callum? You’re my brother not my dad. It’s none of your business.”

Callum.

The name suits him.

Just thinking of it has my heart fluttering and my stomach twisting.

“Watch where you’re walking,” a girl hisses, bumping into me. “Freak.”