Halfway through the class, as the teacher's voice floated through the thick classroom air, I felt it—that prickling awareness. Not imagined. Not mistaken. The unmistakable weight of someone's gaze settling on me.
My spine stiffened instinctively.
It wasn't the kind of stare that burned. It didn't feel hostile. It felt… familiar.
Slowly, deliberately, I lifted my eyes.
And there he was.
Outside the glass panel of the classroom door, standing in the corridor like a phantom who had wandered into my new life—Reggie. His tall frame was leaned casually against the wall, arms folded, head tilted slightly toward someone beside him. He wasn't speaking, just listening. Nodding. But his eyes weren't on the person talking.
His eyes were on me.
Direct. Unapologetic.
A crooked grin played on his face—lopsided and effortless—the same one that used to surface whenever he caught me rolling mine. Only now, it looked older. Sharper. The edges weren't soft like they used to be. There was something else behind it. A challenge, maybe. Or a question he wasn't ready to ask.
For a second—just a breath too long—our eyes held.
And in that breath, something cracked.
The sounds around me—the scrape of chairs, the dull rhythm of chalk on the board, the rustle of notebook pages—all faded into a distant hum. I felt frozen. Not in fear. In recognition. Like I was staring into a mirror I hadn't looked into in years. One that knew too much.
Then I looked away.
My gaze dropped to the open book on my desk, the words swimming out of focus. I blinked hard, once. Twice. My fingers curled around the pen I hadn't touched since the class began. It didn't steady me the way I hoped it would.
For a strange, fleeting moment, I felt… seen.
Not observed. Not studied like the others had done when I first walked in that morning, with their hushed curiosity and darting glances. Reggie hadn't looked at me like I was a mystery. He hadn't looked at me like I was new.
He'd looked at me like he already knew who I was.
And maybe he did.
But I blinked it away, like everything else I didn't want to feel.
This was a new school. A clean slate. A different version of me. I was starting over. I had to.
Even if the past still clung to me like melted candle wax—cooled and hardened, yes, but impossible to peel away without tearing skin.
I didn't glance at the door again, not even when the person Reggie had been speaking to vanished from view. I could still feel his eyes, heavy and constant. I kept mine fixed downward, my body a statue. Still. Detached.
But Reggie didn't move.
He just stood there, staring at me through the narrow pane of glass in the door, as if waiting for something—recognition, a reaction, a sign that I remembered.
I gave him none of it.
Then, a sharp voice split the silence in the hallway outside, cutting through even the muffled classroom walls.
"Reginald Anders," the voice snapped, clipped and tight with authority. "What might you be doing on this floor in the middle of class?"
Reggie turned his head slowly. I could picture the look on his face without even seeing it—calm, amused, vaguely apologetic. The same look he used to flash at adults whenever he was about to talk his way out of trouble.
"Mr. Meyers, I w—" he began, pulling out his winning card: that famously charming, gentle smile.
"Not Mr. Meyers at all," the voice interrupted, loaded with irritation. "Reginald Anders, you do realize being captain of the basketball team can't save you from everything, right?"
There was a pause. I imagined Reggie's smile faltering—just a flicker, quickly replaced.
The man let out a tired sigh. "Anyway, see you in detention tomorrow."
And just like that, the hallway swallowed their conversation. Then came the bell—longer than usual, almost dramatic in its timing. I noticed it, but didn't react.
I was still piecing everything together when I felt Nia shift beside me.
"Mmmh," she hummed under her breath, leaning slightly in my direction. "It's appointment time."
"Appointment?" I echoed, still lost in thought.
"At the beginning of every new session, student leaders are officially appointed from the senior class," she whispered, like she was letting me in on a secret everyone else already knew. "They do it in front of the school. Total formality. Very unnecessary."
"Oh," was all I managed.
Nia gave me a side glance and rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed with the tradition. Without asking, she reached across and gently closed my book, aligning it neatly with the edge of the desk. Her movements were practiced, like she did this often—for herself or maybe others.
Then she stood, smoothed the front of her skirt, and turned to me expectantly.
"Up," she ordered, her tone light but firm.
I blinked at her. "What?"
She didn't answer, just tugged at my arm, already adjusting the folds of my uniform and brushing imaginary lint from my shoulder like some kind of big sister I hadn't asked for but wasn't entirely sure I minded.
I stared at her, wide-eyed and a little bewildered.
Once satisfied with my appearance, Nia smiled—bright and confident—and without warning, linked her arm through mine. She led me out of the classroom with gentle authority, like I was some lost cousin being introduced at a family function.
The hallway buzzed with students, but Reggie was nowhere in sight.
Still, I felt the imprint of his presence.
Like a shadow that had touched me and slipped away before I could catch it.