"Make sure you actually read the chapters tonight, guys! We're doing a graded discussion tomorrow!" The teacher strains to be heard over the sudden din of students packing up.
The bell—an awful, industrial buzzing sound—cuts through the classroom, signaling the end of my third class, Literature. It was a lot more difficult to follow than I had anticipated; I take a mental note to start reading more classics just to keep up.
I shuffle out of the classroom along with the rest of the students, who pay me no mind. In fact, they've paid me no mind all morning, save for one or two lingering looks from some guys in the hallways—gazes I avoided as best I could. Nobody asked me to stand up and introduce myself, either, which was a massive relief. I was already somewhat familiar with a few of the instructors due to my online classes, and my teacher from second period Trigonometry, Ms. Beck, had been particularly warm.
I finally make it out into the hallway and reorient myself. Michael had given me a thorough tour of the school earlier while Simon wandered off to catch up with a couple of other students. Recalling my explosive reaction to the advice Simon gave me in the car, I can't help but cringe. He was, of course, simply trying to be helpful, and it wouldn't do me any good to be exceptionally rude to the one person I feel remotely comfortable around.
I start walking toward the cafeteria, debating whether I should formally apologize or simply make an effort to be nicer to him. Right as I turn a sharp corner just outside the classroom wing, I bump into a solid, hard body, sending a shower of loose papers from a folder he was holding onto the floor.
"I'm sorry," we say in unison, as he steadies me, stopping me from falling.
I beat him to the ground, though and quickly pick up the folder. As I hand the folder back to him, I automatically place my left hand under my right arm in the Ethiopian show of deference—yet another unshakeable force of habit.
He takes it from me, but his eyes instantly drop to my collarbone. The fabric of my oversized sweater must have slipped sideways when I bent over to retrieve the papers. I purse my lips, my chest tightening, and quickly step around him to continue on my way. I don't want to stand there and watch his reaction to the scarred flesh.
However, I catch sight of him catching up to me in my periphery. Within seconds, he keeps stride.
"I'm sorry," he says again.
"It's—" I don't even get to finish before he cuts in.
"Hey, aren't you in my Lit class? The one we literally just walked out of?" He rubs at the back of his neck, his fingers grazing shaggy blond hair that has grown down over his collar. He's clutching his folder tightly against his chest with his other hand, using it like a shield. "I'm completely lost. I can't find the cafeteria."
I side-eye him, immediately suspicious. I halt in the middle of the hallway and face him fully. He stops, too. I have a nagging feeling he already knows I'm new, or maybe he noticed me struggling during the lecture. Is this some kind of prank?
"You don't know where the cafeteria is?" My voice is heavy with skepticism.
"No…" He speaks slowly, looking a bit embarrassed under my intense scrutiny. "I'm sorry. I'm new here. Just started today."
"Oh." The defensive wall drops, leaving me feeling incredibly sheepish. I clear my throat, remembering the meticulous layout Michael had pointed out to me earlier. "Same. Sorry, too. Follow me, I know where it is."
With that, I start walking again, albeit at a much slower pace. He doesn't try to force a conversation, silently following a step behind me as we navigate the crowded corridors.
We finally arrive, and the sheer volume of the cafeteria is almost intolerable. The clatter of plastic trays, a hundred overlapping voices, and the screech of chairs dragging across tile all collide violently with my senses.
I stand frozen near the entrance for a moment, overwhelmed. To the right, I catch sight of Michael and Simon sitting at a table crowded with several other students. The blond stranger moves past me toward the lunch line, pausing just long enough to glance back.
"Thanks," he says quietly, before going on his way.
I stare after him.
"Who's that?"
I turn sharply at the question. It's Simon, leaning in close and looking curiously at the admittedly cute guy who has now made it to the back of the line.
"I don't know," I say honestly.
"Mmhmm," comes his unconvinced response. He gives me a reassuring smile, completely brushing past our tension from earlier. "Anyway, you can go ahead and sit down. I'll grab your lunch and bring it over."
I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off before I can argue.
"We saved you a seat," he adds gently, before heading off to join the lunch line.
I'm taken aback by the gesture… and deeply relieved. Yes, the table has far more people I don't know than those I do, but compared to the chaos of the rest of the room, it's a familiar harbor. I let out a quiet sigh and make my way over to the table.
The conversation slows as I approach the table. I stand at the edge of the direct chatter, awkwardly shuffling my feet. Aside from Michael, there are two other guys and two other girls. I give them a tentative wave and am met with a mix of casual waves and polite nods in return.
"Hi!" says one of the girls. She warmly gestures to one of the two empty chairs situated next to her. I take a seat as she immediately begins the introductions. "My name is Jordan."
"Hey," I respond, trying to keep my voice steady. "Lia. I'm Lia."
Before the conversation can progress, Simon arrives carrying a cafeteria tray. I push myself halfway out of my seat to take it from him. "Thank you so much."
"You got it," he says, sliding into the seat across from me. For a second, I feel a slight pang of worry, wondering if I'd finally worn through his patience earlier, but then he looks at the food—a classic Denver high school spicy chicken sandwich and fries—and looks back up at me. "Though, I don't know if you can handle it after your 'hearty appetite' this morning."
I look up to catch the crooked, teasing grin he sends my way, and some of the heavy tension in my chest instantly loosens. I shoot him a wry, and what I hope is a deeply apologetic smile.
My attention is sharply pulled away by a throat being pointedly cleared.
It's the other girl at the table. She shifts a pair of thick pink glasses up the bridge of her nose, her eyes scanning me with practiced scrutiny. "We're not quite done with the introductions," she says. "I'm Natalie."
"Nice to meet you," I say cordially, though I can't quite decipher the strange vibe lurking in her gaze.
"And you are…"
I can't help but frown at the repetition. "Lia."
"Oh, yeah, no. I heard that part," Natalie says, waving a hand dismissively. "I mean, like, what's your, erm, relation to anyone… here? Who do you know? Who are you?"
I blink at her barrage of questions, entirely unsure of how to respond to that invasive litany. But before the silence can stretch too long, Michael finally speaks up.
"We live together." He delivers the line with a deliberately blank, unblinking gaze directed straight at Natalie.
Why the hell is he wording it like that?
Natalie looks instantly betrayed, her expression dropping, while one of the guys sitting next to Michael lets out a low snicker. I feel a hot flash of annoyance at whatever hidden high school drama is happening here. I do not want to be a part of this, and I certainly don't want to be used as a pawn in whatever weird game Michael is playing.
"His parents adopted me about a year ago," I clarify bluntly, cutting through the thick atmosphere. "So, we've been living in the same house since."
Natalie's attention snaps back to me. A look of immense relief washes over her features, replacing the panic from a moment ago. "Ah." Her pretty brows crinkle slightly, and inside, I find myself entirely sharing her confusion.
Did I really never once come up in conversation the entire time we've lived together?
My unspoken question must be written clearly across my face, because Jordan—the girl next to me—answers it. "It's nice to finally meet you, anyway. Natalie must not have been around whenever you were mentioned."
"If only she was never around," the guy who had snickered mutters under his breath.
I glance over at Natalie, but she doesn't look like she heard him. Or, if she did, she's doing a masterful job of pretending she didn't. I silently pray it's the former. It's an unpleasant, petty comment, and it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
The guy looks up and captures my gaze, finally introducing himself. "I'm Jordan," he says.
I blink, confused, and glance back to the female Jordan sitting right next to me. The male Jordan merely nods toward the last unintroduced guy at the table. "And that's Matt. He's British."
Matt rolls his eyes. "English," he corrects in a crisp, sharp accent before offering me a polite smile. "Nice meeting you, Lia."
"You too…" I trail off, shaking my head slightly. "Wait, I'm a bit confused. You're both named Jordan?"
"Yeah," sighs the girl Jordan next to me, leaning back. "I told you we shouldn't have been friends. It's too confusing for people."
"Aww, but what would you even be without me?" male Jordan croons back at her, his tone dripping with an arrogant sort of charm.
Instantly, Matt throws his arm around female Jordan's shoulders, pulling her close. He jokingly chimes in, "I sure hope she would be the exact same. You would be right, love?"
She nods, grinning up at Matt, and the two of them share a quick, casual peck.
"Okay, it's settled!" female Jordan claps her hands together decisively, turning her attention back across the table. "From now on, I'm Jordan, and you're just Guy."
Male Jordan's expression sours. "What do you mean, settled?"
"I mean, yeah. Lia just decided it for us, right?" she laughs, gesturing toward me.
Male Jordan shifts his gaze, shooting a harsh, mock glare directly at me. I stiffen, entirely unfamiliar with their group dynamic or whether he's actually angry. I have no idea if it's supposed to be a joke or a genuine warning to stay in my lane.
"Yeah, I don't know," I mutter quietly, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on my tray.
The table immediately dives back into a flurry of fast-paced, mindless inside jokes, laughing over people and events I have no knowledge of. I pick at my food, the noise of the cafeteria washing over me. Michael remains completely absorbed in his phone, Simon turns to talk to Matt, and Natalie sits quietly near the edge.
I don't say another word for the remainder of lunch.