CARL
I will never stop being grateful that school is only a mile from my house. At the same time, I'm not sure if that's a blessing or a curse-especially now that everyone seems to think I have zero excuse for being perpetually late.
But regardless I'm glad to say the least.
The hallways are chaos in motion. Fresh paint, floor wax, teenage angst bouncing off every locker and tile. People drift too slow, dash too fast, and all around me the air smells like ambition mixed with anxiety.
Posters scream: JOIN FOOTBALL. And, WELCOME BACK TO ASHFORD HIGH. THE HOME OF THE TIGERS!
I pull my hoodie over my head and weave through the crowd, eyes flicking to my phone to check my schedule. Then I look up.
Damasen Crane. Standing there like the hallway is his kingdom, steel-green eyes scanning, a half-smile tugging at his lips. He had dyed his brown hair into a shade of blonde that didn't reach his hair roots.
"Wow, Carl. You look like you woke up shit," he says, and panic spikes through me. I knew the bags under my eyes were bad, but apparently they're catastrophic.
"Ignore him, Carl," Elara Carter says softly beside him. Slim, brown-eyed, hair in a messy bun. She gives me a small, nervous smile. "You look great."
Damasen huffs. "Whatever." He digs into his pocket, tosses me a key with the number 42 dangling from a plastic holder. "Your locker's next to hers," he says, winking his lips bent on a sly smile. I roll my eyes.
Damasen still thinks that I still have a thing for her, even though we broke up like ages ago.
The hallway buzzes around us-high fives, shouted greetings, laughter. Damasen acknowledges each with a casual charm that makes you wonder why he even tolerates us mere mortals. Tall, handsome, rich, with a tan that never seemed to fade over time-the full Disney movie-popular package-but somehow, after six years, we're still friends.
I edge closer to Elara. "You good?" She nods, though her fingers flex nervously at her sides. "Just a small headache," she says, eyes darting away. "Not another episode..."
I bite my lip. "You're completely sure?" The memory of her last episode while we were at the lake curls cold in my stomach.
She rolls her eyes. "Yes, Carl. I'm fine." Then she strides a few steps ahead, spins, and holds our gaze. "In fact." She raises her voice,
"I don't know about you guys, but I'm going to have the best fucking year yet!" she declares, full of confidence that I don't remember her having.
She's changing, hopefully for the better than the shy, withdrawn kid she had been.
"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Damasen cheers.
A few guys near us laugh, caught up in her energy. He goes to chat with them, a few I remember seeing a few from one of the parties he'd thrown at his place.
I grin, but something catches my attention-a girl brushes past Elara's shoulder, and Elara flinches. I glance over.
I manage to glimpse at pale skin, Raven-black hair, wild and rough, cascading like shadows down her back. She moves with a quiet power that doesn't belong in a hallway packed with chatter and chaos. She's gone in a blink, swallowed by the crowd-but something about her lingers, sticky and impossible to ignore.
"Earth to Carlos... hello?" Elara's voice jolts me back. I look back at her.
"Who was that?" she asks, following my gaze. I glance back, but the girl is gone.
"No one," I respond, though my chest tightens. There's no way that was, "no one." Not with the way the air seemed to bend around her, or the way my brain refused to let her fade.
---
The bell rings, and the three of us head to first-period English. After an hour of cramming information into my reluctant skull, it's time for another round with the second period.
Elara has chemistry, while Damasen and I have biology. I've started to almost like it-mostly because of Mr. Raymond, who taught us last year. He has a way of making things... Interesting to say the least.
We walk to class together, Damasen jabbering about some girl he met over the summer. I nod, half-listening, until my phone dings.
A new post on Between the Lines, Knox Meyers' blog, a guy Im I'm not particularly close to who managed to obtain small town fame a. My stomach drops when I see it.
"...so I'm thinking maybe I should have asked for her number. Like, I don't know, maybe she was the one, you know?"
Damasen notices my face.
"Carl? What's up?"
"Nothing," I lie maybe a little too fast. "Just Mr. Sweetly reminding me I've got extra time tonight."
"See I've been trying to tell you. That old man's fucking exploiting your ass." He says but let's go, thankfully.
---
Backpacks slide off shoulders as we step into the classroom.
"Ah, look who decided to show up," Mr. Raymond says, leaning against the desk, dark hair messy, glasses perched on his nose. "Morning, gentlemen. Survived the hallways without being trampled?"
"Hey, Mr. Raymond," I say, sliding into a desk by the window.
"Morning," Damasen adds, dropping his bag beside him.
"Good," Mr. Raymond smirks. "Students who answer politely before the caffeine kicks in make me feel useful."
Dame and I exchange glances. He rolls his eyes.
"Today, we'll explore the wonders of the rat digestive system," he says, straightening. " Don't worry no animals were harmed in the making of this lesson... I think."
The quiet that follows his 'joke' is almost hilarious.
Then the door swings open.
I look up. And freeze.
Black hair falling in soft waves, grey eyes scanning the room like she's seeing it all for the first time. Every step is deliberate, measured, and cautious. Brown leather bag slung across her shoulders.
She doesn't just walk in-she arrives, and the rest of the world falls into the background. And I feel pulled towards her in a way I don't understand.
Mr. Raymond notices. "Ah, looks like we have a new student. Why don't you introduce yourself?"
She hesitates, then lifts her head. "Ashley," she says, calm, steady. "I just moved here."
"Well, Ashley, take a seat at the back."
I can't move. Can't look away. There's something about her. Something that tugs at the edges of memory, sharp and strange, like I should know her.
My chest tightens.
My stomach knots.
Every small movement she makes-the way she shifts her weight, the quiet grace of tucking a strand of hair behind her ear-sets something humming inside me.
Her eyes flick to mine for a heartbeat. Just a second. That tiny glance-so faint, so fleeting-is enough to pull my breath out of me.
Damasen leans over, a smirk on his lips. "Who's that?"
"I... don't know," I murmur.
"She's hot," he says, nudging me.
I glance to the back. He's right though.
She is breathtaking.
But it's more than that. There's a familiarity here, a whisper at the edge of something I can't name, a pull I can't resist.
My eyes follow her to a seat at the back.
Ashley slides into her seat, opening her notebook, the subtle movements echoing in my chest. Even as Mr. Raymond drones on about rats, I can't stop thinking about her. Can't stop watching, hoping, waiting... for some recognition, some spark, some reason this feels like it's supposed to mean something.