The alarm went off before sunrise.
Connor's first instinct was to throw the phone across the room. Instead, he groaned and sat up, hair sticking in every direction. The air smelled faintly of coffee and toast.
Downstairs, Sophie's laughter mixed with clinking dishes. She had been up since dawn, first grade enthusiasm in full force. Connor slipped on a hoodie, grabbed his backpack, and went to face the morning.
Sophie was perched at the table, her backpack already zipped and her sneakers double-knotted. Their mom, Elena, balanced a mug of coffee in one hand and a folder of papers in the other.
"You look alive," she said when she saw him. "Barely, but I'll take it."
"Thanks for the confidence boost," Connor said, stealing a slice of toast.
Sophie grinned. "You nervous?"
He shook his head. "Not really. Just another building, more homework."
Elena raised an eyebrow. "A little confidence wouldn't kill you."
"I'll save it for emergencies."
Sophie giggled and nearly spilled her cereal. "You'll be fine. Just smile. That's what you told me!"
He leaned down beside her chair. "And don't forget: be nice, be brave, and don't let anyone steal your crayons."
"I won't!" she said proudly.
Elena shook her head, amused. "Alright, both of you, let's move before traffic gets bad."
The drive through Ridgefield was quiet, wrapped in early-morning fog. The town still felt half-asleep: mist-covered lawns, the faint rumble of buses, and porch lights flickering out as the sun climbed.
Sophie sat in the back seat humming to herself, kicking her heels against the seat. Connor watched the trees blur past the window.
Elena glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "So, high school. You excited?" He hesitated. "I'll tell you after lunch." "That's not a no." she replied.
"Let's call it cautious optimism." Sophie leaned forward. "Mom said high school has vending machines. You're so lucky."
"Yeah, that's the best part," Connor said. "Education and vending machines."
Elena smiled. "Try to make at least one friend who isn't powered by sugar, okay?"
"I'll do my best."
The school came into view, a cluster of redbrick buildings with wide glass windows and banners fluttering in the cool breeze. Ridgefield Central High School. The parking lot was already busy with students spilling out of cars, laughter echoing above the hum of engines.
Elena pulled into the drop-off lane. Sophie stretched her arms across the seat. "Bye, Connor! Don't forget to tell me everything later!"
"Everything?" he asked. "Even the boring stuff?"
"Especially the boring stuff."
Elena leaned over the console. "Good luck, honey. Text me when you're done, alright?"
"Got it."
He opened the door, the morning air crisp against his face. Sophie waved wildly until the car rolled out of sight. Connor stood for a moment, backpack slung over one shoulder, taking in the crowd of new faces before heading toward the entrance.
Inside, the noise hit him all at once. Lockers slammed. Someone laughed too loud. A speaker crackled overhead, half static and half announcements.
Connor found his way to Room 108, Mrs. Kent, English. The door was propped open, sunlight spilling across the desks.
He slipped in a few minutes early. Students were already scattered around, some chatting, others glued to their phones.
"Any seat's fine," Mrs. Kent said without looking up from her tablet.
Connor chose one in the middle row. A boy with tan skin and restless energy sat down beside him almost immediately.
"Hey," the boy said, flashing a grin. "I'm Noah."
"Connor."
"You from here?"
"Just moved from Portland."
"Ah, city kid. Welcome to Ridgefield: land of cows, rain, and mediocre Wi-Fi."
Connor laughed. "I'll try to adjust."
Another boy dropped into the desk on Noah's other side, dark hair falling across his forehead. "He says that to everyone," the new arrival said.
"Dylan," Noah said, gesturing at him. "Ignore him. He thinks sarcasm is a love language."
Dylan smirked. "It's survival."
Before Connor could reply, a girl sat down at the desk in front of him. Short black hair, thick glasses, denim jacket. She looked organized in a way that suggested her entire life ran on color-coded folders.
She turned slightly. "You guys know if Mrs. Kent's letting us sign up for electives today?"
Noah shrugged. "No clue."
"Figures," she said, half to herself. Then she noticed Connor's polite silence. "Sorry. Harper. I'm in the journalism club, well, I will be, once I find where they meet."
"Connor," he said. "And I definitely don't know where anything meets."
She smiled faintly. "We'll figure it out."
Noah leaned over. "Journalism club, huh? You write about serious stuff or, like, cafeteria mysteries?"
"Depends on the headline potential," Harper said. "If someone starts a food fight, you'll make front page."
Noah grinned. "Challenge accepted."
Dylan muttered, "Please don't."
The morning moved fast, attendance, awkward icebreakers. By lunch, Connor had already memorized the basic layout of the building and learned that Ridgefield's cafeteria pizza was somehow both too crunchy and too soft.
He found Noah and Dylan at a corner table near the windows. Harper joined them a few minutes later, balancing a notebook and a tray of fries.
"So," Noah said, "first impressions? What do you think of Ridgefield High so far?"
Connor poked at his sandwich. "People seem cool. The school's big, though. Still figuring out where everything is."
"You and half the freshmen," Dylan said.
Harper looked up from her notebook. "And the other half are pretending they already know everything."
Noah laughed. "That's true. My brother says freshmen are like lost puppies."
"Your brother?" Connor asked.
"Yeah, Lucas," Noah said. "He's a senior for the volleyball team."
Harper raised a brow. "You mean the one who broke a window during practice last year?"
"Hey, that was a serve, and it was impressive," Noah said, pretending to sound offended.
Dylan shook his head. "I heard the team's actually solid this year."
"They are," Noah said. "Lucas said last season was kind of a rebuilding phase. They won about half their matches, but the coach brought in a new system this year. More structured rotations, better defense."
"So they're aiming higher," Harper said.
"Exactly," Noah said. "Coach Miller's trying to make the team consistent. Not the best, not the worst. Just a team that fights every game."
Connor nodded, silent but listening. The word system lingered faintly in his mind, and for a moment his chest tightened. He forced himself to focus back on the conversation.
Harper glanced between them. "Sounds like a good story for the school paper."
"You'd actually write about volleyball?" Noah asked.
"If it helps the paper sell," she said with a small shrug. "People like underdog stories."
Noah smirked. "Then you're looking at one in progress."
Dylan threw a napkin at him. "You're not even on the team yet."
"Minor detail."
The rest of the day passed in a blur of new names, locker combinations, and hallway maps. By the final bell, Connor's backpack felt twice as heavy as when he'd arrived.
Outside, the afternoon light was golden, the parking lot filled with buses and chatter. He checked his phone, no new notifications except one from his mom:
Running late. Ten minutes. Wait near the gate.
He pocketed the phone and wandered toward the far side of the field. The gym sat there, tall and quiet, sunlight bouncing off its glass panels.
Something about it caught his attention—the echo of sneakers, the faint smell of polished wood. For a moment, he just stood there, staring.
Then a blue light got his attention again.
When he looked up, the screen was there.
[SetterOS Active]
Proximity detected: Recommended location reached.
His pulse quickened. He turned left and right, the glow shifted, forming faint lines that traced the outline of the gym in shimmering light.
He blinked. The world seemed to hum softly, like distant electricity.
[Begin Preliminary Scan?]
Connor hesitated, thumb hovering above the screen. This was impossible.
The display flickered again.
[Connection Stable]
Scanning environment…
Blue lines spread across the screen, like a Map : doors, bleachers, the volleyball court. Then the light dimmed and a final message appeared:
[Training Module: Locked]
User Level: Insufficient.
The screen went dark.
Somewhere behind him, a car horn honked twice. His mom.
Connor closed his eyes again exhaling slowly. The gym stood silent in the fading light.
"Not real," he whispered to himself.
But the weight in his chest said otherwise.
He turned and walked toward the parking lot, the last rays of sunlight catching the glass doors of the gym behind him.