Mason's POV
The hallway was quiet when I left her office, just the soft echo of my footsteps following me down the corridor. I should have been thinking about the fight, but my mind was full of Ms. Morgan instead.
The way she sighed, probably wondering why some random boy was testing her patience on her first day. I couldn't help but grin at the memory. She had this calm, steady presence, but I could tell she wasn't used to students like me. I liked that about her.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, walking slower than usual, the hum of late afternoon drifting through the open windows. My fingers brushed against an empty lollipop wrapper—I had meant it as a joke, but now, thinking back, I wondered if she'd kept it or tossed it aside.
I turned left at the corridor leading to the lockers, and that's where I saw Luke—slouched on a bench, hunched over his phone, thumbs moving furiously across the screen.
He looked too relaxed, which meant he'd probably been gossiping with Lexy instead of worrying about me, as he claimed he always did.
When he noticed me, his head snapped up. "Dude! Finally!" he called, his voice echoing. "Where the hell did you go?"
I kept walking, already bracing myself.
He pocketed his phone, stood up, and met me halfway. "You just vanished after the fight! I thought you got detention for real this time."
"No detention," I said simply, opening my locker and tossing my bag inside.
His eyes narrowed. "Meaning…?"
"Meaning I was at Ms. Morgan's office. She just wanted to talk."
Luke's expression instantly transformed into that of a kid spotting a secret. He leaned closer. "Woah, woah, wait—you were alone with the sub?"
"Technically, yes."
"With Elise Morgan?"
I shot him a look. "Don't say her first name like that. She's still a teacher."
He raised both hands in mock surrender. "You know her first name. That's already suspicious."
I rolled my eyes. "I was helping her set up a printer, man."
He blinked, processing that, and then burst into uncontrollable laughter. "You? Helping a teacher with a printer? Mason, I don't know whether to be impressed or concerned."
I closed my locker door with a metallic thud. "Be impressed," I muttered.
"Oh, I am," he grinned, still laughing. "So let me get this straight—you get into a fight, get dragged to the office, and come out not with detention but with a bonding moment? You're unbelievable."
I didn't say anything, mostly because a part of me didn't mind how it sounded. It was weird, feeling drawn to someone like that—someone older, someone who looked at the world so carefully.
She wasn't like the girls my age who giggled and filtered everything through their phones. Elise looked real, tangible, like someone who'd seen just enough of life to still believe in right and wrong… yet not enough to avoid trouble like me.
Luke was still babbling beside me as we headed down the hall toward the art room. He tossed in more jokes about me "fixing printers for love" and "falling for the sub on her first day."
Normally, I'd hit him with a sarcastic comeback, but this time, I let it slide. Maybe because I couldn't stop picturing Elise's expression when I winked at her in class—the brief flicker of surprise that had crossed her face. It replayed in my mind like a slow reel, one I wasn't ready to delete.
We finally reached the art room on the second floor. The smell of turpentine and acrylic paint filled the air. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, washing the white floors with gold. It felt peaceful. Familiar. Safe.
I went to my usual spot by the far window, where the light hit just right. Pulling out my brushes and tools, I began setting up the easel.
Luke leaned against the nearby table, watching with curiosity. "You look way too serious for a guy who just spent the last hour flirting with a teacher."
I didn't look up. "I wasn't flirting."
"Sure, sure," he said. "You were 'assembling a printer.' Totally innocent." He made air quotes.
That earned him a faint smirk from me. "Believe what you want."
He chuckled, then tilted his head toward my blank canvas. "So—who's the muse this time? You gonna paint her too?"
I paused for a moment, my hand hovering over the paints. He wasn't wrong—every canvas I'd filled this year had been connected to something or someone that had caught my attention. A place. A moment. A person I couldn't stop thinking about.
A slow grin formed at the corner of my lips. "Maybe," I said softly.
Luke whistled. "Called it."
I dipped my brush into a stroke of soft yellow, just enough to lay the base coat. With every brushstroke, the noise of the hallway faded. My thoughts drifted back to her—the way her eyes had locked with mine, that split second of tension that almost felt like recognition. It was nothing yet, but it lingered all the same.
As the brush glided across the canvas, leaving streaks of gold and amber, I couldn't help but smile.
Maybe this summer wouldn't be about surviving high school after all.