Homeroom was buzzing. Morning light spilled through the high-arched windows, glancing off steel chair legs and glimmering across the pristine wooden floors. The classroom's gothic windows, framed in black and etched with the Moonstone insignia, gave the place an ancient, cathedral-like feel, though the digital chalkboard and smart projectors reminded everyone it was anything but outdated.
Adam sat toward the back, fingers loosely clasped on his desk, half-listening, half-observing. He was taking it all in, the way students leaned over to whisper, some pulling out last-minute club gear from their bags, others already dressed for the day's activities. His uniform blazer was still crisp, but he'd loosened the tie a bit. Even seated, he stood out, tall, observant, and obviously new.
To his right sat Luna.
She hadn't spoken a word to him since he sat down. She was staring ahead, arms folded lightly, cool as ever. But Adam could feel her awareness of him. The occasional flicker in her eyes when he shifted. The quiet tension. The familiarity that neither had dared name yet.
He glanced down. On the digital screen, their homeroom teacher was wrapping up.
"As you're all aware, today is Club Day," the teacher began, their voice smooth and mildly amused, like someone who'd done this speech dozens of times. "For the sake of our newest addition I'll go through the rules just once more. Your clubs will be your second homes while you're here. You're expected to be loyal to two, and every Friday, you dedicate your day to them. Attendance is registered, performance is graded, and your commitment will form twenty-five percent of your overall term score. So… take them seriously."
There was a mix of excitement and groans from the class.
"And before you ask Adam, no, you may not switch clubs mid-term unless you have a signed waiver from both supervisors, a written reason, and a parent signature. Which none of you ever seem to remember."
Laughter trickled across the room. Adam managed a small smile.
As the students began rising from their seats, hoisting bags and chatting about what clubs to hit first, the teacher called out again.
"Greene. Adam Greene?"
Adam straightened. "Yes, sir."
The teacher beckoned him forward.
"You're the transfer, right?"
"Yes, sir."
The teacher handed him a clipboard with a list printed on glossy parchment, each club name etched in gold lettering. Beside them were two columns: one for a supervisor's signature and another to tick if you were choosing the club.
"Since you haven't picked yours yet, today is your trial run. You'll visit as many clubs as you can. Supervisors will sign off that you attended, and by the end of the day, you'll check the two you're joining."
"Got it."
"Good. Don't get lost."
Adam gave a polite nod, stepped into the hallway, and immediately realized just how real that warning was.
Moonstone Academy was enormous.
He stood by the door, his hand tightening on the clipboard, eyes flicking up and down the corridor as students dispersed. Some were already dressed down, sports jerseys, martial arts gear, swim bags slung over shoulders. Others walked confidently with musical instruments, lab coats, and tool belts.
Adam, by contrast, had no idea where to start.
His steps slowed, mind drifting briefly. He thought back to that morning.
His dad had dropped him off at the main reception building in the central Atrium, an angular structure that glimmered with tinted glass and copper accents. It stood apart from the gothic architecture of the main school, a blend of old-world grace and corporate sleekness.
Austin had parked in a reserved lot and insisted on carrying Adam's suitcase. His usual casual confidence was on full display, cracking jokes, slinging one arm around Adam's shoulder, and doing his best to play the supportive parent.
Inside, the secretary greeted them with practiced warmth. A sharp-looking woman with platinum hair and glasses, she handed Adam his ID and had him sign a few documents before motioning toward the dorm registry. Adam signed without reading much, just trying to keep his nerves hidden.
As he turned to leave, he caught sight of his dad still talking to the secretary.
Or rather… flirting?
Austin's hand brushed hers too casually. She laughed, and he grinned, leaning in a little closer.
Adam looked away.
Whatever it was, he didn't like it. Not one bit.
"Yo!"
A voice snapped him back.
It was Bryce, hands in his pockets, easy smile on his face.
"You look like you're about to walk into a boss battle," he said.
"I might be," Adam replied, holding up the clipboard. "They dropped this on me. Said I need to check out every club and get signatures."
Bryce whistled. "Ahh, the Club Scroll of Doom. Brings back memories."
"I don't even know where the rooms are."
Bryce leaned in. "You're in luck. You've got a guide."
"Don't you have clubs too?"
"Debate and music." Bryce made a face. "Not today, though. I've got a flawless attendance record. One missed day won't kill me."
Adam eyed him. "You sure?"
"I was hoping to skip anyway," Bryce said, grinning. "And you, my friend, are my perfect excuse."
Adam shook his head but smiled. "Alright. Lead the way."
They crossed a courtyard bathed in warm midday sun. Students were streaming in every direction, a few already dashing in partial costume, others wheeling carts of supplies or carrying props. Music drifted from some distant hallway. Laughter from another.
Adam glanced down at his clipboard, still mostly blank. Bryce leaned in and pointed.
"Let's knock out the science ones first. Get your brain cells warmed up before the dramatic stuff."
Chemistry Club was nestled in the science annex, a sleek lab with reinforced glass walls, white counters, and neon-lit safety signs. Inside, students in goggles swirled liquids, measured powders, and hovered over Bunsen flames with near-religious concentration. A sweet-bitter scent clung to the air.
One girl, her gloves covered in violet stains, gave Adam a polite nod as he entered.
"You observing?"
"Yeah."
She scribbled her signature on his clipboard without hesitation. "You'd like it here. We get to blow things up sometimes. Safely."
Bryce coughed. "Keyword: sometimes."
Adam chuckled, then quickly retreated when a minor explosion popped from the back table, triggering a puff of green smoke and a chorus of cheers.
Their next stop was supposed to be casual.
Music Club.
But as they reached the door, painted deep burgundy with elegant musical notes, Bryce grabbed Adam by the arm and ducked behind a nearby vending machine.
"What the hell—?" Adam began.
"Shh!" Bryce hissed. "She's in there."
"Who?"
"The supervisor. Miss Lark."
Adam peeked around the corner. Inside, a tall woman with razor-straight black hair was pacing angrily beside a grand piano. The sound of a flute warbled nervously in the background.
"She's on the warpath," Bryce whispered. "I was supposed to play the Rachmaninoff solo today."
"She looks like she's about to kill someone," Adam muttered.
"Exactly. Let's just say I'll be... skipping this one."
Adam snuck in, got a reluctant signature from a distracted second-year member, and slipped back out as Miss Lark shouted something about "commitment being a discipline, not an option!"
Bryce winced. "See? That's why I joined debate too. Easier to lie your way out."
Book Club was tucked away behind the library, its own little nook with plush beanbags, secondhand paperbacks, and string lights draped across the ceiling. The scent of old pages and mint tea filled the space.
A girl with oversized glasses waved at them. "We're doing a Stephen King binge this month. You in?"
Adam hesitated. "I... might come back."
She smiled and signed him off anyway. "You've got the look of a reader."
He wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a prophecy.
Chess Club was surprisingly intense. The room was cold, silent except for the sharp click of pieces against wood. Students sat hunched over boards with monastic stillness, their eyes calculating.
One boy, tall and pale with messy hair, looked up and spoke without smiling. "You play?"
"Not really."
"Good. You'll learn faster."
Adam stayed just long enough for the signature. Bryce didn't even go in.
"I like games with a little more... blood," he muttered.
Debate Club was held in a lecture hall. Sharp-suited students stood in front of a whiteboard scribbled with fast notes and topic breakdowns. Two girls were mid-argument about a government surveillance policy while a boy with a stopwatch timed them.
Bryce and Adam stepped in, Adam got his name checked off, and they immediately tried to slip back out. But the supervisor spotted him.
"Bryce! You're next round's first speaker!"
"Gotta run!" Bryce shouted, and bolted down the hallway.
Adam laughed as they made their escape.
"Not your scene either?"
"I've had enough arguments with my mom," Bryce said. "I don't need more."
Astronomy Club was peaceful.
A high domed room with a retractable ceiling and several mounted telescopes. Images of constellations glowed softly across the walls. It was its own small separate building on the west side of the school compound. Adam thought all of it looked rich and unnecessary
One student adjusted a digital sky map, nodding politely to Adam. "We're tracking a meteor shower next weekend. You in?"
Adam didn't answer, his eyes were already fixed on a projected star field. It shimmered gently in the dark, as if something ancient and alive was watching back.
He got his signature, but lingered a little longer.
Robotics Club felt like entering a secret lair.
Sparks flew in one corner. Mechanical limbs moved in twitchy, insect-like jerks. A small rover beeped as it bumped against Adam's shoe, chirping happily.
"Sorry!" A girl in a lab coat pulled it back. "He's still learning."
Adam crouched to look at it. "What's his name?"
"Crunch."
"Accurate."
The place smelled like soldering metal and creativity. Bryce looked totally lost.
"I'd end up burning my eyebrows off in here," he said.
Adam almost signed up, but didn't.
Drama Club was chaos.
Students ran around in costume, pirates, witches, aliens, and something that looked like a man-sized squirrel. Someone was shouting about a missing script. Another kid practiced dramatic crying in a mirror.
The supervisor, a short woman with fiery red curls and more energy than anyone had a right to, grabbed the clipboard right off Adam's hand.
"You have the face for a tragic lead!" she announced.
Adam blinked. "Thanks?"
She signed before shoving to back to Adam. "Looking forward to having ya."
He nodded.
Bryce was already halfway back down the hallway.
Computer Club was surprisingly chill.
Dark room. Neon lights. Dual monitors. Code scrolling across screens like rain. It felt like a hacker's den.
Adam hovered near the door.
One guy nodded at him. "You ever jailbreak a device?"
"No."
"You'll learn."
Signature collected.
Adam walked out feeling slightly cooler than before.
Art Club was a dream.
Paintings on easels. Clay sculptures mid-form. Canvases exploded with emotion and chaos. Music played softly from a radio in the corner.
One girl painted with her fingers, smearing blue into sunset oranges.
"It's whatever you feel," she said, not looking up. "There's no right way here."
That thought stuck with Adam for a while.
Photography Club was on the roof.
Students lined the balcony, snapping photos of birds, flowers, and each other with pro gear. A boy with a scarf and vintage camera grinned at Adam.
"You have a good profile. Brooding. Strong lines."
"I... thanks?"
He signed, "Come back during golden hour."
Math Club was exactly what Adam expected.
Quiet. Serious. Whiteboards covered in variables and color-coded graphs. A girl was solving a multi-step problem with both hands while dictating the logic aloud.
"You can't argue with numbers," she said when Adam walked in.
He nodded. Got his signature. Left.
Outdoor Clubs were a breath of fresh air—literally.
Soccer Club roared from the fields with shouts and rapid footwork.
Lacrosse had students zipping across the grass with fast precision, gear clattering.
Football Club looked like a battlefield.
"You'll want shoulder pads if you pick this one," Bryce warned.
Horseback Riding Club sat beyond the fence, with riders trotting elegantly, hair catching the wind. Horses neighed softly. One nearly bit Bryce.
"I think it hates me," he said.
Archery and Marksman Club was almost meditative. Students lined up, arrows flying with sharp rhythm. Adam watched, eyes narrowing. Something about the focus pulled at him. He signed, then scratched it out
Mountain Biking and Hiking Club was all about freedom. Bikes leaned against trees. Mud-caked boots. Bruises worn with pride.
"I like this one," Adam said quietly.
"Then mark it," Bryce told him.
Adam hesitated.
Did he?
Track Running Club closed their circuit. The thudding rhythm of sneakers on pavement, the sharp gasps of breath, the sheer athletic drive, it was exhilarating just to watch.
Finally, Adam followed Bryce toward the gym complex, the final stretch of their club tour. The building loomed ahead, walls lined with banners from past championships, echoes of sneakers on polished floors, and the faint smell of sweat and liniment in the air.
They slipped into the gym club room, a lively space filled with stretching mats and punching bags. Just as Adam was starting to get a feel for the place, the intercom crackled through the speakers.
"Bryce Farren, please report to the principal's office immediately."
Bryce's face morphed from amused to resigned. "Looks like I'm finally in trouble," he grinned, flashing a cocky smile before heading off down the hall.
Adam was left standing there, suddenly unsure where to go next. "Uh, where am I supposed to go now?" he called after Bryce.
Bryce spun back around, waving a hand toward the corridor. "Swimming club's down the hall, gardening club's upstairs on the balcony, and basketball's in the far corner of the gym. You've got this."
"Thanks," Adam muttered, feeling a little lost but determined. He made his way toward the stairs and climbed up to the balcony, where a quiet garden oasis awaited. Sunlight spilled over rows of vibrant flowers, bonsais carefully pruned and arranged with a delicate touch. The air smelled faintly of earth and fresh blooms.
Mini plots lined the terrace in neat terraces, each harboring blossoms and greens that seemed almost too perfect to be real. Adam walked slowly, his eyes drawn to the intricate symbols etched on flower pots and wooden trellises, hieroglyph-like marks that tugged at a faint memory in his mind.
Before he could lean closer, a voice startled him.
"Interested in gardening?"
Adam nearly jumped and spun around, only to find himself facing a girl. She had light tanned skin and dark hair that caught the sun, framing a face with large, half-Asian eyes that sparkled with warmth. Her smile was bright, the kind that could calm nerves instantly.
"Hi, I'm Aiva Brown," she said, holding out her hand.
Adam shook it, and the moment their skin touched, a surprising spark, like a quick electric jolt zipped between them. Both pulled back, laughing nervously.
"Probably just static," Adam said, trying to sound casual.
Aiva nodded with a playful smile. "Yeah, the odds of static in this weather, right?"
They turned back to the garden. Adam complimented her on the impeccable upkeep of the plants, noting the serenity of the space.
"It's just me," Aiva said, taking a clipboard from Adam and signing it. "Nobody else's really interested. I like it this way; quiet, peaceful. It's my safe space, a place to meditate and take care of the plants without interruptions."
Adam felt something gentle and genuine in her voice. As they wrapped up their chat, he was about to leave when he couldn't resist mentioning the strange symbols.
"Those hieroglyphs… they're not quite right," he said, curiosity getting the better of him.
Aiva's smile faltered for a moment before brightening again. "You noticed? They're not Egyptian hieroglyphs, actually. Something else entirely. If you're interested, maybe I can tell you about them sometime."
Adam's mind buzzed with possibilities as he said goodbye. Walking away, he thought maybe Aiva Brown was the kindest person he'd ever met as he made his way to the swimming club, deciding to save basketball for last. When he arrived, the coach, a short but loud man named Coach Bush, immediately yelled at him for being late. Adam quickly explained he was new, and she grudgingly let him off with a warning.
Ready for the tryouts, Adam felt a flicker of excitement. Swimming was one of the few things he genuinely loved. Memories of weekends spent swimming in the river with his mom came rushing back, despite his dad's constant suggestion to go to pools instead. But for Adam, the river had always felt more alive.
As he changed into his swimming gear, Adam spotted Luna in the pool. Her silver hair floated behind her like a shimmering wave as she cut through the water with effortless grace. She looked strong and confident, every curve of her body visible in the tight swimsuit. Adam couldn't help but stare, she was more awe-inspiring than he'd expected.
When Adam finally stepped to the pool's edge, ready to jump in, Coach Bush blew his whistle sharply. "Stop right there! Tattoos aren't allowed in the pool."
Adam's heart sank. The odd tattoo on his lower chest, the mysterious mark that had appeared the night his mother died, was suddenly a problem.
He tried to reason, "I can cover it up, maybe with a patch or something…"
"No exceptions," Coach Bush interrupted, firmly marking a big cross on Adam's clipboard and signing him out of the club. His voice was loud, his tone final.
The whole scene turned unexpectedly humorous. The coach's small stature and booming voice had the other swimmers chuckling. Even Luna smiled, an expression Adam had never seen from her before. For a moment, he felt like he'd won something, however strange.
Shaking off the rejection, Adam left the swimming hall and headed toward the basketball court, ready to prove he belonged there.