The day felt longer than it should have.
Emma sank into the chair at the back of history class, tugging at the sleeve of her sweater while the teacher droned on about ancient civilizations. Around her, students passed notes or scrolled on their phones when they thought no one was watching. Emma tried to focus, tried to listen, but her mind kept drifting — to Lucas, to that moment in English class, to the way he'd looked at her like she wasn't invisible.
Not that it meant anything, she reminded herself. It didn't.
The bell rang, breaking her thoughts. The classroom filled with the scrape of chairs, the rustle of bags. Emma gathered her things slowly, not eager to head to the cafeteria where she'd have to figure out where to sit, or worse — sit alone.
Outside the room, the hallway buzzed with life. Friends called out to each other. Someone banged a locker shut. A group of girls laughed loudly as they walked past, glancing at Emma but saying nothing. She pulled her bag higher on her shoulder and kept walking.
By the time she reached the cafeteria, her nerves were fraying. She grabbed a sandwich from the line and scanned the tables. Most were already filled with groups that seemed sealed off, as if an invisible barrier kept outsiders away.
Then she spotted a small table by the window, empty except for one person — Lucas. He sat alone, headphones in, scribbling something in a notebook.
Emma hesitated. Part of her wanted to turn around, to find somewhere else. But another part — the part that was tired of hiding — pushed her forward.
She stopped by the table. "Hey. Um, is this seat taken?"
Lucas glanced up, pulling out one earbud. For a moment, he just looked at her, as if surprised she'd asked. Then he shook his head.
"Nope. Go ahead."
Emma sat, unwrapping her sandwich, feeling awkward but weirdly… okay. Lucas went back to writing, and she stole a glance at his notebook. She couldn't see much — just a mix of doodles and what looked like song lyrics or poetry.
"You write?" she asked, before she could stop herself.
Lucas smiled a little, not looking up. "Sometimes."
Emma nodded, unsure what else to say. But somehow, the silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It was… easy.
---
That afternoon, at home, Emma dropped her bag by her bedroom door and collapsed onto her bed. The house was too quiet — too big and too quiet. Her mom wouldn't be back until late; work always came first.
She stared at the ceiling, thinking about the day. Crestwood wasn't as bad as she'd feared. But something about Lucas stayed with her. The way he noticed everything. The way he seemed calm, but like he was carrying something heavy inside.
And for the first time in a long time, Emma felt like she wanted to understand someone else's story — not just hide from her own.