The third period was barely halfway over, and Noah Harding was already counting the minutes to lunch.
Advanced Government was normally one of his favorite classes lots of heated discussion, strong opinions, a chance to flex his debate muscles without needing a podium—but today, it dragged. The syllabus review was dry, the teacher was monotone, and his thoughts kept drifting to an exchange that shouldn't have mattered.
Chen.
Noah tapped his pen against his notebook absently, eyes flicking up at the clock.
He'd spent the morning bouncing from class to class, wading through the usual parade of greetings, back-pats, and whispered "Hey, that's Noah"s like a politician working the room. He should've loved it. Normally, he did. But this morning, there was static in his brain.
"Harding?" Mr. Bell's voice cut through the haze. "Do you agree with the idea that term limits help prevent the consolidation of political power, or do you think they weaken experienced leadership?"
Noah blinked, then smiled smoothly. "I think term limits can act as a necessary check, especially in a system that favors incumbency. But leadership's not just about experience, it's about adaptability. If someone can't lead effectively after two terms, maybe they shouldn't have stayed in the race to begin with."
A few kids murmured approvingly. Mr. Bell nodded, clearly satisfied.
Noah leaned back in his chair, letting the soft click of his pen slow. Still got it.
But even as he pulled the class's attention back toward himself, a small, stubborn part of his mind replayed Isabelle's words: Predictably adequate.
He didn't know why that bothered him. It was just a snarky line. One of many in their long, ridiculous history of verbal sparring. But it clung to him. She always did, in ways she never realized.
When the bell finally rang, Noah gathered his things, offering a few parting smiles to classmates as he left the room.
The hallway swelled with noise. Backpacks slapped against lockers, laughter echoed through the stairwells, and the familiar chaos of Crestwood High at lunch hour buzzed like electricity.
"Noah!"
He turned to see his best friend, Zay Malik, weaving through the crowd toward him. Zay was a walking contrast hoodie half-zipped, hair in controlled chaos, one earbud always in, always five minutes behind but somehow never missing anything important.
"You going to the quad or the café today?" Zay asked, slinging an arm around Noah's shoulder.
"Café," Noah said. "I promised I'd help Emma go over her speech draft. Student Council nerves."
Zay gave him a look. "Dude. You're not even the president anymore."
"Still her VP," Noah said with a grin. "Old habits."
L
Zay snorted. "More like chronic overachievement."
As they walked toward the cafeteria, Zay glanced sideways. "So, you gonna tell me what's up with you today, or do I have to read your diary?"
Noah raised an eyebrow. "I don't have a diary."
"Not what I heard," Zay said with mock seriousness. "Word is, you journal about Isabelle Chen under your pillow and cry when she beats you by half a percentage point."
Noah let out a dry laugh. "Seriously?"
"She roasted you in front of the common room this morning. It was chef's kiss. I was two lockers down."
"She always roasts me."
"Yeah, but you looked…" Zay paused, thoughtful. "Like you were enjoying it. A little too much."
"I wasn't."
Zay gave him a knowing look. "Right."
They reached the cafeteria. It smelled like reheated pizza and ambition. Noah spotted Emma Reyes, their Student Council president and close friend, waving them over to a table already stacked with notebooks, highlighters, and an untouched tray of cafeteria food.
"Hey, Emma," Noah said, sliding into the seat across from her.
She gave him a quick smile. Emma was all business sleek hair, perfectly arranged notes, and a voice that could command a room. She had risen through the school ranks on sheer competence and very little drama, which made her one of the few people Noah genuinely admired.
"I'm stuck," she said without preamble. "The speech for the Fall Festival kickoff. I need it to sound... I don't know, inspiring."
Zay plopped down next to her, stealing a fry. "Just say 'We're all in this together' and do a little dance. Worked for High School Musical."
Emma ignored him and looked at Noah.
He skimmed the draft she slid over, then offered, "Start with something personal. Everyone expects formality. Surprise them. Tell a story something simple that ties back into community. Remember how we built that haunted house in the gym last year, and someone tripped over the fog machine cable and shorted the lights?"
Emma groaned. "That was me."
"Exactly," Noah said with a grin. "You fix that into a joke, tie it back to resilience, school spirit, and voilà—instant connection."
Emma smiled for real this time. "You're good at this."
"Too good," Zay muttered. "Is this where I remind you you're not running for Homecoming King again?"
"I never ran the first time," Noah replied, mock-offended. "It was a write-in campaign."
They laughed, but the moment held something quieter beneath the surface. These were the people who saw him really saw him when the spotlight dimmed. Zay, who knew when he needed to be pulled out of his own head. Emma, who kept him grounded in reality when his ambition threatened to spiral.
And yet, today, even surrounded by friends, his thoughts wandered.
Not far. Just… across the cafeteria. To a table near the windows where Isabelle sat with a slim novel in one hand and her lunch untouched. Her brows furrowed, not from annoyance, but concentration. She looked like someone in a world entirely separate from this one.
She didn't glance over. She never did. But something about her always seemed to tug at the edge of his attention, like a loose thread he couldn't help but touch.
Zay followed his gaze.
"Oh my God," he whispered. "Do you like her?"
Noah scoffed. "No."
Zay tilted his head. "That wasn't very convincing."
Emma looked up from her notes. "Please tell me this is about Isabelle."
Noah groaned. "It's not like that. She's just… annoying."
Zay smirked. "And brilliant."
Emma added, "And probably the only person who can beat you at anything."
"She doesn't beat me."
Emma raised a brow. "She does."
Zay leaned in. "You know what I think? You're not used to people pushing back. She challenges you. That's either going to drive you insane or... make you fall in love."
Noah rolled his eyes, but something in his chest tensed.
It wasn't like that.
He didn't like her.
But later, when the bell rang and they packed up their things, he found himself lingering by the cafeteria door just long enough to see if she'd look up.
She didn't.
And somehow, that made him think about her even more.