The morning smelled like burnt toast and over-processed coffee. The world felt louder after the night I had, sharper in edges and angles, but the hallways of Westfield High had not noticed. They never do. I slipped through the crowd, quiet, unseen by design, my backpack slung over one shoulder. The uniform was soft armor, as was my expression: blank, polite, nondescript.
Ryan caught up at the lockers, running his hands through his hair like a man who never learns patience. "You look like death warmed over. Seriously, what's up with you?"
"Just tired," I said. The words were accurate enough; sleep had been fragmented.
He sniffed like my answer was a perfume he didn't like. "Yeah, right. You're not lying to me, are you?"
I didn't answer. No need. Lies take energy; evasions are faster.
Claire came around the corner, notebook in hand, and paused when she saw us. Her grin was casual but loaded with mischief. "You two look like a pair of zombies. Let me guess—Pierce is brooding because someone didn't text him back?"
I tilted my head slightly. "Not exactly."
Ryan snorted. "Not exactly? Come on, Pierce, your face gives it away. Someone in trouble?"
Claire rolled her eyes. "Or someone bored of your constant mystery act. Seriously, you're like a puzzle that refuses to talk. You ever think about opening up, or is that against your... stoic bylaws?"
"Opening up wastes time," I said evenly. Not a lie, just economics. Time is a resource I never squander.
"Such a charming little tyrant," Claire said, leaning against the lockers. "You know, if you smiled once in a while, the world might forgive your cold, calculating demeanor."
I let the faintest half-smile creep across my face, the tiniest acknowledgment, just enough to irritate her. It worked.
"Bingo," she said softly, eyes gleaming. "Look at that. Tiny victory for humanity."
Ryan groaned. "We are never letting you leave the house without supervision, Claire. You're going to kill him with kindness one day."
"Not my problem," she replied, smirking. "But I can try."
I didn't comment further; the conversation was noise, background static, easily filed. Yet, beneath the ordinary, I sensed anomalies: glances that lingered too long, movements that repeated. Patterns I cataloged instinctively.
Aria Lorne walked past, radiant as always, her long hair catching the morning light. A ripple of laughter followed her — not directed at me, not yet — but I noticed the tilt of her head, the way her eyes scanned the corridor in micro-adjustments, as if every person was a piece of a puzzle she was quietly rearranging. I filed it away. Observation without emotion.
Claire nudged me lightly with her elbow. "You see her too, right? The human sunbeam herself. You're always staring like she's some mystery you need to solve."
"Not staring," I said. "Cataloging."
She laughed, loud and musical, drawing a few nearby glances. "Cataloging. Sure, Pierce. That's a nice way to make creepy sound scholarly."
Ryan smirked. "Don't let her corner you. She'll turn it into a full-on personality quiz."
Claire leaned closer to me, voice teasing. "Honestly, you could at least talk to her. She's not going to bite. Not unless provoked." She smirked, then flicked a playful glance toward Aria, who had just passed by, eyes forward, oblivious to the unfolding banter. "Unless, of course, you like the whole silent admirer angle. Very broody. So mysterious. So tragic."
I ignored the jab. It was irrelevant. I observed the micro-shift in Aria's gait — the tiny pause, the flicker of her eyes toward us. Something almost imperceptible, a twitch of her reflexes. It meant nothing yet, but I stored it anyway.
The bell rang, and we moved toward class. Claire linked her arm with mine lightly, forcing me into a semblance of social conformity. "See? Humans like touch. Emotion. Connection. You could try it. Who knows, it might be fun," she said.
Ryan groaned dramatically. "Fun? With Pierce? That's like saying vampires enjoy garlic."
"Shut up, Ryan," Claire said. Her grin was sharp, teasing. "Pierce, I'm helping you. Consider it… public relations."
I let her drag me through the hall, keeping one eye on the crowd, one on Aria as she disappeared toward the library. She walked with her usual effortless confidence, unbothered by the torrent of social interactions that surrounded her. People laughed, bumped into one another, and she absorbed it all like a sunbeam passing through glass — radiant but untouchable.
Class passed in the blur of routine: lectures, scribbled notes, murmurs of side conversations. Claire whispered jokes, Ryan attempted sarcastic commentary, and I responded minimally, keeping my tone neutral. My attention often flicked to Aria when she entered a room — a tilt of her head, a quick step, the subtle way she organized her belongings. Each observation was just that: a record, a datum, a line in the ledger of human behavior.
Lunch was no different. The three of us sat at our usual table, a small island in the noisy cafeteria. Claire dug into her sandwich with dramatic flair. "So, Pierce, you survived the morning without turning into a corpse. That's progress."
Ryan snorted. "Yeah, miracle of modern science or just sheer terror keeping him alive?"
"Maybe both," I said evenly, cutting into my salad.
Claire leaned in, lowering her voice. "Honestly, I think it's time you actually said something to her. You stare, you catalog, you… sigh. Humans like a little initiative, you know."
I paused, lifting a fork. "Initiative has costs."
"Yeah, but risks exist for a reason," she replied, eyes sharp, teasing. "Or are you going to spend the rest of high school pretending to be a statue?"
Ryan laughed. "She's got a point, man. Don't get eaten by your own analysis."
I allowed myself a faint smirk. "Noted."
As if on cue, Aria appeared at the edge of the cafeteria. She stopped, scanning the room briefly, then our table. Her eyes met mine for a fraction of a second, just enough to catch a flicker of recognition. She smiled — small, casual, perfectly ordinary — and returned to her friends.
Claire leaned closer, voice low and teasing. "You saw that, right? She noticed. She smiled. Acknowledge it, Pierce. Small step."
I nodded once, minimal. "Acknowledged."
Ryan groaned. "Acknowledged? That's your response? You're impossible."
"Don't be dramatic," I said. "It's just social calibration."
Claire rolled her eyes, playful but persistent. "Calibration or not, you're flirting with disaster by doing nothing. And by disaster, I mean being boring."
I took another bite of salad, cataloging: Aria's subtle attention, her timing, the casual way she returned to her social orbit. Each tiny movement was a variable I stored, data for future interactions. Nothing more. Yet, beneath the surface, I noted an anomaly — a reflexive adjustment in her hand, the brief pause when she saw me — too small to pin down, but recorded nonetheless.
Lunch ended, and the bell rang again. We parted ways, Ryan and Claire headed to their next classes, leaving me a brief corridor of solitude. I walked calmly, eyes forward, posture neutral, cataloging interactions, timing, and movements. Aria's orbit crossed mine once more, another fraction of a second, another micro-flicker of attention.
The day moved like a series of measured beats: lectures, note-taking, the background hum of adolescent life. Claire whispered jokes, Ryan offered commentary, and I processed every detail with detached precision.
By the time I left school, I carried no fatigue, no emotional weight — only the subtle awareness that something about Aria's reflexes, her timing, her attention, was irregular. Not dangerous. Not immediately. But observable.
It was a small anomaly in the vast, predictable network of high school life. One that I would return to.
The sun fell low as I walked home. Claire called me again, voice teasing and warm over the line. "Hey, promise me you'll eat something. Or at least pretend to, you little tyrant."
"I'll manage," I said. "Data suggests nutrition remains within tolerable bounds."
"Pierce…" she laughed. "One day I'm going to crack that serious little exterior of yours. One day."
I let the sound of her laughter linger in my ears as I hung up. Outside, the world was quieting into evening, and the small anomalies of the day — Aria's attention, Claire's teasing, Ryan's dramatics — settled into the ledger of my mind.
Patterns were forming. Connections. Potential trajectories. Humans were predictable, but never perfectly so. And the girl who smiled at me — the social butterfly — had just created the first variable I didn't yet understand.
Tomorrow, I'd see her again. And I'd catalog everything.