CHAPTER FIVE...
The gates of Evalon High were already open when Noel Moore arrived.
Not eased into.
Not drifting in with the morning traffic.
He arrived like a clean cut through silence.
The engine purred once, low and controlled, then went quiet.
Noel stepped out of the car as if time bent slightly around him—unhurried, deliberate.
Morning light slid across polished stone and glass, catching the sharp lines of the school's architecture and the stillness that followed him like a shadow.
Phones were already up.
They always were.
What no one expected was how he'd arrived.
On the school's official page, the livestream counter jumped—hundreds, then thousands—comments pouring in faster than the feed could breathe.
EVALON HIGH LIVE..
The camera shook briefly, laughter and wind rushing into the mic.
"He's already here."
"No way."
"Queensley's still on the express."
"WAIT—IS THAT NOEL?"
The footage wasn't clean.
It wasn't staged.
It wasn't curated.
It was raw.
Unedited.
And everyone saw it happen in real time.
Noel Moore had beaten Queensley Madison to school.
He didn't look back.
Didn't pose.
Didn't raise a hand.
He closed the car door softly and walked.
The comments exploded.
Queensley's stream caught him from a distance at first—his back straight, his stride steady, the calm in his movement unmistakable.
The camera zoomed in slightly, instinctive rather than intentional, as if even the lens knew what mattered.
Students near the gate froze.
A ripple moved through the crowd—first confusion, then disbelief, then something close to reverence.
Noel Moore was back.
Not just present.
Dominant.
He hadn't been in school for two days!! Yet.
He crossed the courtyard alone, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes forward. His expression gave nothing away.
Not triumph. Not smugness. Not even satisfaction.
Just calm.
As if winning hadn't required effort.
As if the race had been an afterthought.
Inside the stream, comments blurred into noise.
"HE WON."
"QUEENSLEY WAS STREAMING THE WHOLE TIME."
"THIS IS CRAZY."
"NOEL IS BACK."!!
That name—half joke, half myth—floated through the feed like smoke.
Noel didn't hear it.
He felt the shift instead.
The air around him changed.
The way eyes followed.
The way voices dropped.
Evalon High had always been a place of quiet power—wealth disguised as discipline, privilege pressed into tailored uniforms.
But moments like this cracked the surface. Revealed the hunger beneath.
Fame moved fast here.
And it moved toward him.
Girls reached him first.
They always did.
A rush of perfume and laughter, voices layered over each other, steps too close, smiles too practiced.
"Noel—wait!"
"You didn't even look back!"
"Are you okay? That was insane."
"You should've told us you were racing."
Hands brushed his arm.
Phones angled for the perfect frame.
Admiration bled into entitlement—the assumption that because he was seen, he was available.
That winning meant belonging to the crowd.
Noel stopped walking.
Not abruptly.
Not dramatically.
He just… stopped.
The cluster stilled with him.
He turned slightly, eyes cool, voice even.
"I'm late for class," he said.
Not unkind.
Just final.
The moment fractured.
Some laughed, embarrassed.
Some rolled their eyes.
Some stared, unsure what they'd done wrong.
He stepped past them.
The crowd parted instinctively.
Noel moved through Evalon like a blade through water—no resistance, only displacement.
Behind him, whispers followed.
He's changed.
He's colder.
He doesn't smile anymore.
He won't even look at us.
They weren't wrong.
But they weren't right either.
Noel felt the attention press against his skin like static.
Every step amplified the distance between what people saw and what he carried.
Being seen didn't mean being known.
And lately, he preferred it that way.
Queensley arrived seventeen minutes later.
Her car slid into the lot to cheers and laughter, the livestream still running.
She stepped out grinning, breathless, ponytail loose, energy bright.
"I lost!" she announced to no one and everyone.
The crowd loved her for it.
She spotted Noel across the courtyard—already near the steps, already alone.
Their eyes met.
He gave her a small nod.
She smiled back, softer this time.
The stream cut.
They found each other near the science wing, away from the noise.
The hallway was quieter here, light filtered through tall windows, dust motes drifting like held breath.
Queensley leaned against the wall, folding her arms.
"You mad?" she asked.
Noel shook his head. "No."
She studied him anyway.
"I went live because it was my responsibility," she said. "Not for clout. Not to make a show of you."
"I know."
"You sure?" I kinda enjoyed it yunno.
He met her gaze. Really met it.
"Yeah."
That earned a pause.
A weird pause
Most people didn't wait for his answer. Didn't care if it was true.
Queensley did.
"They would've done it anyway," she added. "If it wasn't me, it'd be someone else.
At least this way, it was honest."
Noel exhaled slowly.
"Thanks."
She smiled—not wide, not performative. Just real.
"You still choosing the vacation?" she teased.
He considered it. "We'll see."
They stood there a moment longer, comfortable in the quiet.
Queensley tilted her head. "You okay?"
The question was gentle. No pressure. No demand.
Noel nodded once.
It wasn't the whole truth.
But it was enough.
Across the field, Alex watched.
He stood with the other runners—lean, fast, restless—but his attention wasn't on the track.
It was locked on Noel's retreating figure, jaw tight, hands clenched.
Alex had owned this space.
Owned the mornings.
Owned the finish lines.
Owned the quiet respect that came with being the best when it mattered.
Until he arrived.
Until Noel Moore made winning look effortless.
Alex scoffed under his breath. "Lucky run."
No one answered.
Because no one believed it.
The whispers were already shifting.
There's another race coming.
A big one they murmured amongst themselves.
Alex's eyes narrowed.
Threats didn't always arrive loud.
Sometimes they arrived calm.
Noel reached his locker and rested his forehead briefly against the cool metal.
The noise faded.
The weight remained.
He straightened, expression settling back into stillness.
Somewhere beneath the surface, something waited.
Not anger.
Not fear.
Momentum.
Something that threatened the peace he had
And when "The Unmade" came—
Evalon High wouldn't just watch.
They'll remember.
End of Chapter Five