By the time the bell rang at Easton High, the day had already decided what it wanted to be.
Predictable.
Elias Calderón leaned back in his chair as the low hum of the classroom settled into its usual rhythm. Pages flipped. Pens clicked. Someone whispered too loudly and got shushed. Mr. Halden's shoes tapped against the floor as he moved toward the board, chalk dust clinging faintly to his sleeves.
Another Monday. Another routine.
Elias liked routine. He thrived in it. The world made sense when things followed a pattern. Wake up early. Morning drills. Classes. Volleyball practice. Games. Cheers. Expectations. All of it fit together cleanly, like a well-executed play.
He rolled his shoulders, stretching out the lingering stiffness from yesterday's practice. His forearms still bore the faint red marks of repeated sets, the familiar ache that told him he was doing something right.
Across the room, Marcus nudged him with his elbow. "You alive, man, or still asleep?"
Elias smirked. "Barely."
"You better wake up," Marcus said, grinning. "Coach's been in a mood lately."
"When is he not?" Elias replied, eyes flicking toward the clock.
Eight thirty-two.
Two minutes late, Mr. Halden thought, writing the date on the board with deliberate strokes. He hated lateness. He hated disorder. He hated anything that disrupted his carefully planned lessons.
That was when the door creaked open.
It wasn't the sharp, confident swing of someone rushing in late, breathless and apologetic. It was slow. Hesitant. Like the door itself wasn't sure it should be opened at all.
Every head in the room turned towards the door.
She stood in the doorway, half-shadowed by the hallway light, one hand gripping the strap of her bag, the other holding a folded piece of paper that looked like it had been unfolded and refolded too many times to count.
Red hair.
Not bright, not fiery, not the kind people usually meant when they said red-haired. This was softer. Muted. The color of dried leaves caught in autumn sunlight. It fell past her shoulders in loose strands, tied back carelessly as though she'd started to fix it and then changed her mind halfway through.
Her uniform was wrong.
Not blatantly so. Not enough to warrant immediate punishment. But enough to make people notice. The blazer was buttoned properly, the skirt hem rested where it should, but beneath it all, she wore a thin black hoodie. The sleeves peeked out from under the blazer cuffs, the hood resting awkwardly against her collar.
It looked like armor. Or a mistake she refused to correct.
"I'm sorry," she said.
Her voice was quiet. Too quiet for a room this size. It hovered uncertainly in the air, then faded.
Mr. Halden turned around slowly.
"You're late," he said flatly.
She nodded once.
"And why is that?"
The girl looked down at the paper in her hand. Turned it over. Turned it back again. For a moment, it seemed like she might not answer at all.
Elias leaned forward slightly, interest flickering to life despite himself.
"I followed the blue line," she murmured.
A few students exchanged glances.
"The blue line?" Mr. Halden repeated.
She nodded again. "On the map."
A beat passed.
"But the blue line turned into a staircase," she continued, voice still soft, still oddly calm. "And then it didn't."
For half a second, no one reacted.
Then laughter burst through the room like a dropped tray.
Someone snorted. Someone else slapped their desk. A girl near the window repeated her words under her breath, giggling. Even Marcus let out a short laugh before catching himself.
Elias didn't laugh.
He watched her face instead.
She didn't blush. Didn't bristle. Didn't shrink under the attention. She stood there, expression unreadable, eyes fixed on the floor as if the laughter wasn't meant for her at all.
Mr. Halden sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Your name."
She hesitated.
"W- wren!" she said at last. Then, after a pause that stretched just long enough to feel deliberate, "Hawthorne."
More laughter rippled through the class, softer this time.
Mr. Halden gestured impatiently. "Take a seat. We'll discuss punctuality later."
Wren Hawthorne nodded once more and moved toward the back of the room, footsteps light, unhurried. She chose the empty desk in the corner, closest to the window, farthest from everyone else.
As she sat down, Elias caught sight of her notebook.
The lines were blank.
Instead, she wrote in the margins.
He frowned. Weird.
By lunch, the story had already spread like wild fire.
"The new girl is strange"
"Could you hear what she said?"
"she wore a hoodie under her uniform!"
"So weird"
Elias heard it all without listening. He ate his lunch, nodded along to Marcus's animated recounting of last weekend's game, and found his thoughts drifting back to the way Wren Hawthorne hadn't reacted when the class laughed.
Most people did something.
She had done nothing.
During last period, when Mr. Halden's lecture droned on, Elias glanced toward the back of the room. Wren sat with her chin resting on her palm, eyes fixed on the window, watching clouds pass like they were more important than anything being said inside.
She didn't look bored, she looked elsewhere.
The final bell rang, and the classroom erupted into motion. Chairs scraped. Bags zipped. Conversations collided. Elias stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
As he passed her desk, he noticed something else, Her map.
Folded neatly now. Tucked carefully into her bag, as if it mattered.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The gym smelled like sweat and varnish.
It was a familiar comfort, the echo of bouncing balls and raised voices filling the space. Elias changed quickly, pulling on his practice jersey, stretching his arms overhead as his teammates gathered on the court.
Volleyball was where everything aligned.
As the setter, Elias controlled the tempo. He watched the court the way some people read music, anticipating movements before they happened. The ball came to him, and his hands responded without conscious thought.
Set. Spike. Point.
Cheers followed.
A few girls clustered near the bleachers, pretending not to stare while staring anyway. Phones were half-raised. Whispers floated through the air.
Elias didn't mind it. Attention had been part of his life for as long as he could remember. It wasn't arrogance. It was familiarity.
Then he saw her.
Wren Hawthorne sat alone on the lowest bench, knees drawn up slightly, hoodie still on beneath her practice shirt. She wasn't watching the game.
She was watching the ceiling.
He almost missed his next set.
The ball flew toward him. He jumped, twisted mid-air, and sent a clean no-look set backward. The gym exploded with sound.
Applause. Shouts. His name in the air.
Elias landed, chest rising, adrenaline singing through his veins. He glanced toward the bleachers, expecting to see her reaction.
But…. She wasn't clapping.
She wasn't smiling.
She glanced at him once, briefly, like she was checking the time. Then she looked away.
Something in Elias's chest shifted.
The next serve came faster than he expected. His foot slipped, just slightly, and he stumbled before catching himself.
No one noticed, thankfully.
But he did
Practice ended soon after. Sweat clung to his skin as people crowded around him, voices overlapping, congratulations piling on top of each other.
"Did you see that set?"
"That was insane."
Elias nodded, smiling automatically, eyes searching the gym.
The bench was empty.
The doors at the far end swung shut just in time for him to catch a flash of red hair disappearing into the hallway.
She hadn't stayed.
She hadn't waited.
She had walked away like none of it mattered.
"Hey," Marcus said later, tossing Elias a bottle of water. "You good?"
Elias twisted the cap, taking a long drink. "Who's the new girl?"
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Red hair?"
"Yeah."
"Oh. Her." Marcus lowered his voice. "Wren Hawthorne."
Elias stilled.
"You know her?"
"Not really. But people are talking" he said in a sing song manner.
"About what?" Elias was genuinely curious now.
Marcus hesitated, then shrugged. "They say she transferred from some school up north. Left suddenly."
"That's it?" Elias asked confused, face scrunched.
Marcus smirked. "Nah. Rumor is she got expelled."
Elias frowned. "For what?"
"No one knows," Marcus said. "Some say she freaked people out. Others say she doesn't like being watched, others said she fought with a teacher. But you know the best of them all?"
Elias looked at him with a blank expression
Marcus groaned " it's not that serious, chill out. But I heard she might've done drugs"
He said with his tone lower than usual.
Elias thought of the way she'd looked at him. Calm. Detached. Finished.
He glanced toward the hallway again.
Weird, he thought.
But this time, curiosity followed the word like a shadow that refused to leave.
"You hear? Coach might start rotating positions for the next game." Marcus said drawing Elias to reality.
Elias snorted. "He says that every season."
"Yeah, but this time he looked serious."
"We'll just have to wait and see" Elias said as they made their way to hit the showers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Later that afternoon, the sun was soft and warm as Elias and his friends—Marcus, Jordan, and Luca—decided to stop by the café across from the school. Coffee, pastries, a place to decompress after practice. Elias didn't expect much. But he didn't expect her either.
Behind the counter, moving with quiet efficiency, was Wren Hawthorne.
Her hair was tied neatly this time, though a few rebellious strands escaped. Hoodie still under the uniform top, sleeves rolled slightly. Her movements were precise but calm, almost deliberate, as she handed drinks to waiting customers.
Elias froze.
"Yo, you okay?" Jordan asked, waving a hand in front of his face.
"Uh… yeah." He took a careful step forward.
"Coffee for four," Marcus said casually, tossing a few bills on the counter.
Wren nodded without a word, disappearing briefly to fetch the drinks. Elias tried to focus, but every move she made—the way she placed the cups, wiped the counter, adjusted a straw—was measured, unlike anyone else in the café. She moved like she belonged somewhere entirely different, yet here she was.
The drinks were set down in front of them.
"Thanks," Marcus said.
Wren looked at them once. Not with approval. Not with curiosity. Not even acknowledgment. She tilted her head slightly, as if deciding whether they were worth noticing, then moved on.
Elias felt a strange tug. He wanted to say something. Ask something. Anything. But nothing came out.
As they sat, sipping coffee and joking, Elias's eyes kept drifting toward her. Watching her serve another customer. Watching her move through the café without haste. Without pretense. Without trying to impress anyone.
She didn't need to.
Marcus noticed. "Dude, stop staring. She works here."
"I know," Elias said, voice low.
"She's… weird," Luca muttered, half-laughing.
Elias didn't respond. Weird didn't begin to describe her. She was… impossible to place. Calm where chaos should be. Silent where words were expected. Detached where engagement was normal.
And yet, somehow… magnetic.
By the time they left the café, the sun was leaning toward the horizon. The streets were busy, golden light bouncing off the buildings. Elias walked with his friends, but his mind lingered on Wren.
Her map, her hoodie, her precision. Her calm.
Something about her didn't fit the world he knew.
And for the first time in his life, Elias Calderón felt like he didn't know what came next.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next day, during class, the whispers had grown. Rumors about Wren's last school, her supposed expulsion, her strange habits. People talked. But Elias didn't care what they said. He wanted to understand. To observe. To know what made someone so effortlessly different that she could unsettle the most confident person in the room without even trying.
He would find out. Somehow, he thought to himself, like a kid trying to solve a puzzle.
And in the quiet corner of the classroom, Wren Hawthorne wrote in her notebook, lines crossed, margins filled, the map still tucked into her bag. She didn't notice him watching. She didn't need to.
The story had begun.
And neither of them knew just how much the other would change their world.