The third-floor stairwell hadn't changed since the second half of sixth grade. It still smelled like old radiator dust and the faint, sharp scent of the art room's turpentine. It was our fortress-the only place in the entire school where we didn't have to "perform" for the people in the cafeteria.
I heard the heavy fire door groan open three flights down. I didn't even have to look up from my notebook to recognize the pattern of the footsteps approaching towards me. Two quick steps, one slow. It was a rhythm I'd memorized years ago, back when brains were messy and unclear. When we were just two kids trying to disappear into the library drowning in a pool of books.
Clara and I had met in the second half of sixth grade. Back then, she had long black hair and was so shy she barely whispered her own name, same as me. We were sat next to each other in our first-period class, two quiet planets pulled into the same orbit.
"You're on page 42," a soft, sweet voice said, landing softly on the step just below mine. Her yellow high-tops were scuffed in the exact spots they'd been since the end of 8th grade. She just sat down, leaving exactly four-inches of "safe haven" between us on the concrete step.
"The cafeteria was a nightmare today," she sighed, leaning her back against the cool brick, "Everyone was talking, but nobody was actually saying anything. I figured I'd find you here"
I gripped my pen so hard my knuckles turned white. "I'm always here."
"I know," she whispered, her eyes closing.
For a second, the stairwell was silent. The air felt still, like the four years of history between us were finally setting into the motes dancing in the light. I looked at the side of her face, the way her back hair fell over her shoulders, and for the first time in a year, I didn't feel like I had to hide my notebook.
Then, the bell screamed.
The high-pitched ring shattered the "safe haven" like glass. Clara flinched, her eyes snapping open, and just like that, the "Sophomore Year" version of us was back. The version that had to go to class and pretend the last twelve months didn't happen.
Clara signed. She looked down at me and for a split second, she looked like the shy girl from sixth grade again. "Say you later?"
"Ya," I breathed. "See you!"
I watched her yellow high-tops disappear down stairs before I gathered my computer and papers. I had English next-the only class where being a writer actually felt like an adventure.
I was halfway down the hallway, when a familiar voice crashed into the walls like boomerangs.
"If I have to hear one more person talk about the lunch drama, I'm literally going to file for a divorce from the school," a loud voice announced.
Sebastian was already in front of me, his company was out and blasting to the point that I could hear, 'Espresso' by Sabrina Carpenter and his wired earbuds.
He was wearing his pride and joy: the new KATSEYE hoodie and looked exactly like how he did in sixth grade-same messy energy, just taller and obviously PROUD (er)
As we're walking to English, he says: "Did you see the new KATSEYE performance?" Not waiting for an answer. "The choreography? The vocals? I'm actually ascending. Also, why were you not with us for lunch today? You okay?"
"I was just up in the library," I said.
"Shoving your face in books, got it," Sebastian says, as he adjusted his KATSEYE hoodie. Even with the earbuds around his neck, the upbeat rhythm of Espresso was still blasting.
"Honestly, if you don't find a fictional boyfriend or girlfriend soon, I'mma have to start charging you for my presence as your only source of drama."
"I think I already have enough drama for this lifetime, Seb."
"False. You have literally drama. I have a pop- culture drama. There is a difference," he continued, stopping at the door to room E123. He looked at me-really looked at me-with that messy sixth grade look, like he wanted to ask me something. "Speaking of the library. Whatever happened to my BL (Boy's Love) story?"
I smiled, "It's in progress, Seb. Writing takes time. You can't rush art."
"Art? This isn't just art, this is my sustenance! Also have you even started? Like can you tell me anything?"
Sebastian leaned against the door frame of E123, crossing his arms over his KATSEYE hoodie with a dramatic pose. "Give me something, Hazelnut, I beg you anything. A rainstorm? A forbidden romance trope? A rivalry trope? Come on, my soul NEEDS to know."
TO BE CONTINUED!