Chapter 2 — The Encounter

Shae

The steady rhythm of my sneakers against the polished floor of Dalton High’s hallways was the only thing keeping me grounded as I wandered through the maze of classrooms and lockers. The map I clutched in my hand crinkled under the growing pressure of my grip. It wasn’t helping much—my sense of direction had always been more theoretical than practical.

I turned a corner, catching sight of a pair of slightly propped double doors with the word “Gymnasium” stenciled above them. The faint echo of a bouncing basketball and the squeak of sneakers on hardwood drifted out, stirring something deep and unexpected in me. That sound—it was sharp and distinct, tugging at a memory I hadn’t revisited in years, a flash of summers filled with games and laughter that felt like they belonged to someone else’s life.

My feet hesitated, pausing mid-step. The doors seemed to hum with an unspoken invitation, but there was a weight behind it, like crossing the threshold would mean stepping into something I wasn’t ready to face. My chest tightened. I could turn around, I told myself. Keep walking. But my hand, acting on instinct, pushed the door open just enough to slip inside.

The gym smelled sharp and familiar: sweat, polished wood, and the faint metallic tang of the bleachers. Sunlight streamed in through the high windows, painting golden stripes across the glossy court. My eyes scanned the space, drifting over the banners hanging from the rafters—symbols of Dalton’s pride in its basketball team. Then they landed on Knight.

He moved like the court was his stage, his every motion fluid and deliberate. The ball danced effortlessly between his hands as he wove through invisible defenders. His dark hair clung to his damp forehead, and his jaw tightened in concentration as he launched into a layup. The ball swished cleanly through the net, the sound crisp and satisfying, slicing through the stillness of the gym.

I froze. My breath hitched, and for a moment, time seemed to suspend itself. Seeing him now felt like flipping through an old sketchbook and finding a drawing I’d abandoned years ago. The lines were familiar but smudged, the details blurred by time. He wasn’t the boy I remembered, but the shadow of that boy lingered in the sharp angles of his face and the intensity in his movements.

He landed lightly on his feet and turned. His piercing blue eyes locked onto mine, and all the air seemed to rush out of the room. His body tensed, the basketball slipping from his grip and rolling away across the court.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was clipped, each syllable sharp enough to slice through the quiet.

I swallowed hard, gripping the crumpled map like it might anchor me. “I was just... looking around,” I managed, though my voice felt smaller than I wanted it to.

His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening like he was biting back something sharper. “Well, you’ve seen it. You can leave now.” He bent to retrieve the ball, his movements slow and deliberate, the tight line of his shoulders betraying something he wasn’t saying.

The sting of his words sparked something in me, something hotter than the unease bubbling in my chest. “I didn’t realize this was your personal court,” I said, the words sharper than I intended. The hint of a tremor in my voice betrayed my resolve, but the flare of irritation in his eyes told me he caught it.

Knight straightened, the basketball now tucked under his arm. For a moment, he just stared at me, his expression unreadable. His jaw worked, the muscles flexing as if he were trying to swallow the words he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say. Then, without a word, he turned sharply and strode toward the far end of the court.

I stood there, caught between the pull of wanting to demand answers and the push of his silent rejection. The knot in my chest twisted tighter, and my fingers twitched against the edges of the map, the crinkling sound too loud in the cavernous space.

“Good talk,” I muttered under my breath, turning toward the door. My steps were slow, hesitant, like some part of me was waiting for him to say something.

“Shae.”

His voice stopped me. It wasn’t loud—it barely carried across the empty gym—but something about it rooted me to the spot. I turned back, my pulse drumming in my ears as his gaze locked onto mine.

“You don’t belong here,” he said, his voice quieter now, the edge gone but replaced with something heavier. His words didn’t feel like a dismissal—they felt like a verdict, final and absolute.

The knot in my chest pulled tighter. My grip on the map tightened, the paper crumpling under my fingers as the weight of his words settled in. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Thanks for the warm welcome,” I said, my tone soft but steady, a thin veneer over the sting.

For just a moment, something flickered in his expression—a shadow of something vulnerable, some emotion I couldn’t name. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the stony mask he always seemed to wear now. He said nothing more, and I didn’t wait for him to. Turning on my heel, I pushed through the double doors, letting them swing shut behind me.

The noise of the hallway washed over me like a wave, but it did nothing to drown out the sharp echo of his words in my head. My chest felt heavy, the knot refusing to loosen no matter how many deep breaths I tried to take. I kept walking, weaving through the river of students until I found a quiet corner near the library. Only then did I let myself sink onto a bench, the crumpled map still clutched in my hand.

My fingers drifted toward my backpack, brushing the spiral binding of my sketchbook. The urge to pull it out, to sketch something—anything—was strong. A half-formed image of the gym, of Knight frozen mid-dribble, wavered in my mind, but I shoved it aside. Not here. Not now.

Instead, I leaned back and stared at the crumpled map in my hands. The gym had felt like a confrontation I wasn’t ready for. Seeing Knight again, hearing his words, felt like facing a question I didn’t know how to answer. The boy I remembered—the one who laughed easily, who could spend hours skipping stones at the lake—was gone. And maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t the same girl he remembered, either.

The thought lingered as the day went on, looping in my mind like the echo of a basketball bouncing endlessly on an empty court.