Chapter 3 — First Impressions

Third Person

The cafeteria buzzed with the chaotic energy of lunchtime—voices overlapping like a discordant symphony, the clatter of trays punctuating the chatter, and the faint whir of a vending machine humming in the corner. Shae stood at the room’s edge, her tray balanced on her palms. The plastic edges bit into her fingers, grounding her as she scanned the sea of tables. The air was heavy with the smell of over-salted fries and vaguely sweet spaghetti sauce, the kind of scent that lingered long after you left.

Her chest tightened as her gaze swept across the room. Each table was its own island, its borders patrolled by unspoken rules. By the windows, the athletes dominated their territory, laughter and shoulder bumps weaving an invisible thread of camaraderie. Near the far wall, a group of musicians leaned in close, speaking animatedly over notebooks scrawled with doodles and half-finished lyrics. The neutral zone sprawled somewhere in between, occupied by students who didn’t seem to belong anywhere else but found solace in their shared detachment.

Shae’s stomach twisted. She hated this part—the deciding. The risk of picking wrong, of becoming another awkward story whispered through hallways. Her fingers tightened around the tray, but its smooth surface betrayed her nerves, slipping slightly in her grip.

“Hey, new girl!”

The voice rang out brightly, cutting through the cafeteria’s noise like a cheerful bell. Shae turned, startled, and found herself face-to-face with a whirlwind of color. The petite girl was all movement and vibrancy, her wavy dark hair bouncing with every step. She wore an emerald-green skirt paired with combat boots, and her oversized earrings—bright gold suns that seemed almost alive—swayed as she moved.

“You’re Shae, right?” the girl asked, not waiting for an answer. “I’m Lila. Come on, sit with me.”

Before Shae could respond, Lila latched onto her arm and began weaving through the maze of tables with a practiced ease. Shae staggered slightly, her tray wobbling precariously. Around them, conversations continued uninterrupted, most students sparing only passing glances.

“Don’t worry,” Lila said over her shoulder, her grin wide and conspiratorial. “I know how overwhelming this place is at first, but stick with me, and you’ll survive. Mostly.”

Shae hesitated, her voice catching before she managed, “Thanks... I think?”

Lila glanced back, her almond-shaped eyes sparkling with amusement. “Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t. If anyone asks, I’m just being a Good Samaritan. You know, taking pity on the overwhelmed new kid.”

They reached a table in the middle of the cafeteria, surrounded by a small, eclectic group of students. A boy with shaggy blond hair balanced his chair precariously on two legs, his lazy grin suggesting he didn’t care if it toppled. Across from him, a girl with purple streaks in her hair sketched in a notebook, her pencil moving in rapid, deliberate strokes. Another boy sat with his phone in hand, scrolling with an air of vague disinterest.

“Everyone, this is Shae. Shae, this is everyone,” Lila declared grandly, throwing out her arms like she was presenting a prize.

The boy with the phone glanced up, offered a half-hearted wave, and went back to scrolling. The sketching girl paused only long enough to nod approvingly, then returned to shading the corner of her page.

“Don’t mind them,” Lila said cheerfully, dropping into a seat and patting the chair beside her. “They’re friendlier than they look. Usually.”

Shae eased into the chair, her tray landing with a soft thud. Her fingers fiddled with the cap of her drink, twisting it open and shut as her nerves simmered just beneath the surface.

“So, how’s your first day going?” Lila asked, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Met anyone interesting yet?”

Shae froze, her mind snagging on the memory of the gym. Knight’s sharp voice. The way his eyes had narrowed like she wasn’t supposed to exist in his space. Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself to meet Lila’s gaze.

“Not really,” she said, her tone carefully neutral.

Lila tilted her head, one eyebrow arching. “Hmm.” The sound was curious, but she didn’t press. Instead, she launched into a rapid rundown of the cafeteria’s social landscape.

“That’s the cheer squad over there,” she said, gesturing toward a table of girls with perfect posture and gleaming hair. “They’re ridiculously nice, which is way scarier than if they weren’t. Like Stepford Wives, but with pom-poms.”

Shae’s lips twitched into a faint smile despite herself. Lila’s commentary was relentless, filling the space where Shae’s awkwardness might have lingered.

“And over there,” Lila continued, her voice dropping slightly, “is Knight Thomas. Half the school treats him like some kind of demigod because, wow, he can throw a ball into a hoop.”

The name hit Shae like a stone dropped in still water, rippling outward. She followed Lila’s gaze to a table near the windows. There he was, leaning back in his chair, his dark hair falling messily into his piercing blue eyes. The sunlight caught on the sharp lines of his profile, and he laughed at something one of his teammates said—but the edges of his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Trust me,” Lila added, her tone sharpening just slightly, “you don’t want to get involved with that mess. He’s got this whole brooding, mysterious loner thing going on, but don’t let it fool you. He’s kind of a jerk.”

Shae’s stomach sank further. “You know him?”

“Not really.” Lila shrugged, but her casual tone faltered for just a moment. “He keeps to himself. Well, except when he decides to be the human equivalent of a storm cloud.” She stabbed her salad a little harder than necessary, the moment of intensity passing quickly as she grinned again.

Shae looked back toward Knight. He was flipping a water bottle in his hands, his expression unreadable. A faint crease appeared between his brows, but before she could decipher it, his gaze flicked upward. Their eyes met.

Her breath caught, the air between them seeming to still. His gaze was sharp and searching, a flicker of something unspoken passing through his expression. Then, just as quickly, his jaw tightened, and he looked away, saying something to the teammate beside him. The laughter at his table faltered briefly before picking up again, though Knight’s smile didn’t return.

“You okay?” Lila’s voice pulled Shae back, grounding her.

“Yeah,” Shae murmured, her voice steadier than she felt. “Just... a lot to take in.”

“Don’t overthink it,” Lila said, nudging her playfully. “High school isn’t that deep. Stick with me, and you’ll be fine.”

Shae managed a small smile, grateful for Lila’s relentless energy, even as her thoughts twisted into knots. She wanted to ask more—about Knight, about what people really thought of him—but the words caught in her throat.

As the lunch period unfolded, Shae found herself relaxing, her guard lowering under the weight of Lila’s humor. The girl had a knack for making even the mundane absurdly entertaining, from her dramatic impressions of teachers to her exaggerated critiques of Dalton’s cafeteria food. By the time the bell rang, Shae felt a faint flicker of something she hadn’t expected: hope.

But as the crowd of students scattered for their next classes, Shae couldn’t shake the ghost of Knight’s gaze. It lingered in her mind, heavy and unspoken, like an unfinished sentence waiting to be completed.