Chapter 2 — Eyes Across the Hall

Shae

The hallways of Dalton High felt like a labyrinth, designed to overwhelm and disorient. Every turn revealed another corridor teeming with voices, footsteps, and laughter—all of it weaving a tapestry I had no part in. I gripped the strap of my backpack tighter, my fingers digging into the worn fabric, my shoulders drawn in like I could make myself disappear. None of this was mine—not the faces, not the sounds, nor the fleeting glances that slid past me without sticking.

The fluorescent lights hummed faintly overhead, their sterile glow highlighting every scuff on the linoleum floor and every dent in the rows of lockers. The faint smell of disinfectant clung to the air, mingling with the sharper tang of body spray, the kind that seemed to waft off every passing student. Somewhere nearby, someone laughed—a bright, unrestrained sound that made the knot in my chest tighten further.

“Excuse me,” I muttered as someone bumped into me hard enough to jostle my bag. They didn’t even pause, their laughter trailing behind them as they merged into the crowd. My cheeks burned, heat prickling at my neck, but I swallowed my frustration and pressed on, keeping my head low.

When I finally found my locker—a dull, nondescript door marred by a dent near the bottom—I couldn’t help but think it felt fitting, like the universe had picked out this one just for me as part of some ongoing joke. My fingers fumbled with the combination lock, the numbers blurring together as I struggled to steady my trembling hands. It took three tries before the lock clicked open, and I shoved my bag inside with more force than necessary. The hollow clang echoed louder than I expected, catching the attention of someone down the hall. I avoided looking and quickly turned my face toward the crumpled schedule in my hand.

English. Room 214.

I scanned the map of the school in my head, trying to piece together the route from memory. The first bell rang, sharp and jarring, and the hall exploded into a tide of movement. Students swept past me on all sides, their voices rising in a chaotic murmur. I ducked my head lower, letting my hair fall forward like a curtain, and started walking. The paper crinkled in my grip as I focused on the steady rhythm of my sneakers against the polished floor.

Snippets of conversation floated past me.

“Did you hear about the soccer team? Knight scored three goals last night—”

“Everyone’s talking about him. Of course.”

That name hit me like a jolt, my heart stumbling over itself. The words faded, but the knot in my chest tightened, warning me before I even saw him.

And then I did.

I stopped mid-step, my breath freezing in my throat.

He was leaning casually against a row of lockers up ahead, his back to me. Even from this distance, I knew it was him. The tilt of his head, the easy confidence in his stance, the messy waves of his dark hair that looked like they’d been claimed by the wind—it all tugged at something deep and raw inside me. A door I thought I’d sealed shut threatened to creak open.

Knight Thomas.

The air around me thickened, heavy and electric, as though the world had shifted focus. My pulse quickened, the dull thrum filling my ears as I stared, unblinking. It had been years since I’d seen him, but my body remembered—the sound of his laugh, the shine in his piercing blue eyes that could light up the world or cut through you like a cold blade.

As if sensing my presence, he turned.

And the world tilted.

His gaze found mine across the crowded hallway, those blue eyes locking onto me with the sharp precision of a spotlight. For a fleeting moment, everything else—the noise, the movement, even the air—faded. I clutched the locket around my neck, its familiar weight grounding me against the onslaught of emotions surging to the surface.

But then his expression shifted. The warmth of recognition flickered and was snuffed out, replaced by something distant and cold. His gaze hardened, like a wall slamming into place, and he looked at me as though I were a stranger.

As though I were nothing.

He turned back to the group surrounding him, laughing at something one of the guys said, his voice blending into the cacophony of the hallway. The knot in my chest twisted sharply, cutting deeper until it felt like I couldn’t breathe.

Move, Shae.

My legs felt heavy, but I forced them forward, my sneakers squeaking faintly as I passed the spot where he had stood. I didn’t look back—I couldn’t. His cold, detached stare had already burned itself into my mind, replaying on a loop.

By the time I reached Room 214, my heart was pounding, and my hands felt icy despite the warmth of the crowded hallway. Sliding into an empty seat near the back, I dropped my notebook onto the desk and stared at the blank page, my vision blurring slightly.

The memory of our last encounter surged unbidden, jagged and raw. His voice, cracking with emotion. His eyes, darkened with something I hadn’t been able to name. The words he had thrown at me, heavy with finality: “Just go, Shae. Don’t come back.”

And now, all I got was indifference.

The classroom filled gradually, the low hum of chatter growing louder around me. I flipped open my notebook and let my pencil move aimlessly across the page, sketching lines and shapes that didn’t resemble anything in particular. My fingers trembled, smudging the graphite as my thoughts spiraled.

“All right, class, settle down,” Ms. Hargrove’s voice cut through the din, clear and composed. She was tall and thin, her sharp features softened by an easy smile. “Welcome to English. Let’s start with introductions.”

I tensed, my pencil pausing mid-stroke.

One by one, the students stood, their voices blending into a monotonous hum. My turn approached like the slow crawl of an impending storm, and when it finally came, I hesitated for half a breath before standing. My palms felt damp, the words catching in my throat.

“Shae Davis,” I said quietly, my voice barely carrying over the room. “I… just moved here.”

“Welcome to Dalton, Shae,” Ms. Hargrove said with an encouraging smile that almost made my chest ache. “We hope you’ll find yourself at home here.”

I nodded and sank back into my seat, heat prickling at my cheeks as the attention shifted away.

The rest of class passed in a blur. Words about themes and metaphors swirled around me, none of them sticking. My pencil moved again, carving out faint outlines on the page—shadows of a face I didn’t want to think about.

When the bell finally rang, I was the first out the door, slipping into the hallway before the tidal wave of students could sweep me away again. The day stretched on, each class bleeding into the next. I spoke only when prompted, keeping my head down and my gaze fixed firmly on the ground. But no matter how hard I tried to lose myself in the anonymity of the crowd, I couldn’t shake the weight of Knight’s eyes on me. Not the ones I remembered, bright with mischief and warmth, but the cold, distant ones that had sliced through me without hesitation.

By the time lunch rolled around, my stomach churned with unease. The cafeteria was a cacophony of sound and movement, every table claimed by tightly knit groups that seemed impenetrable. I found a spot near the back, away from the chaos, and pulled out my sketchbook, hoping to lose myself in the lines and shadows.

The first strokes of a tree began to take shape when a voice cut through the noise, startling me.

“Hey! Mind if I sit here?”

I looked up to see a girl from English—Lila, with her bright green eyes full of curiosity and her auburn curls bouncing as she tilted her head. Her mismatched earrings—a crescent moon and a sun—caught the light as she gestured to the empty seat across from me.

“Sure,” I said, my voice uncertain.

“Thanks,” she said, plopping her tray onto the table with a cheerful clatter. “The usual suspects are being extra today, and I needed a break from their drama.”

I raised an eyebrow. “The usual suspects?”

She grinned, leaning in like she was about to share a juicy secret. “The soccer team. They think they’re gods or something.”

My stomach twisted. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Lila gestured dramatically with her fork. “Word of advice? Avoid Knight Thomas. He’s like the king of their little empire, and trust me, he’s not worth the trouble.”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it, though it sounded forced even to my own ears. “Noted,” I said, gripping my pencil tighter.

If Lila noticed my hesitation, she didn’t show it. She launched into a rambling monologue about cafeteria gossip and winter ball predictions, her energy so infectious that I found myself smiling despite the weight in my chest.

But even as I nodded along, half-listening, part of me stayed locked in that moment in the hallway. Blue eyes, distant and cold. A face that once held everything I trusted, now a stranger’s mask.

And I didn’t know what hurt more: the memory of who Knight had been, or the reality of who he had become.