Chapter Text
Elizabeth Iris Williams had a system for surviving high school: hate everything and keep her distance.
At 7:12 a.m., her alarm screamed her least favorite sound in the world. She slapped it silent, glared at the glowing numbers, and flopped back onto her pillow. The thought of another day at Glenmont High made her stomach churn. She muttered her mantra under her breath:
“I hate this. I hate school. I hate people. I hate everything.”
Her younger brother, Leo Marshal Williams, burst into her room without knocking, holding a Pop-Tart in one hand and a soccer ball in the other.
“You’re gonna be late again,” he chirped, crumbs falling onto her carpet.
Iris groaned. “I hate you, Leo.”
“No, you don’t. You love me,” he said with a toothy grin before ducking out.
She sat up slowly, glaring at the cluttered pile of books on her desk. English paper due today. Physics quiz 4th period. Gym in the afternoon. Just the thought of it all made her head hurt. She dressed quickly—grey hoodie, jeans, and sneakers—and headed out the door, bag slung over one shoulder.
As she trudged to school, the brisk autumn air nipped at her cheeks. The crunch of leaves underfoot was one of the few things she didn’t completely despise, though she’d never admit it.
At Glenmont High, the hallways were already a cacophony of noise—lockers slamming, laughter echoing, conversations overlapping. Iris pulled her hoodie over her head and stuck in her earbuds, the universal signal for don’t talk to me.
8:03 a.m.
Iris slid into her seat at the back of the English classroom. She avoided eye contact with anyone, including Mrs. Harper, who was setting up a PowerPoint about “The Symbolism of Autumn in Poetry.”
The seat next to her, normally empty, was suddenly occupied.
“Hey there,” came a cheerful voice.
Iris turned slowly, glaring. The boy sitting next to her had unruly chestnut hair, bright green eyes, and a smile so radiant it could power the entire school. He wore a faded denim jacket with patches sewn on, and his notebook was already open, doodles of suns and stars scattered across the page.
“Who are you?” she asked bluntly.
“Octavius Everest. But everyone calls me Otis,” he said, sticking out his hand.
She stared at it like it was a grenade. “What do you want?”
“Nothing! Just saying hi. New kid here.” He paused, undeterred by her icy tone. “What’s your name?”
“Iris.”
“Cool name. Like the flower?”
She sighed. “Yes. Like the flower. Don’t make a big deal about it.”
“Too late. It’s a great name.” Otis grinned at her like they’d been friends forever.
Iris stared at him, baffled. No one smiled at her like that—especially not boys. Most people avoided her altogether, and she liked it that way.
Looking back to the front, she tried to pay attention to the Mrs. Harper’s lesson, determined to take down as much notes as she could.
“So your full name’s Elizabeth Iris Williams?” Iris jumped and nudged her shoulder towards the boy’s chin. She watched as Otis yelped in pain, clutching his chin in pain.
She ignored him and went back to thinking about nothing. Maybe that was enough to stop him from approaching a second time.
10:15 a.m.
By the time lunch rolled around, Iris had convinced herself that Otis would get the hint and leave her alone. But as she walked to the cafeteria, there he was, leaning casually against the lockers, chatting with a group of girls who were all giggling at something he said.
She rolled her eyes and walked past him, but he caught sight of her.
“Iris!” he called out, jogging to catch up.
“What do you want now?” she snapped, clutching her tray of bland cafeteria food.
“Just thought I’d sit with you.”
“Why?”
He shrugged, completely unbothered by her hostility. “You seemed cool.”
“Well, I’m not. Go sit with them.” She gestured to the girls still watching him from across the room (who were glaring daggers at her).
“Nah.” He plopped down across from her at the empty table she always claimed as her own. “They’re nice, but they don’t seem as interesting as you.”
Iris blinked, unsure whether to feel flattered or annoyed. “I’m not interesting.”
“I disagree.”
She took a bite of her apple, hoping silence would drive him away. But Otis didn’t seem to understand the concept of being ignored.
“So, what’s your favorite class?” he asked, stabbing at his spaghetti, which they don’t serve in the cafeteria. Where’s he get that? Iris doesn’t know.
“None of them.”
“Okay, what’s your least hated class?”
She smirked slightly despite herself. “Physics, I guess. It’s quiet.”
“Cool. I like science too.”
“You’re really bad at taking hints,” Iris said, narrowing her eyes.
“Yup,” Otis replied cheerfully. “You’ll get used to it.”
Iris rolled her eyes and went back to chewing on her apple, “Don’t get your hopes up.”
2:47 p.m.
Iris usually walked home alone, enjoying the quiet after a day of forced social interaction. But as she stepped outside, she saw Otis waiting by the bike racks.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered under her breath.
“Hey!” he said, waving like they were old friends.
“What are you doing?”
“Walking home with you.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want company.”
“Tough luck,” he said with a grin, falling into step beside her.
Iris groaned but didn’t bother arguing further. She figured he’d get bored eventually. But as they walked, Otis started talking—about how he moved here from California, how he loved photography and hiking, how he thought autumn in their small town was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Iris didn’t respond much, but she found herself listening despite her best efforts. His voice was warm and animated, like sunshine breaking through clouds.
By the time they reached her house, Otis waved and said, “See you tomorrow, Iris!”
She didn’t reply, just watched him walk away with that stupid grin still on his face.
As she went inside, she muttered, “I hate him.”