Chapter Text
I haven’t even stepped into the classroom yet, and I can already tell this is going to be weird. Like, hear me out, today’s my first day of in-person classes, and somehow I’m only meeting half of my new classmates. COVID’s still around, sure, but it’s 2022! The school’s got this system where one week students 1–16 come in person while 17–32 stay online, and then they switch. I’m number 20 on the list, so last week was virtual. Which means today is my first real shot at making friends.
Ever since my parents’ financial situation changed and they transferred me from a public school to this huge, bigass building, all I’ve wanted is to fit in. To stop feeling like the new kid every time I walk into a room.
In summary, my name’s James Morales, I’m twelve (almost thirteen, April 21st, 2009, mark your calendars). So far, the class seems fine. I’ve only talked to a couple of guys, but it feels like I’m not totally alone.
Take Gabriel Langley, for example. He’s… how do I put this? Imagine a twelve-year-old trying to act like the coolest guy in the room but coming off more like a sidekick. He’s always hanging around Leo—the actual popular kid—like some loyal puppy, and somehow that landed him as class president. Don’t get me wrong, Gabriel’s kind of ridiculous, but his sense of humor clicks with mine. Plus, he’s funny in that over-the-top way where you can’t even stay mad at him. Anne Mathers sure doesn’t; she just rolls her eyes and makes him pay for her homework answers.
Then there’s Adrian Prescott, number twenty-one, who’s been friends with Anne for years and with Gabriel since last year. He’s the tall guy who laughs at his own jokes but somehow makes everyone else laugh too. Adrian’s the kind of person you can sit with and instantly feel comfortable, and he’ll start talking about movies like you’ve been best friends forever.
And Anne Mathers. She’s sharp, funny, and probably the smartest person in the class. She doesn’t need to brag; you just know it the moment she opens her mouth. Anne’s been here way longer than me, and I can tell she’s the one holding this little group together.
Somehow, these three already feel like people I could stick around with. Maybe transferring here won’t be so bad after all.
I guess it all started with that group project.
“Alright, Morales, Langley, Prescott, Mathers—you’re together,” the teacher said, reading from the list. (Why? Some kids weren’t in class, number eighteen, for example, so I had to work with whoever showed up.)
I remember sitting there thinking: Great. I don’t even know these people.
Gabriel leaned back in his chair, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Well, looks like you’re with the future president of Class B. Lucky you.”
Anne didn’t even blink. “You’re not even president yet, Gabriel. And even if you are, you’re still doing your share of the project.”
Gabriel smirked. “That’s what teammates are for, Anne. Delegating.”
Anne gave him a look so sharp I swear I saw Gabriel shrink two inches. “Delegating doesn’t mean dumping work on me.”
I was trying not to laugh, but then Adrian leaned over and whispered, “Don’t worry, she always wins. Just nod along and you’ll survive.”
That broke the ice. I laughed, Gabriel pouted, and Anne raised her eyebrows like she’d just adopted three stray dogs.
“Fine,” she said finally, “but if Gabriel screws this up, I’m putting his name last on the project.”
“Hey!” Gabriel protested, but then he grinned at me. “See? This is what I deal with. Welcome to the group, James.”
We spent the rest of the class pretending to “plan” the project, which really meant Gabriel bragging about how many votes he was going to get for president, Anne shooting down half of his ideas, and Adrian explaining why every movie ever made was either “a masterpiece” or “garbage.”
At one point, Gabriel tried to convince us to make the poster out of glitter and stickers. Anne shot that down so hard he looked like he was going to sulk for a week, until Adrian distracted him by talking about the new Spider-Man movie. I didn’t even care about superheroes, but I laughed so much I forgot I was supposed to feel awkward.
And that’s how it started. One awkward project, a few jokes, and suddenly I wasn’t just the new kid anymore.
When the bell finally rang, I started packing up slowly, not sure if I should leave first or wait. At my old school, everyone already had their little packs of friends, and walking out alone always felt like waving a giant “I’m new here” sign above my head.
But then Adrian stood up and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “C’mon, James, cafeteria time. First day in person means first snack raid.”
Gabriel immediately jumped in. “Yeah, and I call dibs on the front of the line. Future president privileges.”
Anne didn’t even look up from zipping her pencil case. “You’re not president yet, Gabriel. And you’re not cutting in line.”
“Fine,” Gabriel huffed, “vice-president privileges.”
Adrian snorted. “You’re not that either.”
I was still standing there, watching them bicker, when Anne glanced at me. “You coming or what?”
That tiny moment (her actually including me) that made my stomach untwist a little. “Yeah,” I said quickly, grabbing my bag.
We walked out together, Gabriel strutting like he owned the hallway, Adrian making jokes about the terrible cafeteria pizza, and Anne rolling her eyes at both of them. I didn’t say much, just listened, laughed at the right spots, and tried not to look too obviously relieved.
And maybe it was nothing—just four kids heading to lunch—but after two years of masks, screens, and awkward Zoom silence, it felt like the start of something.