Floods upon floods of adolescents were swarming through the glass doors. I didn’t even know that many of my peers existed. Keeping my eyes to myself, I shuffled awkwardly through the sea of sweat, body sprays, and makeup. Most of them towered over me, many of them having already hit their growth spurts. I was a late bloomer, always had been. However, my short, immature stature only made me more self-conscious. I could practically feel their eyes boring into my skin, even when they weren’t looking directly at me. Sweat beading along my neck, I picked up my pace and finally shoved my way into the building.

The doors immediately opened up into a large, gray cafeteria, adorned with a fifteen-foot ceiling. It was full of bustling people, either sitting at tables or wandering around the outskirts with their friends. It was odd seeing four different age groups mingling together, not confined to their own areas. This was just great. Even more people to worry about, and, worst of all, three-fourths of them were older than me. They probably thought they were superior just for that. I wasted no time in passing through the cafeteria and heading to the far end of the building, where most of the freshmen classes were kept. Except for in electives, freshmen were kept among their own age group for the first year, though we shared lunches with the other grade levels. Exposure therapy, I suppose. I found no solace in it. I was still around people I didn’t know, people who probably didn’t like me one bit. I didn’t see Leto anywhere, but as I stated previously, that boy was the school’s ghost. I gave up trying to find him in a crowd two years ago. 

My first class of the day was World History, which definitely sucked to have as a first class. I was hoping my easiest elective, French I, would be first period, as I’d heard it was a much calmer class than the advanced World History I’d taken. It was my only easy-level class this year; everything else I had was advanced. In fact, it was my only elective. I’d only gotten one since my counselor told me I’d have to take two science classes if I wanted to be in all advanced literature junior and senior year. I didn’t mind being put in the advanced classes, especially because it kept me in the same relative crowd. Perhaps there’d be someone in my class with whom I’d exchanged words for a group project. That made us semi-acquaintances, right? 

There was no one I knew in that class.

For an hour, I simply sat in the back, staring down at the icebreaker our teacher had given us. I’d always hated those things. What did I do for fun? What was my favorite color? My favorite restaurant? When would anyone need to know that? It wasn’t like anyone would surprise me with a new blue suit and a date to Chick-fil-A. I know it’s a weird restaurant to be my favorite, but in my family, a meal at Chick-fil-A means luxury. We only ate there on nights when my father got his paycheck and my parents could actually stand each other long enough to eat together. In the last few years, our trips have gradually decreased. We haven’t been there in months. 

Even though I found it to be tremendously stupid, I finished the assignment and turned it in long before anyone else. As I wandered back to my seat, a red-haired junior looked up at me, cocking one eyebrow. He was a tall, muscular kid, definitely athletic and trained to be a monster on the field. He had a few friends who were sitting next to him, though they were bent over their papers, and I couldn’t get a good look at their faces. He wore a tight black shirt, the kind specifically made to show off your figure. On his legs, he wore baggy sweatpants, which greatly contrasted with the aesthetic of his top half. Nonetheless, he pulled it off. I’d always wondered how those guys could pull off the laid-back, couldn’t-care-less look. It always looked lazy on me.

Before I could turn my gaze away and act like I hadn’t seen him, he dipped his head, a sign of respect. I couldn’t believe it. A kid two years older than me, much more athletic and popular, dipped his head in respect to me, some miserable freshman who didn’t even have a follower on Instagram?

I was beyond myself.

However, I definitely didn’t want to look impolite. Dipping my head back and forcing an awkward yet genuine smile, I sat back down across the room from him. Even as I attempted to focus on the second icebreaker we were given (How many times can a person tell you their favorite restaurant?), I felt my eyes continually drift back up to him. I couldn’t believe someone had done such a thing. I’d never seen such a display of kindness from an upperclassman before. Was it some way of bullying me? Of getting me comfortable just to slam my hopes into the ground moments later? For some reason, despite all my best defenses, I felt it wasn’t.