During lunch, I sat with my usual group—Malique, Darrell, Ski, Leon, and Delilah. The cafeteria was the usual kind of chaos: trays slamming, people yelling across tables, and the smell of pizza and fries mixing with whatever mystery food they served that day.
"So, did it hurt?" Ski asked, leaning in with that grin he always had when he wanted details.
"Yeah, I know it had to," Delilah added. "Like stubbing your toe on the corner of a desk, but worse."
I nodded. "Yeah, it hurt a lot. Especially after the stitches. Felt like my head was being stapled shut."
Malique made a face. "Bro, if that were me, I'd still be in bed milking that injury. I'd have a doctor's note framed."
Leon smirked. "You'd have a doctor's note for breathing too hard."
Everyone laughed, and the conversation carried on, light and easy. For once, nothing felt heavy—no weird broadcasts, no Sentinel talk, no world-ending stuff. Just school.
Then, someone walked up to our table.
A girl I hadn't seen before, carrying a tray and looking a little unsure of herself. "Can I sit here?" she asked, voice calm but careful.
The table went quiet. It wasn't every day someone new just walked over.
"Sure thing," Malique said, flashing his grin like he was auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. "What's your name?"
"Melanie. Melanie Santos," she said, setting her tray down next to Leon.
"Nice to meet you," Delilah said, smiling. "You new?"
Melanie nodded. "Yeah. Just transferred this week. My family's been moving around a lot lately."
"Where from?" Ski asked, already mid-bite into his burger.
"I'm originally from Puerto Rico," she said. "Then Georgia for a while. And now… here." She smiled. "My mom says she's running out of states to try."
That got a laugh out of a few people, including me.
Leon tilted his head. "That's a lot of moving. Military family?"
She shook her head. "No, just life. My mom's job kind of… drags us around."
Malique raised his soda can. "Well, welcome to California. Hope you like mediocre food and loud hallways."
Melanie chuckled softly. "It's already better than Georgia."
"Trust me," Ski said. "That's not saying much."
By the time the bell rang, it almost felt like she'd been sitting with us all year. She had that kind of energy—friendly, grounded, easy to talk to.
As everyone stood to leave, Delilah turned toward her. "Hey, you going to the homecoming dance?"
Melanie shook her head. "Oh, no. I have work on Friday after school."
"You work?" Delilah asked.
"Yeah. Just part-time at an office downtown. My aunt helped me get in."
Malique raised his eyebrows. "Office job? Dang, you're out here being an adult already."
She smiled. "More like making copies and answering phones. It's nothing impressive."
"Still counts," Leon said. "Most of us can't even keep our lockers organized."
She laughed, light and genuine, and then the bell cut her off.
Malique and I had history next, so we split from the group and headed toward the west hall.
"So," Malique started, nudging my shoulder, "what do you think of the new girl?"
"She seems cool," I said.
"That's it? Bro, you say that about everybody."
"What do you want me to say?" I asked. "She just transferred. I'm not writing a report."
He grinned. "I'm just saying, if she sits with us again tomorrow, I'm calling dibs."
"On what?"
He smirked. "You know what."
"Yeah," I said flatly, "good luck with that."
He laughed, bumping my arm as we reached the classroom door.
Inside, Mr. Garza was already talking to someone at his desk. It didn't take long to realize who it was—Melanie again. She handed him a paper, nodded as he spoke, then walked toward a seat two rows over from mine.
Garza looked up. "Class, this is Melanie Santos. She just transferred here, so help her get caught up if she needs it."
A few students mumbled greetings. She smiled politely and unpacked her notebook. Even the way she did that was precise—lined up her pen, straightened the corner of her folder. She looked like she belonged, and somehow didn't, all at once.
Malique leaned over and whispered, "I'm telling you, honor-roll vibes."
"You say that like it's a crime," I muttered back.
He smirked. "Nah, just an observation."
Class went on as usual. Garza lectured about the Industrial Revolution, most of us pretended to take notes, and Melanie stayed focused the whole time. She wasn't distracting. She wasn't weird. She was just… attentive. Like she actually wanted to learn something.
Near the end of class, Garza called on her to read a passage from the textbook. Her voice was calm and clear—no hesitation, no nervousness. She even added a bit of rhythm when she spoke, like she was used to talking in front of people.
"Good work," Garza said after she finished.
When the bell finally rang, everyone stood up fast, eager to escape. I took my time, sliding my notebook into my bag.
Melanie stood, adjusted her backpack strap, and smiled as she passed by. "See you around, Kaleb."
I blinked. "Yeah… see you."
Malique elbowed me as we left. "She already knows your name. I'm calling it—she's into you."
"Maybe she just remembered it from roll call," I said.
"Or maybe she's got good taste," he shot back, grinning.
I rolled my eyes. "Right."
We walked down the hallway together, the afternoon sun slanting through the windows, painting everything in soft orange. People were talking, laughing, and complaining about homework. For once, everything felt almost normal.
That was the funny thing about normal days—you never realize how rare they are until they're gone.