The main hallway had the kind of echo that made every sound feel louder than it should've been.
Footsteps. Laughter. Locker doors clanking shut. Voices bouncing off tile and brick like the building was keeping track of who said what. Cedar Ridge High wasn't huge, but it didn't need size to feel crowded—people here filled space with familiarity. They knew where to stand, who to greet, which teachers were safe to joke with and which ones would write you up for breathing wrong.
Sol walked with Kaylee, Noelle, Sierra, and Bri like he was trying on a new version of himself.
Not a fake one. Just… one that didn't look lost.
Kaylee was a little ahead, pointing at things without slowing down. "Okay, this is the trophy case. Worship it or the football team will cry. That door goes to the gym—don't enter during wrestling season unless you want to see a man get folded like laundry. Over there is the cafeteria. Do not—do not—trust the pizza."
Sol glanced at her. "Why not?"
Kaylee's eyes went solemn. "It's not food. It's a science experiment that escaped."
Noelle murmured, "She's exaggerating."
Sierra said flatly, "She's not."
Bri hugged her folder closer to her chest, eyes flicking around like she was memorizing routes. She stayed close to Sierra, not clinging, just… orbiting near the person who felt steady.
Sol noticed his own body doing what it always did in new spaces: head up, shoulders loose, hands visible, eyes scanning exits and angles. It wasn't fear. It was habit. His dad used to call it being awake.
They reached Sol's locker—upper row, which immediately felt like the universe telling him he should've been taller.
Kaylee leaned in to read the number like it was a prophecy. "Ah, yes. The deluxe penthouse suite."
Sol looked up. "I'm going to need a ladder."
Sierra's tone was dry. "Or a growth spurt."
Noelle reached into her tote bag and produced a pencil like she'd been waiting for this moment. "Spin left to 22, right past 10, left to 6," she recited without looking.
Sol blinked. "You just… know that?"
Noelle glanced at him. "Combination locks are standardized."
Kaylee clutched her chest dramatically. "Noelle is a robot built by scholarships."
Noelle didn't react, which somehow made it funnier.
Sol tried the lock. His fingers were a little clumsier than he wanted them to be. The dial felt stiff, like it hadn't been turned in months.
He missed the last number and the lock refused to open.
Kaylee leaned close, whispering like she was coaching an athlete. "Don't show fear. The lock senses weakness."
Sol shot her a look. "It's metal."
"It's Montana metal," Kaylee insisted.
Sol tried again, slower. Left to 22. Right past 10. Left to 6.
The lock clicked open.
Sol exhaled lightly, like he'd been holding his breath.
Kaylee pointed at him. "See? You asserted dominance."
Noelle said, "You followed instructions."
Sierra added, "You didn't slam it. Good."
Sol glanced at Sierra. "People slam locks?"
Sierra's eyes flicked toward the far end of the hall. "People slam everything."
Sol opened the locker, and the inside smelled like dust and old paper—someone else's year, someone else's life. He slid his schedule packet inside just to claim the space, then shut it gently.
A few students passed, glancing at him with that small-town curiosity. Not openly rude. Just noticing. A girl with long dark hair smiled politely in passing. A guy in a letterman jacket nodded once like he'd decided Sol was at least not a threat.
Then Kaylee caught herself mid-breath.
"Oh no," she whispered, like the words tasted bad.
Sol didn't need to ask. He followed her gaze.
Braden was walking down the hall toward them.
Not rushing. Not aggressive. Just that slow, confident pace people used when they wanted everyone to see them coming. His two friends trailed behind him like backup singers. Ball cap low, jaw set, eyes fixed on Sol and the girls like he was approaching a territory dispute.
Kaylee straightened, smile still on her face but sharpened at the edges.
Noelle's posture changed—subtle. Shoulders squared, chin slightly lifted.
Sierra's expression went flat in that way that meant she was controlling herself.
Bri's fingers tightened on her folder.
Sol felt something tighten in his own chest too—not fear, not panic. More like the sense of an incoming annoyance. A fly buzzing near your ear.
Braden stopped a few feet away, close enough to be disrespectful, far enough to pretend he wasn't.
"Look at this," he said, voice loud enough for passing students to catch. "Texas already got himself a little escort."
Kaylee's smile was bright and poisonous. "We're guiding him. It's community service."
Braden ignored her and looked at Sol. "You get all your classes? Or you need somebody to read it for you?"
Sol held Braden's gaze calmly. "I can read."
Braden's mouth twitched. "Cool. So you can read the part where this is my hallway."
Noelle spoke, calm as ice. "It isn't."
Braden finally looked at her, eyes narrowing. "Nobody asked you, Noelle."
Noelle didn't blink. "You're speaking in public. That's an invitation."
A couple students slowed their walk, pretending they weren't listening.
Kaylee leaned closer to Sol, whispering, "Rule number nine: he performs."
Sol murmured back, "Let him."
Braden's eyes flicked between them, catching that something had been said. His jaw tightened.
"You think you're funny?" Braden asked Sol.
Sol shrugged, small and controlled. "Not really."
That answer hit wrong—because it didn't give Braden anything to push against. No ego to hook. No anger to escalate.
Braden took a half-step closer anyway, trying to force the situation into a shape he could control.
"You from Texas, right?" Braden said. "Y'all got guns down there. You think that makes you tough?"
Sol's gaze didn't change. "My dad taught me safety."
Braden's smile turned mean. "Oh, yeah? He teach you how to shoot people?"
The air around them tightened. A couple passing voices went quieter.
Sol felt his dad's rules in the back of his skull like a checklist.
Be polite. Be aware. Let stupid be stupid alone.
He kept his hands loose at his sides. He didn't shift into any stance that looked like a challenge. He didn't give Braden the performance he wanted.
"No," Sol said simply. "He taught me not to."
Braden blinked, thrown off for a fraction of a second, then scoffed to cover it. "Whatever. You'll learn. This town isn't like Texas."
Sierra's voice cut in, calm and sharp. "Neither are you."
Braden whipped his head toward her. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Sierra didn't raise her voice. "It means you're not scary. You're loud."
A couple students nearby let out small laughs, quickly swallowed.
Braden's face flushed. He hated being laughed at more than he liked being feared.
He looked back at Sol like he wanted to salvage control.
"Try not to get in my way," Braden said.
Sol nodded once. "I wasn't planning on it."
Braden stared at him, frustrated that he couldn't turn that into a fight.
Then Braden's eyes slid to Bri.
Bri's shoulders pulled in slightly, like she expected impact.
Braden's mouth curved. "And you," he said, tone mocking. "You hiding behind new kid now?"
Kaylee's smile vanished. Just… gone.
Noelle's eyes sharpened.
Sierra's body went still in a way Sol recognized—the stillness before movement.
Sol stepped half a pace forward without thinking.
Not aggressive. Not a lunge. Just enough to put himself between Braden and Bri's line of sight.
Bri's breath caught quietly.
Sol's voice stayed low and even. "Don't talk to her."
Braden blinked at him, surprised.
Sol held his gaze, calm, unwavering. He didn't threaten. He didn't posture. He just made the line visible.
That line mattered.
Braden's eyes narrowed. "Why? She your girlfriend already?"
Kaylee made a disgusted sound. "Braden, you're gross."
Noelle's voice was clipped. "Leave."
Sierra's tone was colder than the tile floor. "Now."
Braden looked around and realized the hallway had paused. Not the whole school—just enough people. Enough eyes. Enough attention that this could go wrong for him in the way he hated: public.
He backed up slightly, forcing a laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "Y'all are sensitive."
Kaylee smiled again, but it was empty. "And you're predictable."
Braden glared at Kaylee, then at Sol.
"This isn't over," Braden muttered, like he was in a movie.
Sol didn't blink. "Okay."
Braden turned and walked away, his friends trailing behind him. They tried to laugh like they'd won something, but their laughter sounded thin.
As soon as Braden was gone, the hallway noise returned—students moving again, voices picking back up, the world continuing like nothing had happened.
But something had changed.
Sol turned slightly toward Bri.
Bri's fingers were wrapped tight around her folder, knuckles pale. She stared at the floor for half a second like she didn't know what to do with her face.
Then she whispered, "I'm sorry."
Sol frowned. "For what?"
Bri's voice stayed small. "For… being a problem."
Kaylee's head snapped toward her. "Bri."
Noelle's expression softened. "You're not a problem."
Sierra's voice was quieter now, less sharp. "He picks easy targets. That's all."
Sol looked at Bri, keeping his tone gentle. "You didn't do anything."
Bri nodded, but her eyes still didn't quite lift. "He just… does that."
Sol felt a flicker of anger—controlled, cold. Not the wild kind. The kind that made you decide something.
He remembered her in the diner, clutching her mug like it was warmth. He remembered the way she'd looked away fast, like attention hurt.
He didn't like the idea that she lived like that.
Kaylee blew out a breath and forced brightness back into her voice like she was turning a knob. "Okay! New topic. Sol, locker success. Proud of you."
Sol glanced at Kaylee. "That was a whole ordeal."
Kaylee nodded seriously. "Yes. A hero's journey."
Noelle checked her watch. "We should go. They're starting the counselor talk soon."
Sierra looked at Sol. "You good?"
Sol nodded. "Yeah."
Sierra held his gaze for a second like she was deciding whether she believed him, then nodded once and started walking.
Kaylee looped her arm through Sol's for half a second—casual, like it was nothing—then let go before it could feel like too much. "Come on, Texas. If you get lost, they'll assign you to freshman duties."
Sol followed, falling into step beside them.
As they walked, Bri lagged slightly behind, and Sol slowed without thinking—just enough so she didn't end up alone at the back.
Bri noticed. Her eyes flicked up briefly.
Sol didn't make a big deal out of it. He just kept pace.
They moved down the hallway together, past the trophy case, past the bulletin boards, past the places where the school's old stories lived.
Sol had only been here a few days.
But already, Cedar Ridge was doing what it did best.
It was watching.
And it was deciding.
Sol didn't know what story the town would choose for him yet.
But he knew one thing.
He wasn't going to let bored people write it for him.