Alex Dunphy prided herself on being unshakable.
She wasn't like the other girls at Glendale High. She didn't waste time on social drama, crushes, or pointless chatter. She had her eyes on real goals — early admission to Harvard, possibly MIT. Maybe double major in neuropsychology and quantum physics, just to make things interesting.
But the new boy had her attention.
Elliot Mason. Transferred in from somewhere vague — "the East Coast," the registrar had said. He was quiet. Not the insecure kind of quiet, or the too-cool-for-this kind. No, he was something else entirely: calm in a way that made her uncomfortable. Like someone who already understood the ending to a book everyone else was still reading.
Alex didn't like mysteries she couldn't solve.
She hadn't meant to engage him in class. She had answered Mr. Evans like she always did, confidently, accurately. Then Elliot had spoken up with that strange, measured tone and said something that didn't sound like a high schooler parroting a textbook. It sounded… earned. Lived.
"Conscious rebellion, even within constraint, affirms freedom."
What high school student talked like that?
His eyes hadn't even flicked toward her once. No smugness, no nervousness. Just… detachment. Like he wasn't trying to prove anything.
That, more than anything, annoyed her.
So when the bell rang, she followed him.
He was walking through the main hallway with that same lazy pace, backpack hanging loosely off one shoulder, his gaze skimming the walls like they were interesting.
"You're new," she'd said.
"I am."
His answers were short, but not dismissive. Just... final.
Then that line: 'From dying once already.'
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
She stood there for a few seconds after he left, fuming. He was joking. Had to be. But it stuck with her. Like a burr under her skin.
Back at her locker, she opened her notebook and scribbled something she'd never written before in a margin:
"Who is Elliot Mason?"
She watched him again at lunch.
He sat alone under a tree, legs crossed, a black notebook in his lap. He wasn't texting. Wasn't scrolling. He was writing — actual, honest-to-God pen-on-paper writing.
Alex kept her distance, watching from behind a column near the cafeteria.
Every once in a while, he'd stop, look around the quad as if seeing something she couldn't, then write again.
Luke passed by, carrying a tray of chocolate milk and cafeteria pizza. "Hey, Alex. Why are you hiding behind a wall?"
"I'm not hiding," she snapped. "I'm observing."
"Right," he said, nodding sagely. "Definitely not creeping on the new guy."
She glared. "He said something weird in philosophy class."
"Oh no. Not weird." Luke leaned in mock-dramatically. "Was it... deep?"
"Shut up."
Luke shrugged and left. Alex peeked around the column again.
Elliot hadn't moved. Still writing, still calm. The wind rustled his dark hair and scattered a few leaves at his feet. He didn't flinch.
What seventeen-year-old boy looked that serene?
That night, Alex tried to forget about him.
She had flashcards to review, a math test to prep for, and three essays due by Friday. She told herself she had more important things to think about.
But when she sat down at her desk and pulled out her philosophy binder, her mind wandered back to what he'd said.
"We're still responsible for how we respond."
She didn't want to admit it, but it made sense. Not just in the classroom. In life.
Her family was chaos. Her parents were well-meaning but exhausting, Haley was a hurricane, and Luke was... Luke. She spent most of her time trying to be the one holding the line, the one with control. Maybe that's why Elliot's calm disturbed her. Because it made her wonder if all her control was just noise.
She pulled out her phone and Googled him.
Elliot Mason – Glendale High – New student
Nothing. No social media. No LinkedIn, no Facebook, not even a middle school chess club mention.
Weird.
She closed her laptop and stared at the ceiling.
She wasn't obsessed. She was curious. That was different.
Totally different.
The next morning, she arrived early for class — something she usually did anyway, but now had an extra reason. She took her usual seat near the front and glanced at the door every thirty seconds.
At 7:53, Elliot entered, exactly two minutes before the bell.
He sat in the back again, same seat, same notebook. Didn't look at anyone.
Mr. Evans began the lecture: "Today we're talking about Kierkegaard and the leap of faith."
Alex raised her hand immediately, already gearing up for a debate.
But as the class wore on, she noticed something strange.
Elliot wasn't taking notes.
He was just listening, eyes half-lidded, still as a statue.
At one point, Mr. Evans quoted Kierkegaard's idea that "faith is the greatest passion in a human being."
Alex scoffed.
Elliot didn't.
He just blinked, and — for the briefest moment — smiled.
Not at her. Not at the teacher.
At the words.
After class, she stopped him again. This time, she didn't hesitate.
"You really believe that? That people can choose how to respond, even if everything around them is... stacked against them?"
He paused. Then nodded.
"Yes."
"Why?"
He looked at her then. Really looked. His eyes weren't cold. They were... heavy. Like he'd seen more than someone his age should have.
"Because I did once," he said. "And I didn't the next time. And I learned which mattered more."
Alex frowned. "What does that even mean?"
He gave that small, irritating smile again. "You'll figure it out."
And then he walked away.
Alex stood in the hallway, fists clenched.
She didn't know who this guy was. But he wasn't just some transfer student. He was something else.
And she was going to find out exactly what.
Even if it killed her.