The cafeteria was mostly dead by the time Elija and Lorena bailed. Just a few bored-looking freshmen poking at gray mashed potatoes and half-melted cheese. The kind of post-lunch apocalypse that smelled like pizza regret and questionable milk.
They didn't need that energy.
So they slipped away — trays abandoned — and climbed the cracked concrete steps that led up to the old gym. The one that had been shut down after the ceiling started leaking and some kid broke his wrist in '09 doing a backflip off a broken bleacher.
No one went there anymore.
Which, of course, made it the perfect place.
The sun streamed through grimy high windows like it was trying to redeem the place. Golden light draped over dust and peeling paint, turning everything into a scene from some old indie film. The kind with quiet girls and buried trauma. Or spontaneous dance numbers.
Lorena flopped down on the top step and pulled a half-melted chocolate bar from her backpack like it was treasure. It looked fossilized.
"This," she said, peeling back the wrapper, "has been with me since last Tuesday. Possibly since the fall of the Roman Empire. And today, it gets eaten. A hero's journey."
She took a dramatic bite.
Elija sat beside her, arms crossed tight, her whole posture somewhere between stressed-out raccoon and paranoid squirrel.
"So," Lorena said, chewing loudly. "What the hell was that in history? Like. Be honest. I need to know if we accidentally walked into a possession scene or the pilot episode of some cursed-ass Netflix series."
Elija let out a long breath. "I was hoping you'd hallucinated it too."
She ran a hand through her hair.
"I seriously thought I was losing my mind. I drank two coffees and half a Monster before first period, and I thought maybe I was just vibrating through reality on my own. But no. Mr. Edwards is apparently summoning past lives with his haunted-ass leather book."
Lorena snorted. "Tea parties with the f***ing dead. God, I love this school."
She leaned back, knees pulled to her chest, chocolate smeared slightly on her thumb. Her eyes softened, went somewhere far away.
"You think he really believes it?" she asked. "Like, actually believes we've all lived before? Like we're just crashing into each other again and again — between lunch periods and algebra tests — because the universe has unresolved beef?"
Elija didn't answer immediately.
She just stared forward. Eyes unfocused.
And then, slowly, she nodded.
"Maybe?" she said, voice quiet now. "I mean… that girl in the drawing. I've seen her."
Lorena blinked. "Wait. Seen her like… how? Where?"
"In my dreams," Elija said. "A couple weeks ago. It wasn't clear then. Just flashes. A feeling. But when he showed us that book? That portrait?"
She swallowed hard.
"It was like déjà vu had a panic attack. The same face. Same dress. I didn't recognize her at first but... it was me, Lo."
She rubbed at her arms even though the sunlight was warm.
"I know it sounds insane. I do. But I saw her. I saw me before I ever saw that book."
Lorena paused. Then she nodded seriously.
"You're a witch."
Elija blinked.
"What?"
"Full-on reincarnated badass time-witch," Lorena said confidently. "Possibly cursed. Possibly chosen. Definitely haunted by vibes. I mean, you literally have main character eyes. It's suspicious."
"I hate you," Elija muttered, trying not to laugh.
"You don't," Lorena grinned. "You love me. I'm your quirky morally ambiguous sidekick. I'd die for you in act three."
"I'd burn you at the stake by act two."
"Only if you wrote tragic poems about me first," Lorena countered, already pulling a bent notebook from her bag like it was Excalibur.
Elija rolled her eyes. "Please don't."
"Oh, baby. It's too late."
She stood up, flipped a page, and threw her hand dramatically over her heart like she was summoning Shakespeare from the grave.
> "She walks like silence —
But hits like thunder.
Her eyes, a memory
That doesn't belong to me.
I miss her like a dream
I was never allowed to keep."
Silence followed.
The sunlight caught the edge of the dust in the air. The world held its breath.
Then:
"You're such a f***ing drama queen."
Lorena flipped her hair. "I am your light in the day and your nightmare in the night, Cullen. Don't fight it."
"You're more like a spoonful of peanut butter in the middle of an existential crisis."
They both cracked up.
The kind of laughter that comes when you're teetering on the edge of something big and heavy — and the only thing to do is lean into absurdity until it stops hurting.
But even as they laughed, Elija felt it.
That strange, cold pressure pressing against the edges of her ribs. That whisper of something ancient brushing past the nape of her neck. Something that didn't quite belong to this century — or this body.
She leaned back on her elbows and stared up at the cracked skylight, sunlight sliding across her cheekbones.
There was a pause.
One of those slow, heavy ones that fill the spaces between laughter and silence. Between the moment things feel fine, and the moment they absolutely do not.
Elija's voice came soft, the words barely brushing the dusty air.
"But seriously," she said. "You're… still the only one I can tell. When shit in my head starts spinning too fast."
Lorena didn't say anything at first. She just reached over and bumped her shoulder lightly against Elija's, like they were syncing pulses.
"I know," she said finally. "And I'm not going anywhere. Even when you start spiraling over mythical reincarnations and mysterious women who breathe like cold-ass moonlight shadows."
Elija let out a weak laugh, choked halfway between humor and something else.
"Fuck, that was beautiful," she said. "Kinda pissed it was about me."
"Get used to it," Lorena replied. "You inspire a lot of poetic chaos. Mostly of the 'haunted but hot' variety."
They sat there a minute longer — legs stretched out, sunlight bleeding over their sneakers. From somewhere far below, the school bell rang like a war horn signaling the return to battle.
"Guess it's time," Lorena said, dragging herself upright. "Back to class. Before Edward the Time-Traveler pulls out another cursed portrait of one of us looking tragic and vaguely Victorian."
"If I see a painting of you with a powdered wig, I'm transferring schools."
"If I'm a queen in it, you're staying," Lorena replied. "Someone's gotta write down my royal decrees. And scream-cry when I get assassinated in act three."
"Oh, for sure. I'll weep in soft-focus. Maybe even punch a duke."
"That's the spirit."
They started heading down the hallway, their footsteps echoing just a beat too loud. The kind of sound that made the lockers sound like they were listening. The kind of silence that wasn't quite silence.
The shadows on the walls didn't just sit still. They stretched a little, curious. Like something unseen was watching. Following.
The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed, flickered once.
Neither of them looked up.
Because they both felt it.
Something was changing — not in a "finals are coming" kind of way, but in a cosmic, you're probably part of some ancient dream prophecy kind of way.
And deep down, neither of them was surprised.
As they rounded the corner, Elija glanced at Lorena.
"You ever feel like the school isn't just a school?" she asked. "Like… it has too many corners. Too many doors. Like it's bigger on the inside than it should be."
Lorena raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me this public school has Narnia physics?"
"I'm just saying," Elija muttered, "maybe there's something under the floorboards. Or behind the walls. Or—"
"Jesus, El. Now I'm never peeing alone again."
They laughed again — a little too loud, a little too hard — but it felt good. Like punching a hole in the tension.
As they reached the final hallway, the sunlight dimmed behind them. The door loomed ahead — 302, etched on the glass in gold paint that flaked like old skin.
English Class.
"Time to fake being emotionally stable while analyzing metaphors written by dead white guys," Lorena sighed.
Elija snorted. "If one more poem mentions a 'withered rose' I'm going to scream into a locker."
"You scream pretty," Lorena said, pushing the door open. "Very main character."
"You're insufferable."
"I know. But I'm your insufferable."
And as the door creaked open, and they crossed the threshold, something shifted. Just barely. Just for a second.
Like the classroom breathed in.
And held it.