Three months into second grade, school no longer felt like something that started.
It simply existed.
Tyler sat at his desk in Class 2-A, legs swinging slightly beneath the chair, pencil resting across an open notebook he wasn't writing in yet. The morning sun filtered through the same windows as last year, only now the light reached his desk more directly. Either the sun had changed its angle or he'd been moved closer to the window. He wasn't sure which.
Probably both.
Ms. Rivers stood at the front of the classroom, back turned, writing the day's outline on the board. Her handwriting was still a little too energetic for the straight lines of the chalkboard, but she'd improved. Or maybe Tyler had just gotten used to it.
"Okay, everyone," she said, clapping her hands once. "Before we start, please take out your math notebooks. Yes, Chris, that means not your comic."
"It's educational," Chris protested, holding it up. "They're fighting with numbers."
Ms. Rivers turned slowly. "Put. It. Away."
Chris sighed dramatically and shoved the comic into his desk. "Teachers hate creativity."
Tyler glanced sideways at him. "You were reading it upside down."
Chris paused. Looked down. Then grinned. "That's how you unlock secret pages."
Tyler didn't respond. He just opened his notebook and flipped to the correct page.
Class 2-A buzzed with low noise chairs scraping, whispers passing like traded secrets, someone dropping an eraser and treating it like a tragedy. It wasn't chaotic the way first grade had been. It was louder, more confident, like the kids had collectively decided school was a place they could survive.
Chris leaned over, elbow on Tyler's desk. "Hey. Did you finish the homework?"
"Yes."
"Already?"
"Yes."
Chris stared at him. "How?"
Tyler shrugged. "I did it."
"That's cheating," Chris said seriously.
"No, it isn't."
"Yes it is. You're not supposed to just do it."
Chris flipped his pencil between his fingers, then lowered his voice. "I forgot the last question."
Tyler glanced at the page. "It's seven."
Chris beamed. "I knew it."
"You didn't."
"Still counts."
Ms. Rivers cleared her throat loudly. "Gentle reminder eyes on your own work."
Chris straightened immediately, hands up. "I wasn't copying! I was… collaborating."
Ms. Rivers pinched the bridge of her nose. "Chris."
"Okay, okay."
Tyler looked back at his notebook. The numbers lined up neatly. Math was the same as it had always been predictable, honest. He liked that.
Around him, the class moved forward in small, familiar ways. Eris whispered something to Luna two rows over. Amaya dropped his pencil again and whispered an apology to no one. Someone near the back snorted with laughter and tried to turn it into a cough.
This was school now.
When the bell rang for lunch, the room erupted into motion. Chairs scraped, bags slammed shut, and Ms. Rivers raised her voice just enough to be heard.
"Single file, turtles!"
No one listened.
Tyler and Chris slipped out together, pushed along by the current of bodies flooding the corridor.
"Race you to the stairs," Chris said.
"No."
"I'm racing anyway."
Chris took off. Tyler kept walking.
Outside, the air felt warmer. Lunch was spread across the courtyard and shaded walkways, clusters of kids sitting wherever they found space. Tyler had just started unwrapping his lunch when two familiar voices cut in.
"Tyler!"
Daniel came jogging over, shoes untied, backpack bouncing behind him. Katherine followed at a more reasonable pace, holding her lunchbox with both hands.
"Hi," Tyler said.
Daniel plopped down beside him immediately. "First grade is LOUD."
Katherine nodded seriously. "Our teacher talks a lot."
"That's normal," Tyler said.
Daniel leaned closer. "There's a kid who cried because his pencil broke."
Katherine added, "And someone tried to eat glue."
Chris, already halfway through his sandwich, perked up. "Did they survive?"
Daniel thought about it. "Yeah."
"Lame."
Katherine frowned. "First grade is harder than I thought."
Tyler glanced between them. "You'll get used to it."
Daniel nodded enthusiastically. "Elijah says third grade is worse."
"What did he say?" Tyler asked.
"He said they get more homework," Katherine said. "And the teacher is strict."
"And he says he's taller now," Daniel added.
Tyler smiled faintly. That sounded like Elijah.
Katherine tilted her head. "My mother said your uncle is getting married."
Tyler paused mid-bite. "Yeah."
Daniel's eyes widened. "Both of them?"
"Yeah."
"That's a lot," Daniel said seriously.
Chris shocked. "you didn't tell me about wedding."
"I did not tell anyone"
"Well I'm first in our class" Chris grinned.
Katherine looked thoughtful. "The wedding is in a church, right?"
Tyler nodded. "That's what they said."
"Cool," Daniel said. "Churches are big."
"And quiet," Katherine added.
Chris grimaced. "I hate quiet."
"Well it will be interesting right Tyler?"
"Yeah yeah" Tyler sighed internally.
The bell rang again, sharp and demanding.
"Lunch is over," Chris said mournfully. "This day betrayed me."
Daniel scrambled to his feet. "We have spelling!"
Katherine sighed. "I hate spelling."
They waved and ran off, first graders pulled back into their own world.
Tyler packed his lunch away and stood. As he walked back toward the classroom, the thought settled in his mind without weight or drama.
Everyone already knew.
The wedding wasn't a secret anymore. It was just another fact floating around, like homework or lunch bells or the way grades stacked on top of each other.
Back in Class 2-A, Ms. Rivers waited with a stack of papers and an expression that promised work.
"Alright, everyone," she said brightly. "Let's continue."
Tyler took his seat, pencil ready.
Outside, time kept moving.
And no one asked it to slow down.
Ms. Rivers clapped her hands twice, sharp and cheerful.
"Alright, artists," she announced, already smiling too much, "math is done and nobody cried so we're doing art."
A collective cheer rolled through Class 2-A.
Even Tyler felt a small loosening in his shoulders. Art class didn't require speed or correctness. It allowed space for mistakes, for wandering thoughts. Ms. Rivers moved between desks, handing out thick sheets of paper and boxes of crayons that had clearly lived hard lives.
"Today's task," she said, pointing to the board, "is simple. Draw something important to you. It can be a place, a thing, or a memory. No wrong answers."
Chris raised his hand. "Can it be food?"
"Yes."
"Can it be food fighting another food?"
"…Also yes," Ms. Rivers sighed.
Desks were shifted slightly, kids naturally clustering where they always did. Tyler found himself seated with Eris, Amaya, and Luna at a shared table near the window.
Amaya carefully opened the crayon box like it might explode. "Why are they always broken?"
"That's how you know they're experienced," Eris said, immediately grabbing the brightest red. "New crayons are suspicious."
Luna picked up a blue crayon, stared at it, then at the sky outside. "This one looks like clouds when they're tired."
Tyler looked at the blank paper in front of him.
Important.
That word meant too many things.
He picked up a pencil first instead of a crayon and drew a simple rectangle four walls, a roof. A house. Not detailed. Just enough to exist.
Eris leaned over. "That's boring."
Tyler shrugged. "It's important."
Amaya nodded in agreement. "Houses are important. You sleep there."
Luna tilted her head. "I'm drawing a tree."
Eris glanced at her paper. "That's a blob."
"It's a tree from far away."
Eris accepted that explanation instantly and began drawing something aggressively circular. "I'm drawing my cat. He's fat."
"Cats aren't round," Amaya said gently.
"This one is."
They fell into the comfortable noise of children at work crayons scraping, papers shifting, occasional dramatic gasps when someone broke a crayon in half.
Tyler switched to crayons, choosing brown and green, filling in the house slowly. He added a small bench in the front without thinking about it.
Amaya leaned closer. "Is that your house?"
"Yes."
"It looks… quiet."
Tyler paused, then nodded. "It is."
Luna had moved on from trees to drawing the sun with far too many rays. "The sun is happy today."
Eris squinted at Tyler's drawing. "Why is there no one in it?"
Tyler considered the paper. He hadn't noticed.
"I didn't draw people."
"That's weird," Eris said, not unkindly. "I always draw people."
She added a stick figure next to her round cat, smiling too wide.
Amaya hesitated, then added a tiny figure next to Tyler's house using a yellow crayon. "Now someone lives there."
Tyler looked at it.
He didn't erase it.
Ms. Rivers passed by, stopping to look over their table. "Oh, I like this group," she said warmly. "Very focused."
Eris grinned. "We're professionals."
"I can tell," Ms. Rivers said, patting her head lightly. "Tyler, that's a very calm picture."
Tyler nodded. "It's just a house."
Ms. Rivers smiled like she thought it meant something more but didn't say it out loud.
When the bell rang, the art papers were collected with various levels of complaint and pride. Chairs scraped again, bags were packed, and the class slowly dissolved into end-of-day energy.
Outside the school gates, parents and guardians waited in scattered clusters. Tyler scanned the familiar faces automatically.
Richard stood near the tree, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but tired.
Tyler walked over. "Hi."
Richard smiled. "Hey."
Tyler glanced behind him. "Where's Uncle Steven?"
Richard exhaled softly. "Your grandma gave him work."
Tyler nodded like that explained everything which it did.
They started walking.
"Wedding stuff?" Tyler asked.
Richard nodded once. "Wedding stuff."
They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence. The street hummed softly with afternoon life. Shops closing, kids shouting somewhere distant, the smell of food drifting through the air.
When they reached home, the door was already open.
Voices spilled out.
"…no, that date won't work"
"The church schedule is already filling"
"We'll need to inform the families soon"
Tyler stepped inside and immediately recognized the group.
Grandma Viola sat at the table, posture sharp as ever. Melissa stood beside her, listening intently. Mrs. Parker leaned back in her chair, arms crossed thoughtfully. Mrs. Nowak sat opposite them, nodding along, her hands folded in her lap.
They barely noticed Tyler at first.
"I'm telling you," Mrs. Parker said, "Ignarous Church is the right choice. Big enough. Proper."
"It's tradition," Mrs. Nowak agreed. "And respected."
Viola nodded decisively. "Ignarous it is. No discussion."
Melissa glanced up then, noticing Tyler. "Oh sweetheart. You're home."
Tyler nodded and lingered near the doorway, listening.
"The rituals are clear," Viola continued. "The priest will handle the formalities. We just need to speak with the church administrator and finalize the date."
"Steven won't argue?" Mrs. Parker asked.
"He already tried," Viola said flatly. "He lost."
Mrs. Nowak smiled faintly. "Young men always do."
Tyler slipped away quietly, climbing the stairs to his room.
Inside, the house felt different. Not loud. Not tense.
Settled.
He sat on his bed, legs dangling, and stared at the wall. Ignarous Church came to mind not from memory, but from what it represented. Authority. Tradition. Public witness.
Places like that didn't just host events.
They shaped them.
Tyler lay back and closed his eyes.
I should go, he thought. I should see it myself.
Not to change anything.
Just to understand.
Outside his room, the voices continued, planning a future that felt both distant and inevitable.
And Tyler, already three months into second grade, listened to the sound of time moving forward quietly, steadily, without waiting for permission.