DAMEN
I can't stop thinking about her.
Twenty-four hours. That is how long it has been since she left the library without a word. Seven hundred times, give or take, I have gone over every line we spoke. She said "I like history" as if admitting something wrong. Her eyes widened the moment I mentioned hiding. For just a heartbeat, she saw me - truly saw - and not the cash, the title, the image. Then everything closed off again.
Mira Castillo.
Three years passed knowing just her name. Existence confirmed, yet unseen. Until yesterday morning unfolded differently. A pen fell. My eyes followed as she leaned down. Shoulder fabric hung loose on her uniform. Sleeve ends stopped too soon. Heels of her shoes flattened with use. Movement careful, almost shrinking. Space around her seemed limited by design.
My eyes stayed fixed. There was no turning back.
Here in the west dining hall, the same faces fill the seats around me. My mind drifts - wondering which corner of this place holds her today. Doubt it's here at all. Over by the kitchen, tucked away, sit the scholarship group, ignored like always. Took a look already. She isn't among them.
Water catches in my throat when Kael speaks. She's inside the library, he says, voice flat against the quiet.
"What?"
It started when Kael Montgomery and I were just kids, age seven. Closer than most people get in a lifetime, he reads me like pages no one else has seen - not my folks, not even Selena, maybe not even me. Now his eyes lock onto mine, carrying something heavy. A quiet shift runs through me, cold and sudden.
"The Castillo girl. That's who you're thinking about, right? The one you've been staring at for the past ten minutes?"
I push my expression flat. "That means nothing to me
"Damen." Kael leans forward, lowering his voice. "I've known you for eleven years. You get this look when you're obsessed with something. You got it sophomore year when you decided to teach yourself guitar. You got it last year when you were researching that startup. And you've had it since yesterday."
It feels wrong to say yes. Maybe I ought to refuse. Still, Kael moves his head just slightly, as if my silence means agreement.
"Look, I don't care if you want to hook up with a townie. That's your business. But be careful, okay? Selena's already asking questions."
"Selena doesn't get to ask questions about my life."
"Selena thinks she's your girlfriend."
"She's not."
"Try telling her that." Kael sits back, picking up his sandwich. "Look, I'm just saying - be smart. Girls like that, they're looking for a way out. They see a guy like you and they think lottery ticket. Don't be naive."
Girls like that.
The way he says it rubs me wrong. A hundred times before, I've tossed those words out without a second thought - other students just slipping through the cracks. Yet Mira? She doesn't fit that mold. Something inside just tells me so.
Far off her thoughts were, not a single thing she sought from me. Not even words felt welcome between us. Away I should move, that much was clear.
She isn't searching for luck in a small scrap of paper. Hurt piled up over years until her guard rose too high to measure.
"Earth to Damen." Kael snaps his fingers. "You're doing it again."
I open my eyes quickly. What are you talking about?
"That thing where you zone out thinking about her. It's creepy, man. Snap out of it."
A chuckle escapes, too loud, as I chew the corner of my sandwich. My eyes stay fixed elsewhere - anywhere but those glassy library doors. Not turning feels like holding my breath underwater.
***
Seventh period rolls around, my thoughts finally catching up with me. Maybe it's nothing - after all, seeing someone isn't rare. A glance happens without meaning most times. Hardly worth the attention I've given it.
That day, I stepped into AP English class - there she was.
There she sits again, tucked into the far booth, eyes fixed on paper, scribbling fast. Sunlight spills through glass at her back, gilding strands of hair just so - my feet freeze mid-step before I even think.
Her eyes lift, just a little. "Problem, Damen?"
"No. Nothing."
Sitting down now. Not far from Mira Castillo - just two seats away. Her pen glides, quick and sharp, tracing lines I can't read. That small crease forms between her brows while she bites her lower lip. The urge to peek at her notebook pulls like a thread behind my ribs.
It begins now, the class. A bit on symbols inside page thirty-two. Not one sound gets through to me.
Her movements catch my attention instead. Without ever turning toward the board, she writes things down - maybe she already knows what comes next in the lesson. Each time someone passes by her seat, she folds inward slightly, like trying to disappear. Time moves slow for her; eyes flicker to the clock again, waiting for the moment it stops.
One moment at a time, she waits. Out of these walls, away from those halls, beyond this routine. A slow breath pulls her forward.
I'm curious about the reason behind it.
Sound fades. Out she jumps, backpack ready, already moving toward the exit. Yet I reach first. Not sure what pulls me - just a push inside - body there ahead, standing in front.
Now she halts. Head tilting upward toward my face. Those eyes - deep, cautious, yet striking without trying.
"Move," she says.
"Walk with me."
"What?"
"Walk with me. To wherever you're going. I have soccer practice in twenty minutes, but I can walk you partway."
Frozen in place, her eyes lock onto mine as if I just sprouted another face. That idea makes no sense to her - what possible reason could there be?
It won't leave my mind - you staying there, stuck. Three years here, nothing worth noticing until now. My eyes land on you, suddenly everything feels less fake than it ever has before.
I keep quiet about all this. Since heading that direction regardless
"You don't know where I'm going."
That makes sense. I move out of the way so she can walk by. Tell me how it happened
Hesitation sits in her eyes. Watching, I notice the way her mind races - searching for tricks, hidden rules, some kind of catch. Anger stirs low in my chest. What past sting taught her that kindness must mean danger?
Finally, she shrugs. "Fine. Whatever. I'm going to the bus stop."
"I'll walk you."
Down the hallway we go, each glance burning into my skin. People notice. Girls huddle close, voices dropping like secrets slipping through cracks. A younger student stops mid-step, eyes wide. Out comes a phone - snapshots flying fast, messages zipping toward Selena before we've even turned the corner.
Mira sees it happen. Shoulders curl forward, steps grow faster.
"Slow down," I say. "You're going to trip."
"I'm going to miss my bus."
"There's another one."
"Not for an hour. And I have to be at work by four."
There is work. She definitely has a job. What place does she go to each day? What tasks fill her hours? Questions rise in me, yet her stance warns - speak and she vanishes.
Here we are at the entrance. Across the way, the bus stop sits in view - a small covered spot where several students stand, most on scholarship, those without rides or family around to bring them home.
"This is far enough," Mira says.
"I'll wait with you."
"No."
Sharp. The word hangs like a cut. Her body shifts toward mine, slowly. For once, her dark eyes show something raw - anger, true anger, nothing like the guarded look she wore earlier.
"I don't know what you're doing, Damen. I don't know if this is a joke or a dare or some kind of social experiment. But I'm not interested. I'm not going to be your charity project or your rebellion against your perfect life or whatever this is supposed to be. So just... stop. Okay? Leave me alone."
Away she goes, not waiting for my reply. Over there - past the road - the bus shelter holds her now, facing forward, stiff like a needle in windless air.
The moment the bus arrives is when I stop looking. She steps aboard, then my eyes stay fixed. Around the bend, it fades from sight, that's when I turn away.
Even now, my eyes stay fixed. There's no turning back.