Chapter Text
Rumi had always been an A grade student. She had people call her ‘perfect’ almost daily, and she was regarded as the smartest girl in her grade. Her mother had always held education to a high standard.
Studying into the early hours of the morning until she fell asleep at her desk became second nature. Revising the day's work as soon as she stepped into her room was a normal thing. The burnout was always annoying — but it was nothing that a good night's sleep couldn’t fix.
She felt eyes bore into the back of her head as she hurried her way down the halls of Honmoon High. Every wannabe student that thought they had a chance beating her watched her move. Every “fuckboy” that wanted to get into her pants watched her move. Even the teachers would stop and stare sometimes, not because they were attracted to her (She hoped), but because she was just such an impressive student.
She hated it when people stared. It made her want to shrink into herself. Maybe she could become a worm… or something even smaller. The skin under her sleeves itched, but she shoved the urge to scratch to the back of her mind and focused on arriving at her destination.
For most subjects, she was top of the class; Community And Family Studies, English Advanced, Maths Advanced, Biology, Chemistry, Food Technology, Studies of Religion, Physics. She topped the class in them all.
And it wasn’t by a little either — she strived further than her classmates could ever dream of. Even her extracurriculars were aced. Mathematics Extension, Music production, Visual Arts. She was never worried about seeing a red ‘F’ on a piece of paper because it just wasn’t possible.
But, there was one class where she just could not succeed no matter how hard she tried.
PE.
She hated it. The subject. The people. The teacher. The physical exertion.
She just hated it.
The in-class ‘PDH’ aspect was fine — easy, even. But as soon as the teacher would announce that they would be heading out for a day of sports, she would crumble (internally of course).
She would just drop the subject, but she couldn’t shake the thought that it is what her Mother would have wanted. Celine would be fine with her dropping it, but her Mother’s ghost haunted her — a silent ‘What if?’ that sat in her brain.
Rumi sighed as she made her way to the library — the one place in the school where she could just sit and read with no worries about prying eyes or schoolwork.
On the other side of the hall, a group of girls pressed around someone smaller, her shoulders hunched as if she could make herself invisible. Not tiny, but small enough that it drew attention—and not the kind anyone would want.
“Well, well, well. Look what the garbage man left behind,” a tall girl sneered, the smirk stretching across her face like it belonged to the sun itself—warm for everyone but the target.
The girl in the center flinched. “Hi… Tina,” she murmured, her voice so soft it might have disappeared into the floor tiles if anyone weren’t paying attention.
Then a shove—sharp, sudden—sent her crashing into the lockers behind her. The clang of metal against metal cracked through the hall like a gunshot.
“What did I say about calling me that?” Tina scowled, her voice a low growl.
Rumi froze in the doorway to the library, her hand on the handle as she turned back to see what had caused such an unpleasant sound.
Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes locked onto the girl in the centre.
Something in her chest tightened, like she had just wrapped her stomach in barbed-wire — a feeling she couldn’t quite place. She didn’t even know the new girl's name yet — it was… Chloe or something.
She had seen her around, and her stomach did weird flips when she noticed her in the corner of her eye. Rumi didn’t have the courage to walk up to her and ask her to be friends, so she just observed. She even made a little profile in her mind:
-Chloe (Maybe)
-16 years old
-From America
-Loves skateboarding
-Cutest girl on the planet
Rumi loved the way her bangs bobbed into her eyes whenever she took a step. She loved the two strands that hung either side of her face like a frame. She loved her scrappy second-hand clothes. The way freckles dusted across the bridge of her nose and under her eyes honestly did things to her.
But now, with the way the girl shrank, shoulders curling inward like she could disappear entirely, made Rumi’s stomach knot with guilt and frustration all at once. She wanted to hug her, make her feel better. Tell her she wouldn't have to worry ever again. Right now, she looked like a wounded dog in the centre of the “popular girls”.
They weren’t popular in the slightest, if anything, they should be called the “Unpopular girls”— Rumi couldn’t count the number of times she took a detour to avoid their group. With Tina’s father as the principal there was nothing they couldn’t do, so they did whatever they wanted.
Rumi was brought back to reality when the contents of Chloe's bag suddenly got dumped onto the ground.
Rumi gulped. She couldn’t move. But she knew she should move. She should march over there and tell them off. There was a chance that they would listen, because she was such a good student and all.
The girl on the floor had started crying. Tears pitter-pattered onto the floor beneath her, and Rumi’s heart tugged. She took a step towards them.
I’m really doing this, then.
She took another step, adding a shaky breath afterwards. Rumi’s eyes stayed fixed on the scene, her chest tight, as if she could feel every shove and every sharp word.
Then, like a spark igniting dry grass, a different girl stepped forward.
“Oi, assholes!” A stern voice cut through the hallway, loud enough to make the group of bullies freeze mid-laugh. “Fuck off!”
Rumi did know her.
Mira, the girl who always thought she was competing against Rumi in every class. They had the exact same timetable. They shared every single period through the day. The only difference was that Rumi knew she would win, but it was nice to have someone that would always try to beat her. She used it as motivation.
If Rumi had to choose someone apart from… him to be friends with, it would be Mira. She had a scowl most of the time, but Rumi could recognise masking better than anyone. She knew that Mira was just a big softy waiting to be activated.
She wasn't mean per se, but she was… blunt. She was the type of person to not realise they had hurt your feelings unless you told them. But she was nice to Rumi — at least, she tried to be. It was funny watching Mira bite back a snarl whenever they got their exams back.
Mira would waltz over to Rumi's desk with a smirk, slapping down her paper with a confident ‘humph’.
“I got 98%, beat that!” She would say.
But Rumi would simply bite her lip and mumble:
“I got 99.5%”
Then Mira's face would turn beetroot red, as if she had just failed at ending a bad case of constipation. She would place a shaky, broken smile on her face and nod painfully.
“N…I…C…E…!” She would squeak, almost like a kettle boiling over. Rumi would duck her head as she walked away, all attention on her as the class mumbled about how she had done it again.
“Who's surprised, honestly?” One kid mumbled, he probably thought only his friend could hear, but Rumi heard it. It was just a random person whose opinion was probably useless, but it still hurts.
Apparently Mira heard it, because she stomped over to his table, slamming her hand down on the desk. “Don't you dare talk about Rumi like that! She studies hard for these and she deserves the mark she gets. If you're not surprised that she won, that says more about you than her.”
“Dick.” He mumbled as Mira slipped back to her own desk, she shot Rumi a glance before taking her seat — Rumi thought she saw a smirk but had just shrugged it off.
A cocky laugh slipped down Rumi's spine as she was brought from her thoughts.
The tall girl turned, eyebrow raised, sizing up the sudden challenger. “Or what, pinky? You're gonna cry?”
Mira didn’t flinch. She planted her hands on her hips, jaw set, and glared with all the heat Rumi had only ever seen in a storm. “No. I’m gonna take my hatchet and stick it between your legs, and let me tell you— it’ll be nothing like how your boyfriend does you every night.”
The bullies hesitated. One scoffed, but something in Mira’s posture, in the intensity of her stare, made even the tallest of them shift uneasily.
Meanwhile, Rumi remained a few steps from the library door, frozen but captivated, biting back a smirk.
The new girl, still crying on the ground, looked up, eyes wide and wary, but relief flickered across her face as her new hero stepped between her and the group.
“Don’t touch her again,” Mira snapped. “Or you’ll have me to answer to. Kapish?”
The bullies muttered under their breath but slowly backed away, leaving the hall eerily quiet except for the new girl’s shaky breaths.
Rumi felt her own body relax fractionally, but her mind was racing.
Mira glanced away from the bullies, and for a fraction of a second, caught eyes with—
Did she just look at me?
She shook the thought from her mind as she looked back at the new girl. Even with tears streaming down her face, Rumi wanted nothing more than to make her feel better.
Mira crouched down, scooping up the scattered notebooks—pages messy with a tangle of Korean and English words—and a handful of pens. She shoved them into a battered green schoolbag, the faded turtle stickers peeling at the edges.
“Th—Thanks.” The new girl sniffled, bending to help gather the mess.
“Don’t worry about it.” Mira slid a final notebook into the bag and zipped it up. “If they do it again, you come and find me, yeah?”
The new girl blinked at her, startled by the seriousness in her tone. Then she nodded, relief loosening her shoulders.
“I’m Zoey,” she said, a small smile breaking through as she held out her hand.
Mira paused for a beat, then shook it, her grip unexpectedly gentle.
“Mira.” She finished zipping up Zoey’s bag and handed it over. Zoey took it with a little huff, the weight of it almost dragging her down again.
“Thanks.”
Mira stood, then reached down to pull Zoey to her feet. Her touch was steady, grounding—though Mira didn’t notice the jolt of warmth that shot through Zoey’s arm at the contact.
“See ya around.” Mira’s tone was casual, but her eyes lingered for half a second before she turned, heading toward the library.
“Yeah. See ya.” Zoey mumbled, clutching the bag against her chest. A strange flutter rose beneath her ribs, equal parts relief and something she couldn’t name.
As Mira wandered down to the door, she replayed the scene in her head over and over again. Her footsteps felt heavier than usual, like each one was dragging her back into the moment.
She hadn’t planned to say anything. Not at first. She’d been on her way to the library like she always was at this hour, telling herself it was just a habit, a shortcut, something routine. But really, it wasn’t. It never was.
The truth was, she liked walking past the glass doors, liked catching that glimpse of Rumi tucked away in her usual corner—head bent, hair falling forward, so still it was almost unreal. She never spoke, never looked around, never noticed Mira lurking in the doorway pretending to be busy. And that was fine. It was enough, somehow.
But then the noise had broken through—the bang of lockers, the laughter, the ugly voice cutting across the hall. Mira had turned her head, irritation at the sound rising quick and sharp. That was when she saw her.
Not the new girl—though she registered the small, cornered shape shrinking into the metal.
Rumi.
Standing frozen just outside the library door, hand poised on the handle like she’d been about to intervene. And something in that sight made Mira’s chest twist. She’d never seen Rumi hesitate before. Never seen her falter.
It did something to her, something wild and hot, snapping like a live wire under her skin. Before she knew it, she was moving—cutting across the hall, her voice sharp as glass. Words spilling out of her mouth before she’d even thought them through.
And the look on Rumi’s face when she’d turned? Shock. Wide-eyed, caught between stepping forward and pulling back.
Mira pressed her lips together now, glancing at the floor as she neared the library door. She could still hear the echo of her own threat—Don’t touch her again, or you’ll have me to answer to. She hadn’t meant to sound so serious, so protective.
But she had.
And worse, she knew why.
It wasn’t about the new girl, not really. It was about the way Rumi’s breath had caught in her throat, the way her hand had hesitated on the door, like she wasn’t sure whether to step into the fight.
Mira’s fingers curled into fists at her sides. She would never admit it, not to anyone, but if it meant putting herself in the middle of things just to see that look on Rumi again… maybe she would.
— ~ — ~ —
Rumi turned the page slowly, pretending to focus on the neat lines of text, though her mind was still buzzing faintly with the echoes from the hallway. She exhaled through her nose, willing the noise away, letting the familiar calm of the library fold around her like armor.
The scrape of a chair startled her. She looked up.
A boy she barely recognized—broad-shouldered, letterman jacket hanging loose—was dragging a seat across from her. He grinned, the kind of grin that thought it owned the room.
“Hey,” he drawled, leaning forward on his elbows. “You’re Rumi, right? Everyone knows you.”
Her expression didn’t change, but she nodded.
“Jason,” he said quickly, as if the name should mean something. “So, uh, I was thinking maybe you’d like to come to the game Friday night. We could hang after.”
Rumi blinked at him once, then let her eyes drift deliberately back to the book. The words blurred slightly, but it was better than staring at his eager face.
“I don’t watch games,” she murmured.
“That’s fine,” Jason pressed, undeterred. “Doesn’t have to be the game. We could grab food. Or—” he leaned closer, lowering his voice like it was some kind of secret—“you could just come hang out with me. Everyone says you’re impossible to get to know. I like a challenge.”
Her grip on the book tightened.
“Not interested,” she said flatly, finally lifting her gaze to pin him with a look sharp enough to cut.
Jason chuckled, but there was a nervous edge to it. He leaned back in his chair, scratching the back of his neck. “Cold. I like that. Makes it more fun.”
“I said I’m not interested,” Rumi glanced up at him, catching a glimpse of his smug smirk.
Instead of retreating, Jason’s grin sharpened. “C’mon, don’t be like that. A girl like you shouldn’t be alone all the time. You’d look good on my arm.”
Her eyes flicked back down to the book, cool and collected. “I said no.”
Jason only leaned closer, bracing his hand on the table. “You sure about that? You don’t wanna miss out—”
“Did you not hear her?”
The voice came sharp and furious from behind him. Jason startled, twisting around. Mira stood there, arms crossed, her glare heavy enough to drop him through the floor.
“She said no,” Mira repeated, stepping forward. “What part of that didn’t get through your thick head?”
Jason scoffed, trying to recover his swagger. “I was just talking to her.”
“Yeah?” Mira arched a brow, her voice dripping with venom. “Then take the hint and stop.”
For a moment, it looked like Jason might push back, but the weight of Mira’s stare—and the quiet stillness of the library—pressed down harder than he expected. With a muttered curse, he shoved away from the table, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Whatever. She’s not worth the effort anyway.”
Mira’s jaw clenched. “Good. Then leave.”
Jason stalked off, the door swinging shut behind him.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Rumi calmly reopened her book, as if nothing had happened. Her voice was quiet, but steady. “I didn’t need you to do that.”
Mira scoffed, though there was no real heat behind it. “Yeah, well. I wasn’t about to sit there and watch him slobber all over you.”
Rumi’s eyes flicked up, studying her. She didn’t thank her. Didn’t smile. But she also didn’t tell her to go away.
And for Mira, that almost felt like a win.
Rumi’s eyes stayed on her book, her voice calm, almost distracted. “I saw what you did for Chloe.”
Mira blinked. “Chloe?”
“The new girl,” Rumi said, finally glancing up. “That’s her name, isn’t it?”
Mira frowned. “It’s… Zoey.”
“Oh.” Rumi turned another page, as if the correction hardly mattered. “Close enough.”
Mira shifted awkwardly, caught between wanting to press and not really knowing how. “You… don’t know her name?”
Rumi tilted her head, brow faintly furrowed. “Should I?”
Mira hesitated, then shrugged, trying to play it off. “I dunno… you were just looking at her like she was a princess in distress.”
That finally drew Rumi’s eyes up from the book. Her expression didn’t change much, but the pause before she spoke was noticeable.
“A princess?” she repeated, tone flat.
Mira shifted her weight, suddenly second-guessing herself. “Yeah. I mean—you froze. You don’t usually freeze. Looked like you were about to swoop in or something.”
Rumi’s lips pressed together in a line that was almost a smile, though it didn’t quite make it there. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” Mira asked quietly.
For a moment, the silence stretched. Then Rumi’s brow twitched, just enough to betray thought. “Hang on.” She lifted her gaze, calm but sharp. “Why were you watching me?”
Mira froze, caught off guard. Her mouth opened, then closed again. Heat crept up the back of her neck.
“I wasn’t—” she started, then stopped. “I just… noticed, okay?”
Rumi studied her like she was another passage on the page, something to be dissected and filed away. Her expression gave nothing in return.
Mira shifted under the weight of it, suddenly wishing she hadn’t said anything at all.
“Mm.” Rumi hummed quietly, turning another page, as though the question had already been answered to her satisfaction.
But the faintest flicker of amusement sparked in her eyes, gone as quickly as it appeared.
Mira’s frown lingered for a moment, her gaze flicking from Rumi back to the empty chair Jason had abandoned. Then, with a deliberate stride, she pulled it out and dropped into it, settling directly across from Rumi.
Rumi’s eyes flicked up, momentarily surprised by the sudden presence. She said nothing, returning her attention to the book, but something about Mira’s posture—relaxed, deliberate, unbothered—drew her in just enough to notice.
“You just… popped up in the middle of all that,” Rumi said evenly, tone flat, though not unkind. “Why?”
Mira shrugged casually, leaning back. “Someone’s gotta make sure creeps like that don’t come back.”
Rumi raised an eyebrow. “You mean for the new girl?”
Mira tilted her head. “Sure. For the new girl. Or… you. Whichever makes you feel better.”
Rumi’s lips pressed into a straight line, and she turned a page, letting the moment linger like a quiet challenge. Mira, meanwhile, sat back, arms crossed, watching her carefully, unbothered by the library’s quiet scrutiny.
Mira leaned back in her chair, watching Rumi carefully, then tilted her head slightly. “So… are you going to senior camp next week?”
Rumi didn’t look up from her book at first, letting the question hang in the quiet library. “I suppose,” she said finally, voice even, almost uninterested. “Why?”
“Just… wondering,” Mira said, shrugging, though her eyes didn’t leave Rumi. “Wouldn’t hurt to know if we’re going to be in the same dorm. You know… library buddies and all that.”
Rumi gave a faint hum, turning the page deliberately slowly. “I doubt I’ll be spending much time with anyone else there.”
Mira’s lips pressed together, neither smiling nor frowning. “Figures.” She leaned forward slightly. “Just don’t be surprised if you end up next to the new girl. They put her wherever they need.”
Rumi paused, letting the name—Zoey—register. Her fingers traced the edge of the page, thoughtful for the first time. “Hmm,” she murmured. “Interesting.”
Mira leaned back again, satisfied for now. “Just saying. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Rumi’s gaze returned to the words on the page, but somewhere in the quiet corner of her mind, the image of the small girl in the hall lingered, unshakable.
Mira leaned back in her chair, letting the quiet stretch a little. Her eyes didn’t leave Rumi, even as she tried to act casual. Senior camp. She could already picture it—the sunny days, the lake, the inevitable water activities. And, for some reason she wasn’t entirely ready to admit, she found her mind wandering.
She imagined Rumi standing at the edge of the dock, the sunlight catching the sharp angles of her face, hair damp and slicked back, water rolling down her shoulders. Not that Mira would ever say anything, of course. But the thought… It made her pulse tick a little faster than usual.
Then there was the swimsuit itself, simple, probably understated, nothing flashy. But somehow, in Mira’s head, it clung in all the right ways—highlighting the curves of Rumi’s form.
She shook her head subtly, forcing herself to focus on something else. She couldn’t be thinking about that, not now. Not when Rumi was right there, just casually flipping through a book like nothing mattered.
Yet her eyes kept flicking back. It was infuriating how effortless Rumi looked, even sitting cross-legged in a library chair, calm and untouchable. And it was unfair, really, that just imagining her at camp made Mira’s chest tighten.
From the doorway of the library, Zoey leaned casually against the frame, pretending to be looking at the hallway while really watching Mira. She had spotted the commotion earlier—the jock, the library confrontation—and curiosity had pulled her closer than she intended.
Mira sat across from Rumi now, calm but alert, like she was daring someone—or everyone—to challenge her. Zoey’s gaze lingered on the way Mira’s shoulders squared, the way she leaned back just enough to look relaxed but still in control. There was something magnetic about her, and Zoey found herself holding her breath, unsure why.
She noticed Rumi too, of course—the quiet girl at the table, book open, fingers tracing the pages with slow, precise movements. The kind of calm that made you feel like you were intruding just by breathing. Zoey had never seen anyone look so… untouchable.
For a moment, the library felt impossibly still. Zoey stayed in the doorway, caught between wanting to step inside and meet them, and wanting to just watch—curious, cautious, and maybe a little in awe of both of them.
Zoey shifted slightly, one foot inching forward as she weighed the idea. Part of her wanted to step fully into the library, introduce herself, maybe even sit down. She’d always been the kind of person to try and make connections, but the memory of the hall earlier—the jock, Mira’s intervention—made her hesitate.
She wasn’t sure which was more intimidating: the way Mira carried herself, fierce and unflinching, or Rumi, calm and untouchable, like she belonged somewhere Zoey could never reach.
Still, curiosity tugged at her. She wanted to see if Rumi really was as distant as everyone whispered, if Mira really had that fire in her veins, and maybe… just maybe, she could find a way to fit in, even a little.
Her toes brushed against the edge of the doorway. Just one step forward, she told herself. One small step, and she could see the rest of the story unfold.
But for now, she stayed there, hesitant, caught between stepping in and fading back into the hallway shadows.
— ~ — ~ —
The next morning, the hum of chatter in the classroom carried lazily through the air as students shuffled papers and tapped pens.
“Alright, class,” the teacher said, voice flat and devoid of enthusiasm, “remember to hand in your permission slips for camp next week. No slip, no trip.”
A few students groaned. A few rolled their eyes. The teacher, unfazed, continued scribbling on the board, clearly already checked out from the conversation.
Rumi sat at her desk near the back, pencil idly tracing the edge of her notebook. Mira, a couple of rows over, shot her a glance, almost daring her to comment. Zoey, meanwhile, fidgeted with the strap of her backpack, glancing down at the folded slip of paper she’d been meaning to fill out.
“Seriously,” someone muttered behind them, “they act like it’s the end of the world if we forget one stupid piece of paper.”
Rumi didn’t respond. She’d already decided she wasn’t going to get wrapped up in anyone else’s drama—except maybe the camp itself, if only to observe.
Zoey’s eyes flicked across the classroom, catching Mira out of the corner of her vision. She blinked once, twice, and then her gaze lingered a little longer than it probably should have.
Mira was sitting there, leaning slightly forward with her elbow on the desk, jaw set, eyes focused on the teacher—or at least pretending to be. Zoey found herself noticing the subtle way she bit her lip when focusing, the way her hair was strung up in a messy bun, the quiet intensity she radiated without trying.
Her mind drifted, picturing Mira at camp, standing by the lake or competing in the games, sunlight catching the sharp lines of her face. Zoey could feel her chest tighten a little at the thought, and she blinked, forcing herself to look down at her own desk.
She didn’t realize that she had been staring for a moment too long, and by the time she caught herself, Mira had already turned her gaze elsewhere, oblivious to the small, awed glance that had lingered in her direction.
Zoey shifted in her seat, cheeks warming, and busied herself with her notebook, trying not to think too much about the girl a few rows ahead who had somehow captured her attention in a single glance.
Mira shook her head subtly, brushing off the feeling of being watched. She didn’t have time for distractions, not with camp next week and the endless chatter in her head about schedules, competitions, and keeping herself in control.
Still, curiosity got the better of her. She let her eyes flick across the room, just enough to catch a glimpse of Rumi at the back, calm and detached as ever, fingers tracing the edge of her notebook as she took notes from the teachers rambling.
The contrast struck her again—Rumi sitting there, unreadable, while Zoey fidgeted closer to the front, cheeks flushed and glancing this way and that. Mira felt that familiar stir of frustration she always did when Rumi didn’t behave like the rest of them.
But now… there was something else, subtle and strange, in the way her mind processed the scene, a pull she couldn’t quite name.
With a final shake of her head, she turned fully back to the front of the class, letting herself settle into the lesson, but the images of both girls lingered in the corner of her vision, unbidden.
The teacher finally straightened, dragging a marker across the board with a half-hearted sweep. “Senior camp isn’t just a trip. There are activities, competitions, and, yes, water sports. Teams will be assigned randomly, so don’t expect to pick your own groups.”
Murmurs ran through the classroom—some excited, some groaning. Mira’s eyes flicked briefly to Zoey, who fidgeted nervously with her pen, and then back to Rumi, still quietly observing the front of the class as though the announcement didn’t concern her at all.
“Make sure you’ve got everything,” the teacher continued, voice monotone. “Permission slips, packed lunches for the first day, swimsuits for water activities, and a few changes of clothes. Any missing forms or gear, and you’re staying behind. No exceptions.”
Mira let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh, scanning the room for reactions. Zoey’s hand twitched slightly as she tried to check her bag discreetly for the slip. Rumi, of course, remained serene, her composure perfect and infuriating in its effortless control.
Mira shook her head under her breath, already anticipating the chaos and rivalry that was bound to erupt at camp. And deep down, she knew it was going to be… interesting.
Zoey’s eyes flicked nervously between Mira and Rumi, the names of the activities and water games washing over her like background noise. She had never been good at blending in, never been the type to wait for someone else to make a move.
If she was going to survive senior camp—let alone have any fun—she’d need allies. And, well… she wanted to be in the same group as them. Mira, with her quiet confidence and surprising boldness. Rumi, calm and untouchable, the kind of person who seemed like she could teach you something without even trying.
Her fingers twitched slightly as she considered her options. Maybe she could maneuver it, mention something when teams were assigned, offer to help carry supplies, or just… be visible enough to end up there.
She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders just slightly. One way or another, she decided, she’d make sure she wasn’t left on her own. She was going to be in the same group as them.
The teacher gave a final, weary glance around the room. “That’s all for now. Get your permission slips in, make sure you’ve got everything packed, and don’t forget—no slip, no trip.”
Chairs scraped as students began gathering their things, the hum of conversation rising again. Some groaned about packing, some whispered about who might end up in their group.
Zoey carefully tucked her slip into her bag, glancing once more at Mira and then at Rumi before following the flow of students toward the door. She could feel a small thrill of determination tighten in her chest. She was going to end up in the same group as them. Somehow.
Mira slung her bag over her shoulder, shooting a casual glance back at Rumi, whose expression hadn’t changed at all, calm and collected as ever. For Mira, it was the perfect kind of contrast—another reason to be irritated, fascinated, and, in her own way, attentive.
Rumi gathered her things quietly, slipping out of the classroom with the same composed precision she carried everywhere, leaving the day’s chatter and chaos behind her. And somewhere in the mix, Zoey trailed along, determined to make sure the next week wouldn’t be spent on the sidelines.