Chapter 4: Out in the Wild (aka High School)

The school hallways smelled like perfume, cafeteria food, and the kind of tension you only find in a place where every kid is trying to figure out who they really are. ___ had been in buildings like this before—though usually through a glass panel, observing, analyzing. Now, he was walking through it like he belonged.

With Sunspot by his side, he supposed he did.

“Don’t stare at people like they’re equations,” she warned, as they passed a group of students laughing around a vending machine. “This isn’t a lab. It’s a high school. If you make it weird, I’ll make you wear a sign that says ‘I’m an alien.’”

___ glanced over at her. “You’re not an alien?”

She gave him a deadpan stare. “No, but you’re making it hard to tell.”

“Right.” He looked back ahead. “And what should I say to the others?”

“Start with ‘hello,’ then try ‘how’s it going?’ or whatever else normal people say.”

“Normal people?”

“Stop overthinking it. Just… act like you know what you’re doing.”

He watched her approach a group of girls in the hallway. She waved. “Hey, guys!” she called, grinning like she was the sun itself. “This is ___, my boyfriend. You guys have any hot gossip?”

One of the girls blinked, clearly startled. Another looked him up and down, eyebrows raised.

“Boyfriend?” she echoed, but it wasn’t the kind of surprised tone he expected. She smirked. “Aww, cute. You two make a good couple.”

Sunspot giggled. “Told ya. He’s all brains, I’m all… well, me.”

The girl laughed too, nudging her friend. “I’ve gotta get my lunch. But hey, don’t be a stranger, okay?”

___ stood there, awkwardly holding his backpack strap, while Sunspot laughed her usual carefree laugh.

“See? Easy,” she said as they walked away. “You survived your first public interaction without collapsing. Progress.”

“Is that what it’s called?” ___ asked, trying to process.

“It’s called ‘making it through the day without looking like a walking chemistry experiment.’”

Sunspot skipped ahead, her ponytail bouncing as she waved to some boys across the hall. They waved back, smiling. She was natural at this—too natural, as if she’d been born into the role of “everygirl,” popular and untroubled.

But ___?

He felt like he was pretending. At least at first. But then, as he followed her, he began to realize that there was a certain rhythm to the chaos of high school. A pulse, a heartbeat, that he’d never noticed before.

He was learning.