Twelve Years Ago

I'm running.

Not the graceful kind, either—the kind where your sneakers squeak against the floor and your backpack thumps against your spine like it's actively trying to escape you.

"Maddie, slow down!" Maya laughs behind me.

The four of us are tearing through the high school corridors like it's perfectly normal behavior—which, for us, it kind of is. Two girls, two guys. Me, Maya, Henry, and Josh. We've been classmates forever. Kindergarten forever. The kind of forever where you stop remembering how it started and just assume the other people have always existed.

"Guys, seriously," Josh calls out, already out of breath. "They used a new cleaning thing on the floors. It's slippery. Just—calm down."

Erin—no, Henry, I always mix that up back then—snorts. "Sure. You just want us to slow down so you can catch us."

"I do not hate losing," Josh protests.

Maya cackles. "You live to win."

Josh ignores her and looks at me, eyes narrowing with fake determination. "You're it."

He lunges.

I twist my body out of the way effortlessly, laughing. "Oh, no we did not do that. You know I'm faster than you."

"Try me," he says.

I don't hesitate.

I bolt.

The world narrows into lockers and corners and the sharp inhale of air in my lungs. I hear Maya yelling something behind me, telling me to slow down, but I'm already too far gone. I love this—the feeling of winning, of momentum, of everything moving exactly where I want it to.

I turn a corner—

And slam straight into a wall.

Or... what feels like one.

Books explode everywhere.

Paper, hardcovers, softcovers, sliding across the floor in every direction. My forehead stings. My nose feels like it just made very bad life choices.

I groan and rub my face. "Ow—"

When I open my eyes, there's a guy standing in front of me.

Tall. Dark hair. Glasses. Staring at me like I just personally ended his bloodline.

I tilt my head, blinking at him. "What are you, a wall?"

He looks down at me. "You ran into me."

"Well, it's not like I wanted to."

He scoffs. "Could've fooled me."

Then he gestures dramatically at the floor. "And you ruined all my books."

I glance down.

They're... fine. Completely fine.

I look back at him. "Aren't you being a bit dramatic? They look okay."

He crouches down, gathering them up, muttering under his breath. "I'm fine. They're fine. Everything is fine."

I raise an eyebrow. "Are you talking about me?"

He looks up sharply. "Of course I'm talking about you. You ran into me and threw my books everywhere."

That's when I actually look at them.

Not textbooks.

Real books.

Medicine.
Wildlife.
Advanced math.
Astronomy.
Stars.
The Big Bang.

I look back at him, unimpressed. "Yeah. You're definitely a nerd."

He freezes. "I'm sorry?"

"What?" I say quickly. "No, no. I didn't say anything."

"I definitely heard you say something."

I sigh and crouch down to help, handing him the last book. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to knock you over. Your books are not ruined. They're fine."

"They are not fine," he snaps. "You are a destroyer of peace. And books."

I laugh despite myself. "Okay. Sure."

I straighten up. "I'm just going to go now. You... keep doing whatever this is."

As I walk away, I hear him muttering—not quietly—something about reckless people and corridor menaces and general chaos in human form.

I shrug and keep running.

I don't even look back.

I just hope to not find this weirdo again.

________

We end up on the grass not long after, sprawled out in our usual spot near the field.

The sun is out in that annoying winter way—bright but useless. It looks warm, but the air still bites your fingers if you keep them out too long. Coats are half-zipped. Scarves half-worn. Lunch bags tossed between us like an afterthought.

We're fourteen, maybe fifteen. Old enough to think we know everything. Young enough to be very wrong.

In front of us, the older kids practice.

The football team runs drills, all loud voices and shoulder pads and confidence. The cheerleaders stretch nearby, ponytails swinging, laughter carrying across the field.

Maya and I are completely distracted.

"Look at him," Maya mutters, nodding toward one of the seniors. "Tell me that's not illegal."

"I'm telling you," I say seriously, "if he smiled at me, I would pass out."

Henry snorts. "You two are ridiculous."

Josh, meanwhile, is focused entirely on the cheerleaders, trying—and failing—not to stare.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says quickly. "I'm just... appreciating athleticism."

"Your knee is bleeding," Maya points out.

Josh looks down. "Oh."

Of course it is.

He'd been running too hard trying to catch us earlier, slipped, and scraped it pretty badly. Maya digs into her bag, pulls out napkins, and presses them gently against his knee while Henry holds the water bottle.

"You're dramatic," Henry says.

"I am wounded," Josh replies solemnly.

I take a bite of my sandwich, watching the field, and then it hits me.

"Oh my God," I say suddenly. "You guys will not believe what just happened."

Maya looks at me instantly. "Crazy good or crazy bad?"

I frown, thinking. "I don't know. Just... crazy."

Henry nods. "That's the worst kind."

Josh agrees. "Absolutely."

"Well," I continue, "when we were playing tag, I ran into this guy. Like, full-on wall collision."

"You okay?" Maya asks, immediately concerned.

"Yeah, but I swear he almost broke my head," I say, rubbing my forehead dramatically. "I thought I was bleeding for a second."

"And?" Henry prompts.

"And all his books fell," I go on. "He accused me of ruining them. Like I threw them on the ground on purpose. They were perfectly fine."

Josh raises an eyebrow. "Rude."

"Very rude," I confirm. "And weird. Nerdy weird."

Maya tilts her head. "What kind of nerdy?"

"I don't know—intense nerdy. Like... wildlife, medicine, math equations, astronomy. One of them was literally about the Big Bang."

All three of them stare at me.

Josh blinks. "Is he trying to win a Nobel Prize?"

We all burst out laughing.

"I hope I never see him again," I say decisively. "He was rude. Over books."

Maya smirks. "Of course you didn't like him."

"Why?"

She points toward the field. "If it had been one of them—" she gestures dramatically at the quarterbacks "—you would've loved it."

I sigh dreamily. "I would've absolutely loved it."

Josh and Henry both groan at the same time.

"Please don't say that," Henry begs.

"Ever again," Josh adds.

We laugh, the sound blending into the noise of the field, the cold, the sun, the feeling that nothing bad could touch us here.

Henry stretches his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his elbows, eyes still following the field—but his tone changes, like he's deliberately steering us somewhere else.

"Okay," he says, "changing subject. I heard that after winter break, we're probably getting new classmates."

That gets Maya's attention instantly.

"Oh," she says, sitting up. "Like... new new?"

Henry nods. "Yeah. They're reorganizing classes or something. Merging groups. We're probably getting a bunch of people."

Maya's eyes light up. "Someone cute?"

Josh snorts, but Henry shrugs casually. "I don't know. But I heard there's this really hot girl joining."

Maya and I exchange a look.

"Ooooh," we say in unison.

Josh elbows Henry. "Does she have a friend?"

Henry laughs. "I have no idea. I don't even know her name. I just know she's supposed to be really pretty."

"Well," I say, biting into my apple, "that's a very solid foundation for disappointment."

Henry ignores me. "She's not the only one, though. I think there are a lot of people joining."

Josh nods. "Yeah, that makes sense. They're always messing with classes."

Henry sighs dramatically. "I can't wait to have a girlfriend."

We all turn to look at him.

Josh squints. "Good to know that's your life priority, buddy."

Henry rolls his eyes. "It's not my only priority. But yeah, I'd like to have one. Sorry. Guess I'm just... more grown-up than you."

"Oh, please," Maya scoffs.

Henry shrugs. "I don't know. I just want to love someone. And have someone love me back."

That shuts us up for half a second.

Then Maya leans over and pats his shoulder. "We all love you. Just not like that. Sorry, bro."

Henry exhales. "Wow. Thanks."

Josh grins. "Honestly? I feel like when you meet your girlfriend, she's going to be your wife."

Henry blinks. "That would actually be amazing."

Maya tilts her head. "Not entirely true. You dated Rebecca in third year."

Henry groans. "That doesn't count."

"Oh, it does," I say, laughing. "You kissed so much the teacher had to separate you."

Josh nearly chokes laughing. "I forgot about that!"

"Okay, fine," Henry admits. "Besides Rebecca. I want a girlfriend. And yeah, ideally, she becomes my wife."

There's something earnest about the way he says it. Like he's already imagining a future bigger than this field, this school, this moment.

Josh looks thoughtful. "That's actually kind of nice."

Maya nods. "Yeah. Annoying. But nice."

I lean back into the grass, staring up at the sky, listening to them talk about futures they can barely imagine yet. About love. About people they haven't met. About lives that feel impossibly far away.

By the time I get home, the sky is already turning that soft winter-orange that makes everything look calmer than it actually is.

"Hi," I call out, kicking off my shoes.

"In here, kiddo," my dad answers.

He's at the dining table, hunched over one of his projects—tiny wooden sticks carefully arranged into what looks like the skeleton of a house. Toothpicks, glue, patience. Lots of patience. He's an architecture professor, which basically means he never stops building things, even when he's home.

I circle the table, leaning in. "Wow. That's amazing, Dad."

He smiles without looking up. "Thanks, kiddo."

He straightens just enough to press a quick kiss to my cheek before going back to his model.

From the kitchen, my mom's voice floats out. "Maddie, sweetheart, can you come here?"

I wander in and she greets me with a kiss, then immediately places something heavy and cold into my hands.

A huge bowl of chocolate pudding.

Still liquid. Glossy. Dangerous.

I stare at it. "You always tell me not to eat the whole bowl," I say slowly. "And now you're just... handing it to me."

She laughs. "Don't even think about it. That's for the new neighbors."

I roll my eyes. "Mom, they're not new. They've been here, like, two weeks."

"Three," my dad corrects from the other room.

"See?" I say. "Three weeks. That's basically a month. You don't do welcome gifts a month later."

"Well," my mom says, wiping her hands on a towel, "I've been busy. So you can take it."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

My dad chuckles. "Your mother's pudding is worth the wait."

"I'm great at making houses," he adds proudly.

"Yes, honey," my mom says fondly. "Stick to that."

She turns back to me. "Just knock. Say hello. Give them the pudding. They probably still feel out of place."

"They don't," I mutter.

"Maddie."

I sigh. "Fine."

The neighbors live literally next door.

I step outside, bowl cradled carefully, climb the few porch steps, and stop in front of their big wooden door.

I stare at it.

Why am I here?
What am I doing?
Why didn't my mom just take the pudding herself?

As I'm spiraling internally, my knuckles knock.

Too late now.

I shift my weight—and suddenly... don't move.

I frown.

I try again.

Nothing.

I look down.

The porch floor is white.

Very white.

Freshly painted white.

"Oh no."

I glance at the door. This door wasn't white before.

Then back at my feet.

I'm stuck.

My shoes are literally glued to the porch.

"Fantastic," I whisper.

I carefully set the pudding bowl down beside me and try to lift one foot. It resists. I wiggle. Pull. Finally—pop—one foot comes free. Then the other.

I breathe out in relief—

Only to realize the bowl hasn't moved.

The pudding is glued too.

Of course it is.

From inside, I hear footsteps. A voice.
"Someone's at the door."

Panic.

I grab the bowl with both hands and tug.

Nothing.

I pull harder.

I'm already upset—about being here, about my shoes, about the stupid porch—and now this.

I yank.

The door opens.

And the bowl comes free.

The chocolate pudding launches forward in a perfect, slow-motion arc—

And lands squarely on the person standing in the doorway.

I freeze.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry—or die on the spot.

Then it hits me.

The height.

The person in front of me is not tall enough to be an adult.

Which, honestly, thank God.

"I'm—" I blurt. "I'm sorry."

He's wiping chocolate pudding off his face, off his hair, off his shirt, clearly trying to process the crime that's just been committed against him.

And then he looks up.

I snort.

I don't mean to. I really don't.

But it just comes out.

Because of course it's him.

Of course it is.

He stares at me, pudding still dripping from his eyebrow, and his face tightens immediately.

"You," he says flatly.

I blink. "Hi."

"Well," I add, trying to sound cheerful, "you look happy to see me."

"I'm not."

"Well," I say, lifting the bowl slightly—what's left of it, anyway—"I brought pudding. Or, uh... half pudding. For you. Or your family. Because you guys are new. Well, not new-new."

"We've been here for three weeks," he says.

I shrug. "My mom's been really occupied. She couldn't bake anything before that. So... pudding."

He exhales sharply. "If she couldn't make something when we got here, three weeks later isn't really a good moment either."

I almost laugh again and have to bite my lip as I watch him keep wiping his face, his expression permanently stuck somewhere between offended and exhausted.

"Well," I say, "I did try to warn my mother."

"I'll make sure the message is well received," he replies.

He takes the bowl out of my hands, carefully, like it might attack him again.

"I'll make sure the message is well received," he repeats, then looks at me. "Meanwhile, I would very much like to never see you again."

I tilt my head. "Wow. Still rude. I mean, it hasn't even been that long since this morning."

He stares at me. "Rude? I'm rude?"

"Yes."

"You are literally someone I don't know," he says, voice tight, "and somehow every time you appear in front of me, chaos happens."

I blink at him, entirely unbothered.

"I think we'll be great friends."

"We won't," he says immediately. "We won't."

And then he shuts the door in my face.

I stare at the wood for a second.

"Well," I mutter to myself, stepping off the porch, "that went well."