My walk to school is serene, per usual. There are these irksome little birds screeching at one another, just like they do every morning, and my backpack is overstuffed and weighs on my old man spine as I trudge along the worn sidewalk. Other pedestrians might say "Oh, look at how lovely that sunrise is!" I am not one of these pedestrians. Let's face it: the sun is too bright, the sun is too hot, and the glare it has this early in the morning is not it, chief. Down with the sun, I say.

Still, there's one nice thing about my daily voyage to the asylum where students' spirits go to die. I'm alone. Completely alone.

My backpack isn't too heavy if I ignore it, and my metal tumbler is a comfortable kind of cool in my hand. I made a white chocolate latte today, and even though I couldn't be fancy with my whipped cream under the lid, it's still nice to know I'll get to enjoy it. My coffee-making habits started freshman year when my mom got herself an espresso machine; it's my go-to destressor now. Sometimes, I heat up big batches of milk on the stove and go over vocab terms or watch Edpuzzles. It's soothing, and it's my only non-stressful hobby.

The group chat is quiet, meaning that everyone is still asleep. I shared a Snapchat Memory from last year, of us throwing a cupcake at Jordan in Spanish class. Her eyes are wide when it hits her in the nose and we're all cackling, and our teacher is begging everyone to , and Wren is bent over backwards on her desk, holding her stomach and howling. I'm sure they'll love it when they wake up.

Suddenly, my concentration is broken. There's an unfamiliar noise in the morning air. I turn and come to a shocked stop, watching Nolan jog towards me on the sidewalk.

He makes it look easy, his blond hair bouncing in front of his eyes, his long legs barely doing any work to carry him right over to me. He's not even out of breath when he says, "You walk to school, Jack?"

"You're awake this early?" My hand squeezes my thermos tighter—I didn't mean to say that. It's just a little past 6:30. The school opens its doors at 7-ish, and I like being able to chill out and watch everyone trickle in. Also, there's no line to use the teacher's printer—the librarian lets me use it sometimes. I might print off some AP Bio study guides for a few classmates before I'm once again relegated to using the defunct student printer.

"I'm an early bird, what can I say?"

I blink. Right. He's talking to me. I awkwardly turn around and make room on the sidewalk for him to join me. "I'm impressed, not gonna lie. You seem a lot more like a night owl."

Nolan snorts. "I can't stay up late at night," he says. "I get too bored."

I'm not used to hearing that. I'm used to hearing bragging about how late we stay up, how many hours we poured into studying instead of sleeping, happily missing out on the supposed opportunity to grow a few inches. "Really?"

"Oh yeah. It's probably an old man thing to say, but oh well."

"'An old man thing.' Cute."

Nolan looks a little surprised, but then he laughs. "I'm very cute."

It then registers in my brain that I said 'cute.' I used 'cute' to describe Nolan Skinner. Nolan Skinner. 'Cute.'

Oh my fucking god. Why do I live.

I laugh all joviantly, like I somehow meant to do that. Why is my brain not working correctly? I take a slow sip of my coffee. It scalds my tongue. I don't even care. This is terrifying. I don't like this.

"It's okay, Jack, we can both be cute," Nolan says, adjusting his backpack. He's got on this mid-wash denim jacket with a pair of jeans and a downy grey shirt. It's giving very much Conan Gray energy. With how soft and messy his hair is, I can't help but want to reach up and touch my own shaggy dark red mess. Wren convinced me to get a shorter cut earlier this year, one that wasn't supposed to require much upkeep. Unfortunately, it doesn't make me look any more put together.

Something has changed about Nolan since middle school. I can't say it without sounding unbelievably cheesy, so I'll just put it this way: he is most definitely my type now. I'm not complaining about it ... but I'm complaining about it.

My phone buzzes. That'll be Sarah. She's always up early so she can take her toddler siblings to daycare. I don't take out my phone, though. I'm too focused on not tripping in front of Nolan, because that would just be embarrassing. To the point of death.

"I'm really glad I'm not the only person who walks to school," Nolan says. "At this time of the morning, I mean."

"Yeah, same, same." I don't care that much, really, but I don't feel like starting drama or feeling any more awkward than I already do at this time of morning. My phone buzzes again. There are a few additional buzzes in my pocket, and the urge to check the group chat gets the best of me.

WREN: you guys did you hear

SARAH: what
SARAH: .... Wren what??

WREN: sorry i was shitting
WREN: it was a real doozy lemme tell you

SARAH: Wren.

WREN: OH YEAH OMG Nolan skinner moved back to town !!
WREN: ARE WE SHOOK OR WHAT

SARAH: gurl who the heck is Nolan Skinner

Sarah didn't live here in middle school. Of course she wouldn't know. She's never heard of Nolan's infamy, or seen him fumble about with two left feet in the seventh grade dance unit, or witnessed him throw library books at an intimidating eighth grader.

Jordan's Bitmoji pops up down in the bottom of the group chat, complete with an auburn messy bun and Edna Mode glasses.

JORDAN: Nolan Skinner????? Oop

Jordan never liked Nolan back when he was living here. Jordan doesn't like much of anyone, but still. The thought of her disdain toward him makes me feel more than uncomfortable, though, so I slide my phone into my sweatshirt pocket and try to focus on the morning dewdrops lit ablaze by the soft rising sun. When I look over at Nolan, he's smiling softly. I smile softly back.

Okay, so maybe he wasn't the most good-looking in middle school. But I certainly used to think he was the cutest guy around. Seeing him now—smiling at me like that—doesn't seem real.

"So...." I start, then realize I have no idea what I want to say. I clear my throat, push my glasses farther up the bridge of my nose while I scramble to think of something, anything, to ask him. "So, uh, where have you been?"

Nolan shrugs. "Around. Here and there. Mostly Minnesota and Iowa."

"Ah. Yeah. Makes sense."

"What have you been up to?" he asks. We're walking fast, I realize. Much faster than I usually would in the morning. I'm almost resentful that he's monopolizing my only real time for relaxation, but I don't think I've entirely wrapped my brain around his being back here, so that resentfulness is kept at bay.

But then I think about 'what I've been up to,' and self-resentment hits me full force.

"Oh, y'know." I'm nodding. I do not know why I am nodding like this. It's incessant. It's disappointing. Why am I still nodding? "Studying?"

My life is sad.

Nolan nods back, giving me a quick once-over, one that makes me weak in the knees and forces me to plaster a fake smile to my face. "Nice," he says.

Nice? Just nice?

I hate that I want to impress him. I hate that I want this virtual stranger to approve of me, as a whole, as a person, as a theoretical entity. I want Nolan Skinner to look at me and go, "Wow. What a cool, hot, normal guy with awesome hobbies and an even more awesome sense of humor. His life is so cool. I wanna live his life." Which is stupid. Because it is impossible. I have never met someone who would say that to and/or about me.

And certainly not Nolan.

I'm still nodding, I realize. But I don't stop. Can't stop. I'm still nodding when I say it—still nodding as I hate myself for saying it. "Nice. Yeah. Mm. Super nice."

'Super nice.' Yeah. Nice going.

A/N -

This is my first go using the scheduling feature! Hopefully it worked :'DDD

Let me know what you guys are thinking thus far!

UPDATE: the scheduling feature hates us all :(((((((((((((((