CHAPTER TWO: NAMES AND SHADOWS

Monday mornings always smelled like wet socks and floor polish at West Haven High. The hallways echoed with the same footsteps, same gossip, same tired teachers dragging their coffee cups like burdens. But that morning wasn’t the same.

Because he was in it.

Blue.

The boy with the name that sounded like a sigh.

I spotted him again at his locker—alone, of course. No one approached him. Not even the nosy group of girls who usually surrounded anyone new like flies to fruit. He was unreadable. Headphones in. Hood still up. As if he was daring the world to give him a reason to burn it all down.

I told myself to keep walking.

I told myself not to stare.

I told myself a lot of things.

And then I tripped.

Not a full-on faceplant, but enough to make my books scatter like I’d never held them in my life. Perfect.

He looked up.

Just for a second. His eyes were sharp, ice-blue under the fluorescent lights, and so calm it made my stomach twist.

“You good?” he asked.

His voice was smooth, deeper than I expected, with this casual rasp like he didn’t care about anything—and maybe he didn’t.

“Yeah,” I mumbled, fumbling to gather my things. “Just gravity.”

He knelt beside me, helping pick up a notebook that had slid across the floor.

“Gravity’s a bitch,” he said, handing it over.

I laughed, more surprised than amused. “Yeah. She really is.”

That made the corner of his mouth twitch—barely a smile, but enough to make my breath catch.

He stood first, slung his bag over one shoulder like he’d been doing it since birth, and nodded. “Later.”

And just like that, he was gone again.

---

It wasn’t until lunch that I realized I hadn’t spoken to anyone else all day. My mind kept replaying our brief exchange. His voice. The way he didn’t flinch when he looked at me.

Most people, when they talk to me, look through me. But Blue? He looked at me.

Claire dropped her tray beside mine in the cafeteria and leaned in like she had a secret. “So, rumor has it, Blue was expelled from his last school.”

I blinked. “Expelled?”

“Yeah. Some fight. Broke a kid’s nose. They say it was over a guy.”

My heart stuttered. “A guy?”

“Mhm.” Claire chewed on a fry. “You know what that means.”

I looked down at my tray. “What?”

She smirked. “Either he’s trouble… or he’s gay. Or both.”

I didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. Claire knew me too well.

She nudged me. “You like him already, don’t you?”

“No,” I lied.

“You do.”

“I don’t even know him.”

“You don’t have to. That’s how it always starts with you. Silence and staring.”

I sighed, stabbing a piece of lettuce with more aggression than necessary. “Can we not?”

Claire raised her hands in surrender. “Fine. But if you start writing poems about his eyes, I’m calling your therapist.”

---

After school, I went to the art room.

I wasn’t supposed to be there—technically, it was reserved for after-school club members—but Ms. Kent liked me enough to pretend she didn’t see when I slipped in. The place smelled like clay and dried acrylic. It was the only space in the building that didn’t feel like it belonged to anyone but me.

I picked up a pencil. Started sketching.

At first, it was just shapes. Lines. Shadows. But somehow, the sketch took on a life of its own.

A hooded figure. Narrow jaw. Wet hair. Rain in the background. A boy looking skyward, daring it to strike him.

Blue.

I didn’t mean to draw him, but he was all my hand remembered.

I stared at the finished piece, wondering what he’d say if he saw it.

Would he laugh?

Would he be angry?

Would he see that I wasn’t just sketching him, but some piece of myself I hadn’t figured out yet?

“That's good.”

I jumped.

He was standing in the doorway. Hands in his pockets. Watching me.

“How long have you been there?” I asked, trying not to sound like my lungs had just left my body.

“Long enough to know you’re talented.”

I quickly flipped the sketchbook shut, heart racing. “I was just... killing time.”

“Looks like you were bringing something to life.” He stepped inside, glancing around. “Didn’t think anyone stayed back here.”

“Didn’t think you talked to people twice in one day.”

That made him smirk—just slightly. “You watch me a lot.”

I froze. “What?”

He leaned on the edge of the table, close enough that I could smell rain still clinging to his clothes. “In the hallway. In the cafeteria. Even now, you won’t look away.”

“I—I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “I watch you too.”

My throat went dry. I had no idea what to say. No script. No escape.

He didn’t push, though. Just glanced once more at the sketchbook and then turned to leave.

Right before the door closed, he said, “Elias, right?”

I nodded, stunned that he knew my name.

“I’m Blue. In case you were wondering.”

And then he was gone.

---

That night, I couldn’t draw.

I couldn’t eat.

I couldn’t sleep.

All I could do was lie awake and whisper his name into the silence, like maybe saying it would help me understand why it already meant so much.