2 - Ancient History

Nova's POV

The classroom smelled like new textbooks and ambition.

I walked in thirty seconds before the bell — late enough to be noticed, early enough not to be rude about it and the teacher was already at the board, marker in hand, clearly the kind of teacher who started exactly on time whether you were ready or not.

She stopped writing when she saw me.

"Class, we have a new student joining us today." She gestured at me like I was an exhibit. "Would you like to introduce yourself?"

Twenty-three pairs of eyes swung in my direction. Don't ask me how I can count that fast, I just can.

"Nova Reyes," I said. Smiled once. Didn't elaborate.

The murmuring started immediately.

"Is that bag limited edition—"

"—where did she get those—"

Two rows back, a boy let out a low whistle that earned him an elbow from the girl beside him. I didn't look at him. Looking would have meant acknowledging it, and acknowledging it would have meant I cared.

I scanned the room again in the three seconds I had before Mrs. Alderton pointed me toward a seat.

Harper Caldwell was sitting in the third row, one empty chair to her right, her posture the kind of deliberately casual that took real effort to achieve. She was laughing at something her friend had said, head tilted at precisely the right angle, and if she had noticed me walk in she was doing an exceptional job of not showing it.

I walked straight to the empty chair and sat down.

Harper glanced over. I let two seconds pass, then looked at her bag. It was sitting on the desk between us, understated, expensive — and said quietly: "Is that the new Celine?"

Something shifted in her expression. Not surprise exactly. More like recalibration.

"It is," she said.

"Beautiful," I said, and turned back to the board.

Four seconds of silence.

"I like your jacket," she said.

"Thank you," I said, without looking at her.

I caught the smallest suggestion of a smile in my peripheral vision before she turned back to her notebook.

First contact. Clean. Neither of us giving anything away.

________

By the time the lunch bell rang I had survived three classes, two more introductions, and one deeply unnecessary conversation with a boy named Tyler who wanted me to know he was also new here, two years ago — and still found the cafeteria confusing, if I ever needed a guide.

I did not need a guide.

I found Priya exactly where I expected — small corner table near the windows, alone with a book and a sandwich, watching the cafeteria fill up with the expression of someone observing wildlife from a safe distance. She waved when she saw me, already pulling out the chair across from her.

I was halfway there when I heard my name.

"Nova."

One word. Completely unhurried. Exactly how a rich entitled brat would sound. I had totally forgotten why I was here in the first place and sitting with Priya would have jeopardized my chances.

I turned slowly.

Harper Caldwell sat at the center table — the one that occupied the precise middle of the cafeteria the way a throne occupies the precise middle of a room. Three girls flanked her on each side, trays arranged, conversations paused. Every single one of them was looking at me with varying degrees of assessment, curiosity, and thinly veiled irritation.

Harper patted the space beside her.

I smiled. Let two full seconds pass before I walked over nonchalantly.

The girl already sitting next to Harper clocked what was happening before I even reached the table. She was mid-sentence when Harper looked at her and said, gently and without any particular expression: "Lydia, move—"

She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to. The girl gathered her tray in complete silence, pressed her lips together in a way that had nothing to do with a smile, and moved three seats down without a word.

It was the most quietly devastating thing I had watched one person do to another in a school lunch setting.

I sat down in the vacated seat and said nothing about it. I couldn't afford to look soft. Not here. Not yet.

"So," Harper said, turning to me like the last thirty seconds hadn't happened. "Tell me everything. Where are you from? Why Crestwood?"

I told her the version I had prepared. She listened the way people listen when they're deciding how much of what you're saying they actually believe.

Then the girl to Harper's left — blonde highlights, rings on every finger clapped her hands together like something had just occurred to her.

"Oh my God, Harper, tell her about the party."

Harper's whole face changed. Not dramatically, just a warmth that hadn't been there before, something genuine underneath the performance. "Ryker's coming back properly next week," she said, turning to me like she was sharing something confidential. "We've known each other since we were children. I'm throwing him a welcome party — something small but exquisite with just the right people."

"How long has he been back?" I asked, like I hadn't spent the morning watching an entire school rearrange itself around him.

"He transferred in last week but he's been laying low," said the girl with the rings — Mia, I was starting to gather. "Harper wanted to wait until he was settled before making it official."

"Some things deserve a proper welcome," Harper said simply.

The girls around her nodded like she'd said something profound. I watched her face as she talked about him. The way his name sat differently in her mouth than other names, the way her posture changed, almost imperceptibly, like the subject of Ryker Lennox made her stand slightly taller.

She was not subtle about it. She just thought she was.

I was about to ask another question about the party when Mia leaned forward, her voice dropping into a stage whisper that was designed to carry.

"Did you hear?"

Harper looked at her. "Hear what?"

"That scholarship girl." Mia glanced around the table. "Her parents finally pulled the plug. Took them long enough."

The table went momentarily still, not uncomfortable, just recalibrating — and then leaned in.

"Wait," said the girl across from me. "She was still on life support this whole time?"

"Apparently. For months." Mia shrugged with her whole body. "I mean what did anyone expect? Poor people can't afford to keep someone on machines forever."

A laugh moved around the table like something passed hand to hand.

"Probably made a killing selling her organs to the hospital to cover the bills."

"Ugh." Mia wrinkled her nose and looked around like she was about to say something hilarious. "Can you imagine having any part of that hideous little nerd inside you? I would genuinely choose death."

The table laughed. All of them. Easy, reflexive, unbothered — the laugh of people who hadn't thought about what they were saying and had no intention of starting now.

I picked up my water glass. Set it down. Picked it up again.

Her heart is inside me right now, I thought. Keeping me alive. Beating in my chest at this exact moment while you laugh about selling her organs.

I looked at Harper.

She was smiling. Not laughing — just smiling, it was obvious this topic had stopped being interesting to her a long time ago. She smiled like she had other things in her mind and talking about this was just her indulging her friends.

Like Lily Chen was simply ancient history.

I excused myself. I knew I couldn't stay there another minute without screaming at them.

___________

The bathroom was empty. I checked every stall before I stopped performing.

Then I stood at the sink and looked at my own face in the mirror — the girl in borrowed clothes with a borrowed heart, standing in the school where Lily Chen had spent her last months being made to feel like she was worth less than the air she breathed.

I pressed my hand flat against the left side of my chest.

Her heart beat back. Steady. Patient. Like it had been waiting for me to catch up.

"I heard them," I said quietly. "Every word."

I straightened up. Smoothed my borrowed jacket. Made sure my face had settled back into something Crestwood-appropriate.

"I'm going to make them pay." I held my own gaze in the mirror. "Every single one of them."