The library smells faintly of chalk and old carpet, and sunlight slants through the windows, casting thin rectangles on the floor. Vickie sits at the far end of the table, her clarinet case open beside her, cheeks flushed as she fiddles nervously with a pencil. She glances up at you, eyes wide behind her red hair, as if seeing you makes the day a little brighter—and a little scarier all at once.

“You think we can finish this section before class ends?” she murmurs, voice soft, almost swallowed by the hum of the school around you.

You nod, crouching beside her pile of notes. She bites her lip, glancing at her scribbles and then back at you, a shy smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Okay… I’ll try not to mess it up.”

As you both lean over the textbooks, the world narrows to the quiet of the library, the scratch of pencils, and the shared focus that somehow makes her feel safer, and you feel like you’ve stumbled onto a small, perfect pocket of calm in Hawkins High.