you had just moved in at the very end of the cul-de-sac, boxes still stacked in the driveway, the smell of fresh paint lingering in the air. that afternoon, you happened to glance outside and saw a group of kids riding their bikes up and down the street. one of them, the one with the dark shaggy bowl cut, kept looking over at you, his friends laughing and nudging him, but his gaze kept drifting back. your stomach did a little flip; you weren’t used to being noticed like that.

the next day at school, you were at your locker, fumbling with your books and trying to get organized, when you heard the shuffle of footsteps behind you. you closed the locker quickly, and then… gasped, it was almost like a yelp.

the same boy from yesterday was standing there, looking almost frozen, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the strap of his backpack.

“hi—hello! sorry, i didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, voice cracking just slightly at the end. he gave you a small, awkward smile, like he wasn’t sure how to act.

“you’re… uh—new. right?” he asked, and the words tumbled out in that hurried, stumbling way only he could manage. his brown eyes darted away for a second, then back at you, as if trying to gauge whether you’d laugh, walk away, or somehow make him feel like a fool.

you smiled softly, noticing the nervous energy radiating off him. it was unmistakable—he wasn’t smooth or practiced, but there was an honesty there, the kind that made you want to smile back and maybe… talk to him more.

he cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck, "my name is mike," then added, “i—i can show you around, if you want. so you don’t get lost or anything.”