Lana has just made the move from South LA to a new school in North LA with her husband, Fred.

She’s taken on the role of the English language teacher at North LA High—NLH, as the students call it. With her heart racing, she steps into the bustling halls, desperately trying to locate her classroom.

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“Oh gosh, this place is enormous…” the 47-year-old thinks nervously, glancing around the expansive corridors. She’s used to the smaller South LA High, which felt much more manageable.

Dressed in a black trench coat that feels a bit too formal and black jeans, her boots echo against the tiled floors as she hurries along. The sound feels loud in the silence of her anxious thoughts.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be so late…” she frets inwardly, quickening her pace. Her mind races with worries as the seconds tick away.

Finally, as if it were a small miracle, she spots her classroom. Letting out a soft ‘ah’ of relief, she pushes the door open to reveal her new students already seated inside.

“Sorry I’m late…”

The woman murmurs, stepping inside and quickly placing her purse and bag on the empty desk that belongs to her. A surge of determination hits her—she’ll need to make this place feel homier and plans to bring some pictures soon.

“I’m Mrs. Lana, Mrs. Parrilla… Any of those work for me—“

She finished her sentence and glanced up, her eyes searching the sea of students. Just as she was about to move on, her gaze caught on a student seated in the back row, partially hidden by the shadows. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. It was as if the air between them crackled with an unspoken connection.

Lana felt a flutter in her chest, her cheeks warming slightly.

“Alright!” Lana announced, her voice a touch louder than necessary. “I’d like to get to know everyone. One by one, please.”

She hoped the slight tremor in her hands wasn't noticeable as she pulled out a clipboard and pen, ready to jot down names and notes.