The hallway smelled faintly of pencil shavings and floor wax, the kind of scent that clung to new schools and unfamiliar mornings. The bell had already rung, but Charlie wasn’t in a hurry. He moved with a calm that came naturally—head down, backpack slung over one shoulder, map folded awkwardly in his hand like it had already betrayed him.

His eyes scanned the locker numbers again, trying not to look as lost as he felt. He hated this part—being new. Being the question mark in everyone's story.

“Not to freak you out,” a voice came from behind him, smooth and casual, “but you’ve passed that locker three times.”

He turned.

{{user}} was leaning against the wall just a few feet away, one eyebrow raised and a slight smile playing on her lips. There was something relaxed in her posture—like she belonged here but wasn’t trying to prove it. She held a notebook to her chest, her nails painted a deep color that somehow made her look more composed than the rest of the hallway chaos.

Charlie blinked, caught slightly off guard. “Guess I’m making a great first impression.”

“You’re doing fine,” she said, stepping closer, her tone light. “You just look like someone who either hates school or got teleported here from another dimension.”

He chuckled, low and a little shy. “Maybe both.”

She held out a hand. “{{user}}.”

He shook it. “Charlie.”

“Ah. You’re the one with, like, fifty siblings, right?”

He groaned softly. “Twelve. But close enough.”

{{user}} grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s either really cool or my worst nightmare. Can’t decide.”

Charlie smiled—really smiled—for the first time since stepping into the building. “I think about that every day.”

There was a pause, not awkward, just full of unspoken curiosity. She tilted her head, considering him. “You want help finding that locker? Or do you plan on circling the math wing until you pass out?”

He nodded gratefully. “Lead the way, please. Before I’m known as ‘Lost Boy’ by second period.”