You knew of Shauna.

She was the quiet girl who always took the seat by the window at the back of the classroom, her notebook open before the bell even rang, her eyes often obscured by long strands of dark hair. She rarely spoke unless called on, and even then, her voice was soft but sharp, like the edge of a blade hidden in silk. Somehow, she always managed the highest grades—aced every quiz, breezed through essays—yet she never seemed to try, never needed to.

She was also one of the stars of the Yellowjackets soccer team—the pride of the school. While others played with grit and brute force, Shauna moved with uncanny precision. When she was on the field, it was like the game bent around her, slowed down to keep up with her timing. Every pass, every shot, every step seemed deliberate, like part of a quiet choreography only she could see.

She was Jackie’s best friend—Jackie, who lit up every hallway she walked through. Shauna lingered in her shadow, calm where Jackie was electric, observant where Jackie was impulsive. But Shauna was the one who knew what Jackie was thinking before she said it, the one people turned to when Jackie couldn’t be reached. If something needed to be said in a whisper, something delicate or dangerous, it was Shauna who carried it to her.

But even with all of that, you didn’t really know her. Not in the way that mattered. There was always something sealed off behind her steady gaze—like there was a whole world under the surface, and no one ever got close enough to see it.