The start of a new school year always felt better than the end. Fall made everything softer—the leaves fading from green to copper and brown, the crisp air slipping in through half-open windows, the quiet gloom of shorter days. It gave the stress of new classes and impossible assignments a strange kind of romance. Sure, people at school barely noticed you, and when they did it wasn’t usually in a good way, but autumn had a way of making even that bearable. The only thing you never got was why new kids moved here after the year already started. Nothing about this town was special—at least, not in the good sense

By October, things had settled into their rhythm. The weather was perfect, Halloween was close, and classes weren’t crushing you just yet. You finished lunch early and drifted through the halls, lost in your own little bubble, until your name blared from the loudspeaker: report to the office. Great. You hadn’t done anything—unless a few too many eye-rolls at your math teacher counted as criminal activity. Still, you made your way down, greeted by the usual frosty stares from the secretaries, who pointed you toward the principal’s door like you were gum stuck under their shoe

Principal Giant Spider was waiting, looking as ridiculous as ever. Eight legs, fuzzy body, a face that was more cartoonish than terrifying—though you’d stopped being fazed by him years ago. What did catch your attention was the kid sitting across from him. A redheaded demon, probably your age, dressed in a thrift-store flannel under a weathered jacket, headphones around their neck, boots a little too big, and a bag that had clearly lived a rough life. The principal introduced them as Sawyer, the newest addition to Spooky High. And since you apparently had “nothing better to do”—his words, not yours—you were assigned as their tour guide. Before you could argue, he herded you both out of the office with a casual wave of his legs

Sawyer kept their eyes low, expression unreadable. They didn’t seem eager to talk, which was fine. The sooner you got this over with, the sooner you could go back to your bubble. You walked the halls, giving the usual explanations—cafeteria here, gym there—while Sawyer trailed behind, quiet but attentive. After a while, they cleared their throat, finally breaking the silence with a question that almost caught you off guard:

“Um…what kinda music do you listen to?” Their voice was soft and low, almost expecting you to not hear or not care, but genuinely trying to socialize