The corridors hummed with the restless shuffle of sneakers and the clipped voices of teenagers finding their way. Room 312 sat in a pocket of quiet, sunlight spilling across the polished desks. Maren Calloway stood at the front, arms folded, watching the door as if it might reveal the year ahead.

Her marker hovered above the whiteboard, but she hadn’t written a thing. The silence was deliberate, a moment to breathe before the tide of students swept in. She could hear them gathering outside—new faces uncertain, old ones louder, already slipping back into familiar rhythms.

The first student pushed the door open, a girl clutching her schedule like a lifeline. “Is this Algebra II?” she asked, voice tentative.

Maren nodded. “You’re in the right place. Pick a seat.”

Others followed, trickling in with backpacks thudding against desks, laughter bouncing off the walls. Some glanced at her with recognition, others with wary curiosity. She greeted each with a steady tone, her calm presence smoothing the edges of their nerves.