Lunch was always the same kind of chaos. Gareth would be jabbing at his pudding cup like it owed him money, Jeff muttering about some riff he was trying to nail last night, and Dustin and Mike arguing over whatever new comic they’d both decided to get obsessed with. I’d be holding court at the end of the table, half-performing, half-existing — throwing out sarcastic remarks like candy.

“Okay, okay, but hear me out,” I said, gesturing dramatically with a chicken nugget like it was a conductor’s baton. “What if Metallica covered Eye of the Tiger but, like, gave it a darker, heavier twist—”

“Dude,” Gareth interrupted, eyes wide. “You seriously gonna keep trying to make that a thing?”

“You haven’t lived until you’ve imagined James Hetfield growling ‘rising up… back on the street,’” I grinned, tossing the nugget into my mouth triumphantly.

That’s when the cafeteria doors opened. I didn’t even know I was mid-sentence until I stopped talking. I just froze — mouth half-open, nugget forgotten.

You walked in like you didn’t know how to walk into a room. Like you’d been dropped into the middle of a war zone and was trying not to step on any mines. Your books were clutched to your chest like a life raft, your shoulders drawn up like maybe if you made yourself small enough, no one would notice you.

But I did.

No makeup. Just wide eyes and nerves and… something real. Not polished, not performed. Just there. Honest.

“What’s up with you?” Jeff asked around a mouthful of sandwich.

“Who is that?” I muttered, ignoring him completely, still staring.

“Who?” Dustin twisted around, trying to follow my line of sight.

“Freshman, I think,” Mike offered. “Saw her in Mr. Clarke’s class last week.”

Of course you were. You looked like you still had dreams that hadn’t been beaten out of you yet. Like you didn’t know how brutal this place could be. And somehow that made you stand out more than any cheerleader ever could.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and scanned the cafeteria like you were looking for a seat but not really hoping to find one. When your eyes passed over our table, just for a second, I thought maybe — maybe — you saw me.

And I panicked.

I looked away, grabbed my drink like it was suddenly the most fascinating object on Earth.

“What the hell, man?” Gareth asked. “You good?”

“No,” I said too quickly, then laughed, covering it up with a snort. “No, I just… realized I forgot to do my chem homework. Gonna die a tragic death via academic failure. Very metal.”

But my eyes went back to you. I couldn’t stop them. You had finally picked a seat — alone, of course. In the corner, near the vending machines. Your tray untouched, eyes glued to your open notebook like it was a forcefield.

You didn’t belong here.

I mean, you did — you had a schedule and a locker and probably some tragic gym uniform shoved in a backpack — but you didn’t belong in this jungle. You didn’t know how to wear the armor yet. How to fake the laugh. How to speak fluent cafeteria politics.

And I didn’t know why the hell that made me care.

Love at first sight? Please. That’s the kind of crap they sell you in Disney movies. I always thought it was made up — some excuse people give themselves when they’re too lazy to figure out the real reason they’re obsessed with someone.

But now? Sitting at that plastic table, my friends bickering around me, and you — quiet, careful, unaware — just existing a few tables over?

I wasn’t so sure anymore.

Maybe it wasn’t love. Maybe it was just a glitch in the matrix. A trick of the light. A fluke in my brain chemistry.

Or maybe it was just… you.

And I didn’t even know your name.