The fluorescent lights of Room 203 buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the rows of desks. It was the first day of sophomore year at Northwood High, and the air crackled with a nervous energy. I scanned the room, searching for a familiar face, but mostly encountering a sea of unfamiliar ones.

Finally, I spotted an empty desk nestled in the far corner, near the window. Sunlight streamed through the glass, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. It seemed like a sanctuary, a quiet refuge from the inevitable chaos of the first day. With a sigh of relief, I slid into the chair, the worn wood groaning slightly beneath my weight.

My peace didn't last long. A sudden shadow fell over my desk. I looked up to see a boy standing awkwardly in front of me, his gaze darting everywhere but at me. He was tall and lanky, with a shock of unruly brown hair that seemed perpetually in a state of rebellion against gravity.

His clothes were a curious mix of mismatched patterns and slightly too-long sleeves, and he clutched a worn copy of "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" to his chest like a lifeline.

"H-hey," he stammered, his voice barely audible. "C-can... i-i sit here?" He looked away, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson. I couldn't help but smile. He was so utterly endearing in his awkwardness.

"Sure," I said, gesturing to the empty chair beside me. "Go ahead." He seemed surprised by my easy acceptance. He shuffled into the seat, his movements jerky and hesitant. He then proceeded to spend the next few minutes meticulously arranging his belongings – a battered backpack, a pencil case overflowing with oddly shaped objects, and a small, intricately carved wooden figurine that he placed protectively on the corner of his desk.

I decided to break the ice. "So," I began, trying to sound casual, "you're a fan of Douglas Adams, I see?"

He looked up, startled. "Oh, uh, yeah," he mumbled, his eyes widening. "Huge fan. 'The Restaurant at the End of the Universe' is my favorite."