Surviving The Year Alone

The first thing Jay hears is the bell before he even sees the hallway-metal on metal, sharp and impatient, bouncing off lockers that smell like last week’s cafeteria fries. He’s standing in the cool shadow of the gym entrance with his backpack half-zipped, breathing in the dusty air that always hangs around Pueblo South High like it’s stuck there for good. Sweat from summer still clings to the back of his neck. Somewhere behind him a whistle squeals, and someone laughs too loud, like they’re trying to prove they’re not nervous.

“Jay!” A voice calls his name like it’s already familiar. Jay turns and there’s Evan, leaning against a locker with his hands shoved deep in his hoodie pocket. Evan’s hair is damp from a shower he probably didn’t need, his cheeks a little pink from the late-August heat. He looks like he’s been holding himself still until the moment someone notices him.

Jay’s stomach flips in an annoyed way, like his body can’t decide whether this is normal or not. He’s spent the last week telling himself the school year will be normal-new classes, old faces, the usual drama that blows up and then dies down. He wants routines. He wants the kind of day where people don’t look through you like you’re glass.

Evan pushes off the locker and steps closer, careful with his space. “You’re late.”

“I’m not,” Jay says, automatically defensive, even though the bell already hit. He grabs his backpack strap tighter and feels the worn leather bite into his palm.

Evan’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile. “You are. But it’s fine. We can still get seats.”

Jay stares at him for a second too long. Evan doesn’t have that loud confidence that makes people follow you. He has this quiet certainty instead, like he’s decided something and doesn’t need to explain it. Jay forces his feet forward. “Seats for what?”

Evan glances down the hall toward the classroom doors. “First period. English. Mrs. Haskins hates when people pretend they didn’t hear the bell.”

Jay snorts, and the sound surprises him. “Mrs. Haskins hates everyone. That’s her whole vibe.”

“Then she’ll love us,” Evan says, and the way he says it makes it feel like a joke they already share.

Jay should keep walking, should fall into the current of kids moving like they belong. Instead, he slows down enough to match Evan’s pace. Their shoes scuff the floor in sync, and the hallway noise swallows them up and spits them back out at the classroom entrance.

Inside, the air is warmer, chalky, and smells faintly like old paper. Desks scrape. Someone’s phone buzzes and then gets silenced. Jay spots an open seat and reaches for it-until Evan’s hand touches his elbow, light as a question.

“Not there,” Evan murmurs.

Jay’s brows pull together. “What do you mean, not there?”

Evan points with his chin toward the back row, tucked away near the window where the afternoon light turns dust into glitter. “There. It’s quieter.”

“It’s English,” Jay says, but his voice comes out softer than he means. He can already feel the pressure in his chest that doesn’t belong to school. It’s like he’s being pulled by something he can’t name.

Evan doesn’t argue. He just steps aside, letting Jay pass first, and Jay’s brain logs the small thing-letting someone go first, like it matters. Like Evan expects Jay to be worth the extra second.

Jay slides into the seat by the window. The chair squeaks under his weight. Evan sits one desk over, angled toward Jay just enough that Jay can hear him over the murmur of introductions. When Mrs. Haskins walks in, shoes clicking like a metronome, Evan straightens like he’s been waiting for permission to exist.

The class starts. It’s the same kind of beginning that always makes the year feel like it could go either way. Mrs. Haskins hands out syllabi with a practiced frown. Kids talk about summer jobs and which parties were better, which neighborhoods are “safe,” which teachers give extra credit. Jay listens for the familiar buzz of cruelty-someone making fun of someone’s shoes, someone dropping a comment about grades like it’s a weapon.

Instead, Evan keeps his eyes on the page. When Jay glances over, Evan’s pencil moves slow and careful, like he’s afraid of breaking something. Jay tries to follow along, but his attention keeps snagging on Evan’s quiet effort. He doesn’t look up when people are laughing. He doesn’t flinch when a chair bangs against a desk. He just… stays.

After class, the hallway fills again, louder, hotter. Jay should slip out with the crowd. He should go find someone from last year, someone who knows his jokes and his habits. But Evan falls into step beside him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Do you always sit by the window?” Jay asks as they walk.

Evan shrugs. “It’s harder for people to talk to you there.”

Jay blinks. “That’s not-people talk to me fine.”

Evan looks at him, and for a second Jay can’t tell if Evan’s being honest or trying to be kind. “They talk. But they don’t listen.”

Jay’s throat tightens....