Who knew that my first day of junior year would end with a volleyball to the face?
Okay. Let's rewind to the beginning of the day.
Hello, my name is Noa Starling, and I'm a guy. I've had a pretty normal life—loving parents, a great best friend, and absolutely zero trauma.
Well, except for one tiny, teensy-weensy detail: my older brother.
You see, for 14 years, my brother lived the golden life as an only child, soaking up all the love and attention from our parents. Then I showed up and ruined everything. Being the youngest has its perks, though. After I arrived, I became the new favorite, at least in his eyes. Let's just say… my brother is not my biggest fan.
Anyway. First day of junior year. Like any other school morning, I got ready for school. It was going to be fun—hopefully. I only had two classes with my best friend, which was tragic, because, well… I don't have many other friends. Maybe this year, that could change.
I buttoned up my stiff white uniform shirt, adjusted the navy blazer, and looked at myself in the mirror. Still no growth spurt. I hadn't grown a single inch. What a letdown. I even drink milk religiously—every single day!—like I'm on some sacred height ritual.
I frowned at my reflection, but decided not to let it ruin my day. Someday I'll grow. Probably. Maybe.
I grabbed my backpack and headed downstairs. Breakfast, goodbye hugs, the usual routine. My mom dabbed at her eyes like I was heading off to college. "Look at our baby—already a junior. They grow up so fast." My dad nodded, probably trying not to get emotional himself.
At the door, she tried to fix my hair one last time, but I dodged like a pro. Years of training.
Outside, the crisp morning air hit my face. The sky had that soft blue glow it gets just before the world fully wakes up. As I walked toward the bus stop, I spotted my best friend, Milo, already there—blazer wrinkled, tie half-on, headphone dangling around his neck like always.
"Took you long enough," he said, grinning.
"You look like you got dressed in the dark," I shot back, smirking.
"Confidence is key," he said, straightening his tie with the grace of someone who didn't care.
We stood there in silence for a minute, watching other students trickle in—all of us dressed like members of some preppy spy agency. Our school bus pulled up right on time—sleek, spotless, and way too serious-looking for a school bus.
Milo and I climbed aboard and headed straight to our usual spot in the back. He pulled up his headphones, and I leaned against the window, watching the neighborhoods blur past. First day of junior year. New classes. Hopefully, New people. Maybe even a new version of me.
Then it happened.
I walked into my first class and—Baam!—I saw my crush. Sitting right there.
Oh my gosh. We have a class together.
Milo naturally took the corner seat in the back left, and I slid into the one in front of him.
From the corner of my eye, I saw her sitting in the right middle row, surrounded by students. Her name is Isolde Blair.
And I couldn't stop looking at her.
Isolde Blair. The girl everyone wants to talk to. The one who always seems untouchably perfect. She's surrounded by people constantly—smiling, chatting, like it's the most natural thing in the world. She's popular, smart, and somehow still manages to be top of the class.
And me? I've never actually spoken to her.
Yet here we are… in the same room.
I turned around to look at Milo and tapped his shoulder.
"Hey. Heyyy, Milo. Look. Isolde is in our class. Oh my god." I whispered fast and low, trying to make sure no one else could hear me.
"Yeah, yeah, your lifelong crush," Milo said, deadpan and way too loud for comfort.
"Hey!" I smacked his arm. "Loud much?"
I darted a glance around the room, heart racing.
Thankfully, no one seemed to notice. Everyone was too busy laughing and chatting around Isolde like she was the sun and they were all orbiting planets.
I let out a quiet breath of relief and shot Milo a glare. He just grinned and shrugged, like he wasn't the one who nearly outed my biggest secret in front of the entire class.
"She's just sitting there like it's no big deal," I whispered. "Like she didn't just break the laws of the universe by being here."
Milo rolled his eyes. "It's a classroom, Noa. Not a royal ball."
"Same thing when she's in the room," I muttered, turning around before I started grinning like a total idiot.
Before I could spiral any further into my daydreams, the door swung open.
A woman walked in, tall and sharp-looking, with a sleek bun, glasses perched on her nose, and a stack of folders tucked under one arm. She carried a travel mug like it was shielding her from the chaos of teenage energy.
"Good morning, everyone," she said, setting her things on the desk with practiced precision. "Welcome to Advanced Functions. I'm Ms. Rivera, and yes, math is your first class of the year. Try to contain your excitement."
A few students chuckled. Someone near the window groaned.
Ms. Rivera raised an eyebrow, totally unbothered. "It's okay. You'll survive. Maybe even thrive. We'll see."
She began flipping through her seating chart, humming lightly under her breath. "Now, before we dive into functions, graphs, and all that good stuff, let's take attendance and go over a few ground rules."
I sat up a little straighter, trying to look alert, even though my brain was still short-circuiting from the whole Isolde is in my class thing.
Maybe now that we finally have a class together, we'll talk. Maybe even become friends. Exchange a few "hi"s and "hey"s.
Ms. Rivera's voice faded into the background as she launched into the syllabus—grading breakdowns, quiz schedules, calculator rules. All important stuff. Probably.
But my brain had other priorities.
I kept sneaking glances across the room, trying to look casual while mentally rehearsing what I'd say if—miracle of miracles—I talked to her.
"Hey, Isolde. How was your summer?"
No. Too weird coming from someone she's never even talked to.
She probably doesn't even know I exist.
Maybe something more casual?
"Hey, do you get what she meant by the homework thing?"
Ugh. Lame. That screams I'm-pretending-to-be-confused-to-talk-to-you energy.
I scribbled in the margins of my notebook, pretending to take notes while mostly trying not to stare.
Every so often, she laughed at something someone near her said—this soft, effortless kind of laugh—and my brain just… glitched.
I'm not asking for a full conversation. Just one sentence. Eye contact, maybe. A nod. A sign that I'm not completely invisible.
That would be nice.