POV: Luca
Lunch was chaos, the way it always was.
Not explosive chaos.
Just that low-grade, ever-humming, hormone-fueled buzz that filled high school cafeterias across the country. Trays clattered, laughter spiked like waves, and someone near the vending machines was already arguing about the last bottle of Coke Zero.
I slid into my usual seat at the long table near the windows, dropping my tray with a soft clack.
I wasn't really hungry, but habit was hard to break. Peanut butter sandwich. Apple slices. Bottle of water. The classics.
"You look like you're about to question the entire concept of lunch," came a voice beside me.
I didn't have to look to know it was Mia. She sat across from me, dark eyes sharp beneath her too-long bangs, always watching like she already knew the answers and was waiting for someone else to catch up.
"I'm just waiting to see who gets nailed by today's food fight," I said, unwrapping the sandwich. "My money's on Rafe."
As if summoned by name, Rafe dropped into the seat beside me with all the subtlety of a small explosion.
"Did someone say my name?" he grinned. "Because I just had the most diabolical idea involving pudding, three straws, and the concept of aerodynamic velocity."
"No," Mia said flatly.
"Definitely no," I added.
"Cowards," Rafe muttered, but he was already unwrapping his own lunch. Half of it was candy. The other half looked like it had been bartered off someone with worse judgment.
Noah showed up a moment later, as steady and calm as ever, plopping his tray down with practiced ease. He didn't say much — he never did — but he nodded at each of us like we were pieces of a ritual.
"Jess coming?" I asked.
"She said something about skipping in favour of re-learning the drums," Mia said, poking at her food. "Which I think is code for 'she found a new playlist and needs a creative outlet.'"
"Still sounds more productive than chemistry," Rafe said, mouth full.
I smirked, leaning back slightly in his chair, my body loose even if my mind wasn't. I listened to the ebb and flow of his friends' banter. They talked about a test none of them had studied for, a substitute teacher who'd nearly fallen asleep mid-lecture, and someone's terrible breakup that ended in a public ukulele performance.
And then, like it always happened, Mia shifted the tone.
"So…" she said, drawing the word out as she opened her water bottle, "any of you guys listen to that new podcast I sent?"
Luca groaned. "If it has anything to do with alien sightings or cryptids stealing chickens, I'm gonna revoke your right to send links."
"No chickens," Mia replied smoothly. "But weird energy spikes? Yes. Hikers disappearing in state parks? Also, yes. Someone claimed to see glowing footprints near Hollow Creek last weekend."
"That's two miles from here," Noah said quietly.
I paused, mid-chew. Something in me twitched — not alarm, but interest. The woods had always felt… off. Not scary, not dangerous. Just wrong. Like the trees were listening.
Rafe snorted. "Glowing footprints? Maybe it was some hippie rave. Or radioactive raccoons."
Mia raised an eyebrow. "Or maybe it's something we're not supposed to explain away."
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't stop the slight lift in my chest.
There was something in the way she said it — not just curiosity. Conviction. It was rare, and I respected it.
"Weird crap happens all the time," I said finally. "Doesn't mean it's aliens."
"Or gods," Mia said, shrugging. "But it doesn't mean it's nothing, either."
I didn't respond. Instead, I turned to look out the window. The sky was overcast, but not heavy. Just… soft. Like the day was holding its breath.
For a moment, everything felt too still.
Then Rafe broke the silence. "Anyway! There's a party on Saturday. Beach. Bonfire. The usual debauchery. Jess is bringing speakers. Mia, you're bringing your snark. Noah, you're bringing silence. Luca, you in?"
All eyes turned to me.
I hesitated.
Part of me wanted to say yes immediately. That was the script — easy smiles, good times, another night like a thousand others.
But another part of me — quieter, deeper — felt tired.
"C'mon," Rafe added. "There'll be s'mores."
"And loud music," Mia said.
"And fireworks," Noah added. Everyone blinked at him. "Probably," he said with a shrug.
I smiled, soft and crooked. "Yeah. I'll come."
They cheered. Rafe mock-bowed. Mia rolled her eyes. Noah nodded once, satisfied.
Rafe grinned. "Bet you five bucks you won't fake a nosebleed in English class."
"Bet you five I will, but I won't like it," I shot back.
Mia sipped her water. "Both of you need hobbies that don't involve minor felonies."
"This is my hobby," Rafe said.
"That's the saddest thing I've ever heard," Noah added without looking up.
Everyone blinked. Then laughed.
"Also," Rafe added, mouth half-full of candy, "I'm starting a petition to change all Monday classes to meme critique. It's culturally important."
"Are you even passing English?" Mia asked, eyeing his tray like it might leap off and bite someone.
"Passing is a mindset," Rafe replied solemnly. "Like vibes. Or tax fraud."
"Spoken like a true disappointment to the educational system," she deadpanned.
I grinned, stealing one of Rafe's fries.
Noah, unbothered as ever, peeled an orange slowly. "Rafe, you tried to microwave a Pop-Tart with the foil still on last week."
"I was experimenting," Rafe said. "All geniuses are misunderstood."
I snorted. "You're not a genius. You're a fever dream in human form."
"Thank you," Rafe said, clearly taking it as a compliment.
Mia smirked and reached across the table, swiping one of Rafe's gummy worms. "Just wait until you run for class president. I'm leaking your browser history."
Noah blinked. "There's a class president?"
The rest of lunch blurred. The rest of the day, too.
But there was a moment — between sixth period and the walk to my locker — where I found myself slowing.
The hallway was crowded, voices bouncing, lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking against tile. But somehow, it all felt distant. Muffled. Like the world had turned down its own volume.
I stopped in front of my locker, turning the dial slowly.
Click. Click. Open.
I grabbed my books.
Somewhere, a bell rang. The hallway thinned out.
I slung the bag over my shoulder and turned toward the front of the school.
As I walked toward the school exit, I let the party details run in circles through my head.
It would be the same as always: music too loud to think, bonfire smoke clinging to my clothes, someone sneaking drinks they thought no one noticed. Maybe a kiss behind the dunes. Maybe not.
I wasn't against it.
I just wasn't in it, either.
Every weekend felt like hitting "repeat" on a song you were supposed to love, but stopped hearing a long time ago.
Still… something about this one felt different.
Not because of the party.
Because of the pause. The shift. That strange pull in his chest.
Maybe I'd go and everything would be the same.
Or maybe it wouldn't.
Outside, the clouds had begun to shift. Not darker. Just stranger. A wind tugged at the edge of his hoodie.
I tilted my head toward the sky. The light shimmered oddly for a split second.
I squinted. Nothing.
But still... something tugged at me. A pressure in his chest. Like a thread, taut and invisible.
I rubbed the back of my neck.
"Probably just hungry," I muttered.
Hearing the faint buzz from my pocket, Luca pulled out his phone. One message. From Rafe.
Rafe [4:31 PM]:
Don't you dare skip the party.
I saw that look on your face today — the one where your soul tries to quietly exit your body and disappear into the clouds.
You've got that haunted poet vibe going full throttle lately.
Which is cool, don't get me wrong. Very mysterious. Very brooding. Girls love it.
And I might need someone to stop me from cannonballing into a bonfire.
Come.
Wear black. Or flannel. Or both. Bring your face.
And if you show up late, I swear I'm telling everyone that you cried during Finding Nemo. Again.
I stared at the screen and shook his head with a quiet laugh. Typical Rafe. Equal parts ridiculous and weirdly insightful.
I typed back:
Luca:
Everyone cries. That movie's devastating.
Putting my phone back into my pocket I made my way home.