Chapter One: The Assignment
The hallway at Jefferson High never slept.
Even at eight in the morning, it was alive—buzzing with conversations, laughter that tried too hard, the metallic clang of lockers slamming open and shut like factory doors. Sneakers squeaked across waxed linoleum, voices rose and fell like waves crashing, and someone's phone was playing music just loud enough to be annoying. There was always noise. Too much.
Kira James moved through it like a ghost. Quiet, unnoticed, unseen.
She wore her hoodie zipped up to her chin, hands hidden inside sleeves stretched from constant tugging. A black sketchbook rested in the crook of her left arm, pressed against her ribs as if it might keep her heart from falling apart. It was her armor. Her silence. Her voice.
No one bumped into her. No one said her name.
That was the way she preferred it.
She passed by a group of cheerleaders near the vending machines. One of them was laughing so hard she doubled over, slapping another girl's arm. Kira didn't look long enough to catch the joke. She didn't need to. Her eyes stayed low, fixed on the floor tiles that flickered under her feet like an old film reel.
Until—
A voice. Laughter. A name that lit something in her chest.
Mina Park.
The sound of her laughter was different. It wasn't sharp like the others'. It rolled out like warm honey, like summer wind through a half-open window. Kira glanced up without meaning to, like her body betrayed her.
Mina was standing at her locker, one hand holding the door open, the other running through her dark hair. Her ponytail swung lazily with each motion. Her lips were painted in a soft coral today—bright, almost luminous. She wore confidence like it was stitched into her skin. Everything about her was soft and bright and terrifying.
Kira stopped breathing.
Her hands clenched tighter around her sketchbook. Her fingers curled into the spine like they could disappear into it.
Mina didn't see her. She never did.
Kira turned her face away and hurried past.
English class felt like an exhale. The noise faded behind her as she slipped into her usual seat—third from the back, by the window. Safe, but close enough to see the board. The sunlight leaking through the glass made pale stripes across her desk. Kira opened her sketchbook and let the pencil glide without thinking. The lines came on their own—an eye here, a shadow there, something that might become a face if she let it.
She didn't draw for school. Not really. She drew to survive it.
"Phones away," said Ms. Rowe as she walked in, arms full of folders. "Eyes up here, please."
Kira looked up. Most of the class obeyed, though some kids made a show of reluctantly slipping their phones into their bags like martyrs. Ms. Rowe smiled with practiced patience.
"Today we're starting a new assignment. It's a character study—you'll choose a fictional figure, analyze their motivations, write from their perspective, and present with a partner."
Groans followed. The word partner was like poison in a classroom like this. Kira felt her stomach drop.
"I've already made the pairs," Ms. Rowe added, holding up the list. "No swaps. No exceptions."
Kira didn't groan. She never did. She just stared at her paper and willed the world to move past her.
Ms. Rowe started calling names.
"Jesse and Amara."
"Dante and Kyle."
"Sydney and Alicia."
Then—
"Kira... you're with Mina Park."
Silence.
Something in Kira's chest cracked like ice.
She didn't look up. Couldn't.
Behind her, she felt the eyes. Felt Mina glance her way. Maybe. It might've been imagined. Kira couldn't tell if her heart had stopped or if it was racing so fast it became soundless. Her pencil stilled. A tiny black dot formed where the tip stayed pressed to the paper.
Ms. Rowe kept reading names. Time moved on.
But everything had shifted.
After class, Kira tried to escape first. It was a learned behavior—leave before the crowd, avoid the awkward small talk, the jostling, the stares.
But Mina was quicker.
"Hey."
The voice was gentle. Not a question, but not a command either.
Kira froze.
She turned slowly. Mina was right there, just a foot away. Closer than she'd ever been before. Her eyes were dark, but not in a cold way. They shimmered with something curious. Alive.
"I guess we're partners," Mina said, smiling.
Kira opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
Mina tilted her head. "Do you talk?"
Kira's cheeks flamed. She nodded. Barely.
"Cool," Mina said. "So… the assignment. You wanna work after school?"
Kira nodded again. Her voice finally pushed through, soft as ash. "Library?"
Mina lit up. "Perfect. I'll find you."
And then—just like that—she was gone, swept up into a group of friends in the hallway, already laughing again.
But the warmth she left behind lingered in the air like perfume.
Kira sat at the far back table in the library, the kind hidden behind a tall shelf of encyclopedias no one used anymore. She'd come early. She always came early. Her sketchbook lay open in front of her, the pages fluttering slightly under the old ceiling fan. She'd started a new piece—barely a face yet, just the outline of something feminine. Wide eyes. A quiet mouth. Not quite Mina. Not yet.
She wasn't sure why she was drawing her.
It wasn't romantic, not exactly. Or maybe it was. Kira didn't really understand the difference. She only knew how people made her feel. And Mina made her feel like standing in sunlight after too many cold days.
The library was quiet except for the distant hum of the front desk printer and the faint murmur of someone turning pages two rows away.
And then Mina appeared, slipping into the seat across from her like she belonged there.
"You really came," she said, voice low but pleased. "I wasn't sure."
Kira stared. "Why?"
Mina shrugged. "Some people disappear when you say hello."
Kira smiled, just a little.
Mina leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "Okay, before we start… can I see your sketchbook?"
Kira's hand immediately closed over it.
"Sorry," Mina said quickly, holding up her palms. "Too forward. I just saw you drawing in class and got curious."
Kira hesitated, then turned it slightly so Mina could see one page. Just one.
Mina gasped. "You drew this?"
Kira nodded, eyes on the table.
"It's beautiful." She looked up. "Is it… is she someone real?"
Kira swallowed. "Kind of."
"Can I ask who?"
Kira didn't answer. The silence stretched, not uncomfortable exactly, but full.
Mina didn't push.
Instead, she pulled out her notebook and flipped to a blank page. "Okay, Ms. Rowe said we need to pick a fictional character to analyze. Someone deep. Complicated. Any ideas?"
Kira blinked. "You don't already have one?"
Mina grinned. "I figured I'd wait and see who you were."
Kira glanced up.
Mina's smile softened. "You're interesting, Kira James."
No one had ever said that to her. Not like that. Not with a voice that didn't sound like teasing.
Kira cleared her throat. "What about Ophelia?"
Mina raised her eyebrows. "From Hamlet?"
Kira nodded. "She's misunderstood."
"That's an understatement." Mina tapped her pen. "She drowns and everyone just… shrugs."
"Exactly," Kira said, voice steadier now. "They made her into a symbol. But she was real. Soft things break."
Mina blinked. "You talk more when it's about sad things, huh?"
Kira flushed.
Mina smiled gently. "I like that. Sad things are honest."
They worked in a rhythm after that. Not quite normal, not quite easy—but something new. Something that felt like possibility. Mina talked with her hands, laughed when Kira mumbled unexpectedly sharp observations, and listened like she cared about the answers.
And somewhere, in that quiet library where dust floated like secrets and pencils scratched softly against paper, a fragile thread tied between them.
Something had begun.
And neither of them—though they wouldn't say it yet—wanted it to end.