Thursday didn't start bad.
The sky had that dull kind of blue that couldn't pick between summer and fall, and the air was crisp in a way that made your skin itch but didn't give you a real excuse to complain.
Selma was waiting at the gate again, braid tucked tight, bottle in hand. When she unscrewed the cap, it smelled faintly like citrus, sharp and clean.
I didn't ask what was in it. I never really did.
"Morning," she said.
"Hey."
We walked in together, same pace as always, just off enough from the rest of the crowd that it felt like we weren't part of it.
"You sleep?"
"Sort of."
She gave me that look again—the one that checked under your words without needing to say much.
"Hana told me you ran into someone yesterday."
I blinked. "She told you?"
"She was worried," Selma said. Not judging. Just stating. "Didn't say much. Just said your face changed and you stopped talking after bumping into some girl in the hall."
I didn't answer right away. Just listened to the sound of our steps echoing down the tile.
"Kyra," I said. "From my old school."
Selma slowed slightly. "And?"
"She said I looked familiar. That's all."
"Did she recognize you?"
"I don't think so," I said, but even I didn't believe how I said it.
Just say no. Why can't you just say no like it's nothing?
Selma didn't press. We reached the classroom and she bumped my arm lightly before stepping inside.
"I'll sit next to you today."
"Thanks."
Class started a few minutes later. Poetry and interpretation. Two stanzas, annotate for meaning, find a metaphor, blah blah blah. A few people groaned. Someone whispered something about how poetry was just sad people with too much time.
I stared at the first line for a full five minutes and still couldn't remember what it said.
I should care. I used to care. Why can't I make my brain work today?
I didn't know why Kyra had rattled me so much. She didn't say anything. Didn't call me out. But that pause... the way she looked at me...
Like she saw something. Like she almost said it out loud.
When the bell rang, I was still halfway through faking annotations.
Selma stood first. Waited until we were outside, then kept her voice low.
"You gonna be okay if it happens again?"
"I don't know."
We stood there a moment, students moving around us in loud, messy clumps like we were the only ones still in slow motion.
"She's not going to be the last one from your old life," Selma said, finally. "You know that, right?"
"Yeah."
"You don't have to talk to me about it. But... just don't try to carry it alone."
I didn't answer.
You already are, though, aren't you?
We split at the stairs and I found Hana and Zahra up ahead, mid-conversation. I caught up just in time to hear Hana say something about adding glitter to her water bottle "to feel something."
Zahra snorted. "What are you, a sentient raccoon?"
"I like shiny things. It's called having taste."
I smiled without thinking and walked beside them.
It helped more than it should have.
Just stay in this. Stay in the noise. It's safer here.
Lunch came quick after that. We sat outside again—same table, same patch of grass near the wall. Luis wasn't there, sick or skipping or both, so it was just us.
Zahra attacked her salad like it owed her money. Hana told a story about burning part of her costume during a drama club trip because of a scented candle.
Then Hana pulled out her phone and turned it toward me.
"We've got a group chat. You're in it now."
I blinked. "Oh. Okay."
Wait—like officially? Like I'm actually part of it?
"She means you don't have a choice," Zahra added. "Mostly memes and terrible homework takes."
"And the occasional out-of-context voice note from Selma," Hana said.
I looked at Selma.
She shrugged. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to. Just being there is enough."
That hit harder than it should've.
Why does that help so much?
The breeze kicked up on the walk back. Zahra cursed under her breath as her shirt lifted at the back. She yanked it down and mumbled something about the dress code being written by monks. Hana nodded like she'd read the rulebook herself.
In the next class—some kind of tech elective—I ended up next to a girl named Reema. First thing she did was nod toward the ceiling.
"They buzz," she said. "Like they're judging us."
I blinked. "Yeah. They do."
She nodded again, satisfied. Didn't say much after that. But when I froze on a worksheet question, she leaned over and pointed at hers without a word.
Okay. She's cool. Don't forget that.
After class, Hana and Zahra were waiting.
"Tomorrow's gym," Hana said, making a face.
"Kill me now," Zahra muttered. "If I get locker room duty again I'm joining chess club."
I didn't say anything.
Shit. Gym. I forgot. What even counts as the right clothes now? What if they—
Selma was waiting by the lockers. She caught my face and stepped in before I even got close.
"You okay?"
"Just thinking," I said.
She didn't ask more. Just walked beside me again like that was enough.
And it kind of was.
By the time the last bell rang, everything had blurred. Voices echoed off lockers, backpacks swung wide, and the air outside had that too-clean smell that only schoolyards and suburbs seemed to have.
Selma started walking across the lot, but I didn't follow. Not yet.
I just stood at the front steps and let everything pass.
She turned back a few seconds later.
"You waiting for someone?"
I shook my head. "No. Just not ready to go home."
She didn't ask why. Just came back and stood next to me at the railing, not looking at me, not asking anything. Just watching the day wind down.
"I still feel weird," I said finally. "Even now. They're all nice. Hana. Zahra. Everyone. But I still feel like I'm... outside it. Like I'm in the room, but not really there."
Selma didn't answer right away. Just let it sit for a second before nodding.
"That's normal," she said. "It takes time."
"I don't want to feel like I'm pretending."
"You're not," she said. "You're adapting. There's a difference."
I nodded slowly. The metal railing felt cold in my hands.
Selma's voice stayed soft.
"Girls don't always connect the same way boys do. You've probably noticed."
"Yeah… I think so."
"We don't always open up right away. We joke around things first. We compliment in circles. We figure out who's safe and who listens. Who talks over people and who makes space."
She looked at me, steady.
"You're doing fine. And so are they."
"I don't feel like one of them."
"You don't have to yet," she said. "You just have to show up."
I nodded again.
I can do that. I think I can do that.
Something loosened in my chest. Not fixed. Just... lighter.
Selma pushed off the railing.
"Come on. I'll walk with you."
So we walked.