I sat at the dining table, chewing slowly on the edge of an apple, staring blankly at the wall like it might offer me a reason to like this city.
Four years since Mom and I moved to Miami, and I still hated it. The beaches were loud and overrated, the neighbors were nosy and obnoxious, and the air always felt too humid, like it was trying to suffocate me. Maybe I was the problem. Maybe I just didn't know how to adapt. But I never let it show, Mom had enough to deal with already.
I hadn't seen Dad in about three years, not since he got remarried. Not that I cared. In fact, I was glad he wasn't with Mom anymore. Their version of love had been loud, messy, and exhausting. I didn't miss it.
I took another bite of the apple just as Mom stormed into the room, her hair slightly frazzled, her eyes darting around like she was searching for something invisible.
"Have you seen the car keys?" she barked, flipping couch cushions and rummaging through drawers like a detective on a caffeine high.
I stared at the keys sitting right in front of me on the table, glinting under the morning light.
"Oh my god, you're gonna be so late," she muttered, her voice rising with every second. A bead of sweat rolled down her cheek, and I could tell she was trying not to panic but failing miserably.
It was my first day as a junior. Shouldn't I be the one freaking out? But Mom was acting like she was the one about to walk into high school again.
I wondered if her nerves had less to do with me and more to do with the guy she'd been talking to, the one who was coming over tonight. After the divorce, she hadn't dated anyone. Not seriously. But lately, she'd been smiling at her phone more than usual, and I'd overheard a few late-night calls. I was more curious about him than I was about school.
"Relax, Mom. They're right here," I said, dropping the apple and picking up the keys. "And I'm way too early to be late."
Her shoulders dropped, and the tension evaporated from her face like steam off hot pavement. She always panicked over the smallest things. It was exhausting.
We got into the car, and she immediately started fussing about breakfast, like she hadn't just watched me eat half an apple. I slipped on my headphones, drowning out her voice with music that felt like armor. Fifteen minutes in the car felt like an hour when you're trying to dodge pep talks and emotional landmines.
We pulled up to school, and the irritation crept in faster than expected. The air was thick with last year's drama, couples clinging to each other like lifelines, cliques forming invisible walls, exes pretending not to notice each other, failed classes haunting students like ghosts, and talking stages that never made it past awkward hallway glances. And vapes. Always vapes. I thought they banned those, but apparently rebellion was still trending.
"Zelda," Mom said softly, her voice slicing through the chaos.
"I know it's been everything but easy for you since we moved here," she said, her eyes locking onto mine. "But I really want you to take advantage of high school. You're not the same Zel you were in New York."
"Dad changed. You changed. Maybe I grew out of the old me and changed too," I replied, slowly removing my headphones.
"I know you haven't. All you need is a push," she said, placing her palms gently on the backs of my arms.
"…Give Miami a chance."
It felt like it took everything in her to say those words. No tears. No sweat. Just tension, thick, silent, and pressing between us.
I gave her a small smile. I wasn't sure how genuine it was, but it was all I had to offer. Especially now that the bell had rung.
"I won't be picking you up. Make sure you don't miss the bus. Love you. Take care."
"Sure, Mom. Love you too," I said, watching her drive off like she was escaping something.
She'd already taken all the time. Now I had to find my classes myself. Over the summer, the school had shuffled classrooms around, and I suddenly felt like a freshman again. Everyone else seemed to know exactly where to go except me.
"Hey," a voice whispered behind me, bringing unexpected relief. At least I wasn't the only one lost in the hallways.
"Miss? Oh, you go to school here? I was hoping you worked here."
What did he mean worked here? I didn't look that old. I didn't dress like one of these teachers. What was he on about?
"I mean, I'm new here. I didn't mean anything rude," he said, clearly embarrassed, as he should be.
"Daniel Myers. Junior," he said, stretching out his hand like we were best buds or business partners.
"Zelda. Junior too."
"Great. So you'd know the floor we should be headed to. You're not new here too, are you?"
Was that mockery? I had two choices: admit I was lost and let him crush my ego, or pretend I knew the way.
"I mean… of course. Whatever," I said, leading him to the second floor, which was just as empty as the first. It was like the universe was against me.
"Are you sure you know where we're going? It's been five minutes of nothing," he said again, pushing the mockery further. Maybe I should just tell the truth and avoid further embarrassment.
"Oh, Daniel," came a familiar voice from behind. I turned and saw Mr. Philips, the supervisor, with his usual blue folder.
"I just left your classroom and figured you'd gotten lost," he said, tilting his head until he noticed me.
"Seems you're quick to make friends, aye Daniel," he added, flipping through his folder.
"Helda was just taking me to the classroom," Daniel said. Helda? That had to be on purpose. Nobody makes that kind of mistake.
"Here, fill out this form. The other document contains your schedule. You're free to join any after-school activities," Mr. Philips said, handing him the papers.
"Zelda here will take you around the school after classes. I know things are confusing after the recent changes, but you'll get used to it. Miss Anne should be expecting you two for Literature now, Class 302, just over there."
"Thank goodness," I muttered under my breath, hoping Daniel didn't hear my sigh of relief.
Mr. Philips disappeared into the elevator while Daniel walked toward the hallway he'd come from. We finally found the classroom 302 , carved fancily into the wood like someone had tried too hard to make it look prestigious.
Without hesitation, he opened the door. No thank yous. No words. Maybe he figured I didn't know where I was going and thought I was some crazy girl. But who cares what this stranger thinks?
We stepped inside, trying to avoid attention, but Miss Anne caught us immediately.
"Oh! Daniel, Zelda welcome. Especially you, Daniel."
I thought she'd give all the attention to Daniel, but she didn't fail to make me noticed too.
"Class, we have a transfer student. And of course, we all know Miss Zelda, our three-time national Junior Lit Nobel Prize winner."
Why would she bring that up? It was a new session. Nobody cared about that anymore. It's not like I won Influencer of the Year. But she was a millennial she wouldn't understand what the rest of the class thought.
I scanned the room for Yolanda or Omar. Found them quickly. They'd even saved me a seat.
"Hey," Yolanda mouthed excitedly, pointing to the empty spot between her and Omar
Omar, as usual, was buried in his textbook. Some called him too serious, but getting into this school on scholarship meant everything to him. He wasn't like me or the other spoiled kids. He had to work twice as hard to be here one of the things I couldn't help but admire.
"Daniel here has transferred all the way from California, so please make him feel welcome. And Daniel, feel at home."
Enough with the Daniel talk. I was already tired of hearing his name, tired of smelling whatever cologne he was wearing. I just wanted to sit down and enjoy Literature but DANIEL DANIEL.
"Find your seats," Miss Anne finally said, releasing me from the spotlight.
I made my way toward Yolanda when I heard his voice whisper again.
"After school?"
"Huh?" I'd completely forgotten Mr. Philips had asked me to show him around. He was definitely here to ruin my life, but I couldn't prove it.
"What's with you and that hottie? I could sense the chemistry from here, babe," Yolanda teased before I even sat down.
It was the first day. I didn't want attention this year. And it seemed Daniel had already ruined that plan. The girls on the other side of the room were giggling definitely because of him. I hoped I was invisible during his introduction.
Besides, after school today, I had no business with him. That thought gave me a tiny sense of relief.
Lunch had always been one of my favorite things about school—the only time the three of us could talk freely without a teacher breathing down our necks. But lunch wasn't the same for everyone. Around here, it was a spectrum of chaos. Some kids snuck off to vape in the bathrooms, others found corners to whisper sweet nothings to their so-called lovers—if you could even call it love when all they did was grope each other until the thrill wore off.
Yolanda was a walking testimony to all of it. She'd done everything and more. I could tell she was just returning from the bathroom by the thick cloud of strawberry-scented vape clinging to her like perfume.
"Okay guys, have you heard about the new transfer student?" Yolanda burst onto the scene, sliding into her seat with a smirk etched across her lips, her eyes still glued to her iPhone.
"If I hear one more thing about this Daniel guy, I swear I'll become a transfer student myself," I muttered, sipping my Diet Pepsi, thoroughly uninterested in her latest gossip.
"I'm not talking about Daniel," she said, rolling her eyes. "There's this Arab biker. They say he's a prince and he sure looks like one." She shoved her phone toward me, showing off his Instagram page. He did look impressive, no doubt. But the sheer amount of attention he was getting? Total turn-off.
"He's alright," I said, handing her phone back without much enthusiasm.
"Aren't you gonna say anything?" she asked, pausing. "Omar?"
There'd been a weird tension between Omar and Yolanda ever since we returned from break. He seemed to be avoiding her, yet couldn't quite stay away from us either,probably trying to dodge more awkwardness.
"Zayn? Yeah, I've heard of him," Omar finally said. His voice startled me. He'd been so quiet lately, I'd almost forgotten why he was captain of the theatre club. That voice—rich, textured, commanding—was unforgettable.
I glanced down at my plate, hoping to dig into more fries, but I'd already finished them. Still craving, I reached for the bowl, scraping together every last drop of ketchup to lick off my fingers.
"You could have mine. No need to scavenge," said a voice from above.
The audacity.
I looked up, and two urgent questions hit me like a slap:
1. Why was the guy Yolanda just stalked at our table?
2. Why was he offering me his fries while the entire cafeteria watched?
"Keep your fries," I snapped, shoving the plate away. His boldness wasn't the only thing irritating me. The whole cafeteria had their phones out, trying to capture the drama unfolding at our table. My blood boiled.
"What's good, Omar? Thought I wouldn't find you. Things look real different on this side of America," Zayn said, exchanging a handshake with Omar like they were long-lost brothers. What was happening?
"Sorry, guys. I should've said something earlier, but Zayn here—" Omar began, only to be cut off.
"We met back home. Been tight ever since," Zayn said, like he owned the room. And honestly, he kind of did. Everyone was watching.
Yolanda had gone silent the moment Zayn joined us. She looked frozen in time, which made sense considering who Zayn was
"Well, since I don't need an intro... am I welcome to the group?" he asked, casually placing every fry from his plate onto mine.
"Excuse me" I muttered, too irritated to stay. I stormed out of the cafeteria, feeling the weight of a hundred eyes trailing me as I left.
Even after the school's renovation, the bathroom hadn't changed. Or maybe it was the people who'd gotten worse. I stared at myself in the massive mirror bolted to the wall, adjusting my hair, when a poster caught my eye—bold letters screaming "KICKBACK."
One of those parties thrown at the start of a new school year. I'd never attended one. Yolanda used to beg me to go, but they never felt like my scene. Why waste a night surrounded by sweaty, hormone-fueled teenagers when I could be at home binge-watching a show? Easy choice.
The bathroom was so quiet that when my phone vibrated, the sound echoed through the grimy space. I pulled it from my back pocket. A text from Yolanda: "Where are you? It's econs period!!!"
What? I must've been so pissed after the cafeteria incident that I hadn't even heard the bell. I rushed out of the bathroom, grateful I was already on the right floor.
"Well, Miss Zelda, you're late," the tutor said, like she'd been waiting for me.
As I scanned the room for Yolanda, I felt the shift in the air. Everyone was staring.
"Great. He's already ruined my life," I muttered under my breath.
"Here," Yolanda said, moving her pink tote bag off my seat.
I didn't even know the tutor's name. I wasn't exactly a star student in economics—just a consistent 'B'. So how did she know mine? One thing I did know about her: she hated latecomers and noisy phones. Today, I'd broken both rules.
My phone was never on silent. Only three people ever messaged me—Yolanda, Omar, and Mom. And Mom barely had time for her phone at work. So what were these notifications?
I checked my screen. Instagram. New followers. What the hell? Did people think I was a baddie now?
"Would you like to take that?" the tutor asked sarcastically.
I quickly muted the phone and flashed her a fake smile.
"Looks like things are about to change for you," Yolanda teased, letting out a soft laugh.