They walked down the pedestrian lane, their laughter weaving through the morning air. Every few steps, James would stop, turn, and deliver some ridiculous pun with a perfectly straight face—then wait, expectantly, for us to double over. We always did.
Walking beside them, a warmth spread through my chest. The city noise faded into a distant hum, leaving just the rhythm of their footsteps and the echo of their giggles. I found myself slowing down, trying to memorize the way the sunlight caught the edges of their hair, the way Erica's shoulder bumped against mine with every step.
Across the street, the world buzzed on. Students spilled out of minibuses in clusters, their school bags bouncing against their backs, their voices overlapping in excited chaos. A man in a rumpled suit sprinted past, clutching a briefcase, his tie flapping over his shoulder. A group of women huddled by a bus stop, whispering and covering their mouths as they laughed, their eyes crinkling at the corners. But not everyone was smiling. A woman further down the street stared blankly at her phone, her jaw clenched so tight that a tiny muscle twitched beneath her skin. Her fingers gripped the device until her knuckles turned white. I looked away, not wanting to know what news had stolen her morning.
Above us, birds chattered in the canopy of trees, their chirps rising and falling in a rhythm that almost felt intentional. I tilted my head back, squinting up at the sky. A patch of clouds had bunched together into a crooked, lopsided heart. My chest tightened. Don't read into it, I told myself. It's just weather. But the thought lingered, stubborn and unwelcome.
Erica stopped dead at the school gate. Her neck craned forward, her eyes narrowing into sharp slits as she scanned the flood of students pouring through the entrance. She tracked a tall boy in a blue jacket, watched him push his hair back, and her lips parted slightly—like a wolf catching a scent.
"What are you two doing?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Trying to get us arrested on the first day?"
James didn't hear me. He was too busy reenacting the way a pastry chef had drizzled caramel over a doughnut we'd passed three blocks ago. His hands flew through the air, chopping and swirling, demonstrating the exact arc of the glaze. "And then—then—he sprinkled sea salt on top, the audacity," James said, his voice pitching higher. In the span of a minute, he'd name-dropped cinnamon rolls, chocolate croissants, and some mysterious "ube tart" I'd never heard of. I counted seven. Seven desserts, and not a single mention of our first-period class.
Erica, meanwhile, was still locked onto her target—a group of boys now, her gaze sliding from one to the next like she was selecting produce at a market. A flicker of dread crossed my mind for the poor souls in her crosshairs. They had no clue a predator was on the prowl.
My mouth opened, then clicked shut. I blinked, once, twice. What did you even say to these two? One was chasing sugar highs, the other chasing boys. I glanced between them—Erica with her hunter's posture, James with his frosting-stained imagination—and a sigh escaped my lips, carrying all the fond resignation of a decade of friendship.
Of course. These two. Utterly, predictably, wonderfully odd.
I shook my head and turned toward the school gates, the smile on my face refusing to fade. But beneath that warmth, a tiny knot tightened in my stomach.
Maybe today would be beautiful.
Or maybe, I should have left that cloud-heart in the sky where it belonged.