Unseen Connections

The classroom was tense as Ms. Suzanne Superion paced back and forth at the front, her heels clicking sharply against the floor like a clock counting down to the impending doom of the debate. Ms. Superion was one of those teachers who had zero tolerance for nonsense. No giggling. No texting. No talking during class unless you were called upon. And certainly no distractions.

Her strict demeanor, combined with the intense air of authority she carried with her, meant that the students rarely dared to cross her.

“This,” Ms. Superion began, adjusting her glasses as she straightened her posture, “will be a debate. You will be divided into two groups. One will argue in favor of the motion, the other against. If you choose to speak, you will do so with respect, and you will back up your opinions with facts. I am not here to babysit you.”

A few students exchanged nervous glances. For most of the class, this was a form of mild torture. But not for Ava Silva. Ava sat in the front row, beaming with confidence, ready to take the stage. Chanel, as always, was texting under her desk, while Lilith and Beatrice were, as usual, sitting in the back, hoping to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

“I want to see enthusiasm,” Ms. Superion continued, her eyes narrowing over the rim of her glasses. “And don’t forget—if you choose to not engage, you will receive a deduction in your grade. Now, let’s begin. J.C., you will be in favor of the motion. Michael, you will argue against it.”

J.C., the self-proclaimed "King of Cool," sat up straighter at the sound of his name, his expression lighting up like a Christmas tree. He was always eager to impress anyone—especially Ava.

“Of course, Ms. Superion,” J.C. said, smoothing his hair back in a dramatic gesture, clearly excited to get started. “I’ve got this one in the bag.”

Ava, who had been half-listening, looked up from her notebook and raised an eyebrow. “What’s the motion, Ms. Superion?” she asked, flashing a bright smile. “Do we get to argue about something fun, like, I don’t know, whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza?”

Ms. Superion gave Ava a withering look. “This is a serious debate, Miss Silva. We’re discussing whether society should prioritize individual freedom over collective responsibility.”

Ava raised her hand dramatically, her usual mischievous grin plastered on her face. “In that case, I’m voting for all the freedoms. I mean, who doesn’t want more freedom, right?”

Chanel snorted, trying to hide her laugh by pretending to cough.

Beatrice, seated in the back and currently doing her best to keep a low profile, couldn’t help but roll her eyes. There was Ava, as usual, drawing attention to herself. Nothing new. Beatrice turned her gaze to the window, mentally preparing herself for the inevitable distraction.

“You’ll be debating against individual freedom, Miss Young,” Ms. Superion’s voice rang out, interrupting Beatrice's thoughts.

Beatrice froze. “Wait—what?” she muttered under her breath.

J.C., who had been anxiously waiting for his turn, caught the slight hesitation. “Oh, Beatrice,” he said with a smirk, clearly delighted by the opportunity to annoy her. “You’re going down, aren’t you? Just admit it, freedom’s overrated. You’ll see, it’s a teamwork makes the dreamwork kind of thing.”

Beatrice’s face remained neutral. She wasn’t about to get sucked into one of J.C.’s juvenile antics. But there was something about his smirking, finger-pointing attitude that had begun to grate on her nerves.

“J.C.,” she muttered under her breath, “I’m not even listening.”

“Oh, I bet you’re not,” J.C. replied smugly, leaning back in his chair. “Too busy focusing on your mysteriousness, huh? Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Beatrice resisted the urge to sigh. It was clear that J.C. was trying to get a rise out of her, but there was no way she was going to give him the satisfaction.

“Well, in case you didn’t know, J.C., I’m not actually in your debate,” she said, not looking up from her desk, clearly trying to get him to leave her alone.

But J.C. wasn’t giving up that easily. “Oh, you’re definitely in this debate,” he said, leaning forward in his seat with that annoying grin of his. “You’re just going to sit there like a wallflower, right? Probably because you’re secretly terrified of actually having an opinion. That’s okay though, I get it. I mean, what do you know about freedom anyway?”

Beatrice’s pen tapped irritably against her desk. Okay, that was it. She wasn’t going to let him get away with this.

“Excuse me,” Beatrice said in a voice loud enough for the whole class to hear. “Are you actually trying to debate a serious issue, or are you just trying to make everyone’s life miserable by picking on people who don’t engage with your exhausting attention-seeking routine?”

The room went silent. Everyone, including Ms. Superion, turned to look at Beatrice, who had finally spoken up.

J.C.’s grin faltered for a moment as he took in her words. “What—what do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” Beatrice said, her voice calm but with a sharp edge, “you don’t actually care about freedom or collective responsibility. You just want to make it about you. And since you’re so desperate for attention, I figured I’d stop being polite about it.”

Chanel, sitting up now, gave a low whistle. “Ooooh, Bea! Get him!”

Ava, who had been pretending to read her textbook, couldn’t hold back her laughter. “I think we have a winner here,” she whispered to Chanel.

Beatrice’s eyes stayed locked on J.C.’s, watching him squirm for a moment. The rest of the class seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for his response.

But J.C. wasn’t backing down. “Alright, alright. You want to play this game? Fine,” he said, his tone trying to regain some of its cocky swagger. “If you think freedom’s so overrated, then why don’t you just try giving up your ability to speak your mind—just like that? Let’s see how much you like it.”

Beatrice let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “J.C., no one’s taking away anyone’s right to speak. This isn’t about that. It’s about you trying to make this debate into a show about you. So how about you stop making everything personal and focus on the topic at hand?”

J.C.’s face turned slightly red, but he tried to play it off by looking around the room, feigning nonchalance. “Whatever. It’s not like you have anything interesting to say anyway.”

Beatrice shrugged, turning her attention back to her notebook, her pen twirling between her fingers. “And yet, I’m still making you work harder than you’d like. Guess you’re welcome.”

The class erupted into soft chuckles as J.C. huffed and turned back toward Ms. Superion, his “big” moment deflated.

Ms. Superion, who had watched the entire exchange with a mix of interest and slight annoyance, cleared her throat. “Alright, that’s enough, you two. Focus on the debate, not on each other. J.C., you’re up first. Beatrice, try not to interrupt again.”

Beatrice, feeling a rare sense of satisfaction, gave J.C. one last look, then sat back in her chair. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she muttered under her breath.

Ava leaned over to Chanel. “You know, I’m starting to think Beatrice could give J.C. a run for his money in the attention game.”

Chanel grinned. “Bea’s like a ninja. She doesn’t need to be loud to win.”

Beatrice couldn’t help but smile, her own quiet victory playing out in the background while the rest of the class returned to the debate. For once, being invisible had worked in her favor.

The cafeteria at St. Lucia High was buzzing with the usual lunchtime chaos. The tables were a mix of cliques, each group claiming their territory with unspoken rules about where you could sit and who could join. Ava, Chanel, and Camila had claimed their usual spot by the windows, with the best view of the courtyard and the least amount of direct sunlight hitting their faces.

Ava, as usual, was the center of attention, regaling her friends with the latest gossip about someone (whose name she’d conveniently forgotten) who had "accidentally" sent her a text meant for someone else. Chanel was nodding along, looking at her phone with only half an ear on Ava’s story, while Camila chewed on her sandwich, offering the occasional chuckle.

“So, like, this guy literally texted me saying he thought I was, and I quote, ‘the most beautiful thing on the planet,’” Ava said dramatically, holding her sandwich up like a prop. “I mean, who does that? I’m just here trying to enjoy my lunch and this poor guy’s sending me feelings.”

Chanel raised an eyebrow. “Did you even reply?”

Ava shrugged, clearly enjoying her own drama. “Of course not. Who needs to deal with that kind of chaos? But I might—might—send a very casual reply to let him know that someone could learn some subtlety.”

Camila snorted, amused but not surprised. “You’re incorrigible, Ava.”

Just then, Beatrice entered the cafeteria. She didn’t make a scene. She never did. She slipped in quietly, grabbing her tray, and instinctively moved toward the far corner of the room, where she usually sat by herself—far from the noise, the drama, and the overwhelming presence of… well, everyone else.

Ava, who had been looking around the room to see if anyone had noticed her latest conquest, spotted Beatrice from across the cafeteria. Her eyes widened slightly, her curiosity piqued. It wasn’t so much that she had never seen Beatrice before—it was more like she had never really noticed Beatrice before.

“Hey,” Ava said, nudging Chanel with her elbow. “Is that… Beatrice?”

Chanel looked up, her lips curling into a smirk. “Yep. That’s her. The girl who silently shut J.C. down in front of the whole class.”

“Yup. Beatrice totally roasted him during the debate,” Chanel said, eyes gleaming. “It was amazing. The whole class was lowkey shook.”

Ava leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Well, I’ll be. She’s got some bite, huh?”

Beatrice, meanwhile, was completely oblivious to the growing attention. She’d already found her corner of the cafeteria, the quietest, least populated area, and she was quietly unwrapping her lunch. There were no dramatic stares, no grand entrances—just Beatrice in her element. She liked it that way.

But today, things were different. People had started talking. And Ava Silva, the ever-curious queen bee, was now definitely looking at her.

“You think she’ll come over here?” Camila asked, watching Ava’s eyes flicker back and forth between Beatrice and their table.

Ava pursed her lips. “I don’t know. Should I go over and, like, congratulate her for being a total boss during the debate? Is that… too much?”

Chanel rolled her eyes. “Ava, please. You don’t even know how to congratulate someone without making it sound like you’re running for office.”

“I do not sound like that,” Ava replied, her voice slightly offended. Then she brightened. “Okay, maybe a little. But it’s my charm.”

Chanel deadpanned. “Yeah, sure. ‘Charm.’”

“Alright, alright,” Ava said, giving Chanel a playful shove. “I’ll keep it subtle. Let’s see if Beatrice can handle a little... complimenting from the one and only Ava Silva.”

Meanwhile, Beatrice was happily munching on her lunch, tuning out the noise of the cafeteria. She didn’t want to make waves. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She wasn’t interested in the drama Ava Silva was likely stirring up, as usual. She was more than content to stay invisible and continue enjoying her lunch in peace.

But as she reached for her apple, she heard a voice from across the room. “Hey, Beatrice! Can I join you?”

Beatrice froze mid-bite, her eyes flicking over to see Ava standing there with a cheerful, slightly too-perfect smile plastered on her face.

Beatrice blinked. “Uh… what?”

Ava leaned casually against the back of Beatrice’s chair, looking way too relaxed for someone who was absolutely not about to invade someone else’s lunch. “I just wanted to say, that whole debate thing? You totally crushed J.C. today. That was epic. I mean, I thought he’d have a little more confidence, but you really showed him what’s what.”

Beatrice, still a little stunned that Ava was standing here in the first place, raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you were such a big fan of public humiliation, Ava. I thought you’d be the one giving out the humiliations instead of taking notes.”

Ava laughed, clearly pleased with the fact that Beatrice was actually talking to her. “Oh, come on. I’m all about keeping the peace. But, seriously, you were on fire today. Unstoppable.”

Beatrice glanced over at her lunch, then back at Ava, who was clearly not going to leave her alone until she acknowledged her. She sighed. “It wasn’t that big of a deal, Ava. And, you know, just J.C. being, well... J.C.”

“Still, though,” Ava said, sitting down across from Beatrice. “You’ve got skills. No one expected that from the ‘quiet girl in the back.’”

Beatrice rolled her eyes, but this time, it wasn’t in annoyance. There was something almost charming about Ava’s relentless attention-seeking attitude.

“Alright, alright, enough with the praise,” Beatrice said, breaking into a grin. “I’m not in the mood for your fan club, Silva.”

Ava shrugged, but her smile never faltered. “Hey, I’m just saying, you’re cooler than I thought. I kind of like that you don’t care about fitting in.”

Beatrice leaned back in her chair. “I don’t care about fitting in because fitting in is overrated. Besides, I’m more of a solo act, you know?”

Ava raised an eyebrow. “I bet. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Just then, Chanel leaned over from her seat and, with her usual flair for drama, called out, “So, Beatrice—you gonna join us for the next debate? Ava might need a team member. She’s... slightly losing her edge in the debates.”

Beatrice smirked. “I think Ava’s doing just fine. I’ll just sit this one out... for now.”

Ava laughed, clearly enjoying the banter. “Alright, I see how it is. But next time, you might not be able to escape my charm.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes again, but this time, it was more out of amusement than annoyance. “I think I’ll manage.”

As Ava and Chanel continued talking, Beatrice returned to her lunch, still trying to keep a low profile. But it was clear now: she was no longer invisible. And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, the attention was... kind of funny.