Chapter 20
Gwen tugged her jacket sleeves down and shifted her weight from foot to foot as she waited near the front office. The secretary had gone off to fetch the new transfer, leaving Gwen awkwardly staring at the pamphlets on the corkboard.
She’d agreed—no, been volunteered—to show the new kid around campus since, as Ms. Darrow put it, “You were new too not that long ago, sweetheart!”
The door opened, and in walked a boy with warm brown skin, a high ponytail, and a too-confident smile. He had a sketchpad under one arm and earbuds dangling around his neck like they were accessories.
“Gwen?” he asked, already knowing.
She blinked. “Yeah. Hi. You’re Elián?”
“Yup. Thanks for doing this. I promise I’m not annoying. Much.”
She let out a tiny, reluctant laugh. “Cool. C’mon, I’ll show you where the non-moldy vending machines are.”
They started walking. Elián kept pace easily, commenting on the way the art murals changed every semester and how much he liked the building’s weird angles. He had opinions about everything, from the lighting in the cafeteria (“atrocious”) to the drama teacher’s posters (“a little too obsessed with Shakespeare’s forehead”).
“You like it here?” he asked, side-eyeing her as they passed the outdoor stage.
Gwen shrugged. “It grows on you. Takes a bit to find your people.”
“Found yours?”
She hesitated. “Maybe.”
They reached the steps outside the ballet studio. Gwen paused, her fingers briefly brushing the door handle.
“You do ballet?” he asked, peeking through the small window. “Didn’t picture that.”
“I do a lot of things people don’t picture,” she said simply.
He smiled again, like he’d just been handed a new mystery to solve. “Cool. I’m guessing you’re not one of the drama kids?”
“I like silence too much.”
“That makes two of us.”
They stood there for a second too long, and Gwen cleared her throat. “Anyway, your dorm’s this way.”
As they turned the corner, she glanced up toward the window next to hers.
Not open. Not yet.
And for some reason, she wanted it to be.
Gwen walked into Physics late. Not dramatically late—just late enough that the bell had already rung and people had started sliding their notebooks out with practiced disinterest.
She scanned the room, half-expecting to see Miles already seated at their usual table in the back.
Yup. There he was. Hoodie on, chin resting in his hand, scribbling something in the margin of his textbook that definitely wasn’t notes.
She started walking toward him when—
“Oh, Gwen?” Mr. Halpern called from the front. “Would you mind showing Elián where to sit?”
Elián. Right. The new kid.
He stood beside Mr. Halpern with that easy confidence again, like being the center of attention didn’t bother him one bit. Gwen could already feel several girls watching him with quiet curiosity.
She gave a tight smile and motioned toward the only open lab table left—right next to Miles’.
“Over here.”
Elián followed and dropped into the seat beside her. “Wow. All the cool kids sit in the back, huh?”
“You’re not automatically one just by proximity,” Gwen deadpanned, though her lips twitched.
Miles looked up then, blinking once, then again. “New kid?”
“Elián,” he replied, extending a hand. “You are?”
“Miles.”
Their handshake was brief. Gwen could practically hear the subtle measuring going on in the silence between them.
Mr. Halpern cleared his throat and launched into a lecture on kinetic energy, but Gwen felt miles away. Literally, because Elián kept leaning toward her when he asked things like “Wait, do you actually get this?” and “Am I supposed to know what an inelastic collision is already?”
She tried to focus. Really. She did.
But every time Elián leaned just a little closer, or said something low and funny in her ear, Gwen didn’t have to look to know Miles was noticing.
And when she laughed?
Well, Miles’ pencil snapped clean in half.
Miles stood by his locker, clutching the slightly crumpled sticky note where he’d scribbled something dumb like “Lunch?” and a tiny doodle of a taco next to it.
Cool. Casual. Friendly. Definitely not desperate.
He spotted Gwen down the hall, weaving her way toward him. She was smiling. Bright, sunny Gwen-smiling. His pulse stuttered.
This was it.
He pushed off the locker and started walking toward her. “Hey, Gwen—”
“Gwen! There you are.”
Elián’s voice sliced through the air like a guillotine, just one step faster than Miles.
The new guy slung an arm—not quite around her, but definitely near her—and grinned. “C’mon, I saved you a spot at lunch. You said you liked pasta, right?”
Gwen blinked, looking between the two of them. Her gaze flicked to Miles for a second, something unreadable flashing across her face.
“Oh—um. Yeah. Sure.” She gave a weak smile, then mouthed a sorry? as Elián gently guided her down the hall.
Miles just stood there.
Sticky note still in hand.
Taco smiling back mockingly.
Ganke and Amaya were already seated when Miles dropped into the seat across from them with all the grace of a wet towel.
“Yo,” Ganke said, half through a bite of sandwich. “You good?”
Miles just slid the sticky note across the table. Ganke squinted at it, then gave a low whistle. “Oof. Cold.”
“Guess who did ask her to lunch,” Amaya said, deadpan.
“Don’t,” Miles muttered.
“No no, guess. Starts with E and ends in lián.”
Miles groaned, dropping his forehead to the table. “Do you think he’s actually into her or just flirting because it’s what he does?”
“Oh, it gets better,” Ganke added, pulling out his phone and flashing something at him. “Amaya just told me he asked her out.”
Miles sat up fast. “Wait, what?”
“Date date,” Amaya clarified. “Saturday. Gwen didn’t say yes yet, but she didn’t say no either.”
Miles just stared.
Then slumped.
Then muttered, “I hate chamistry.”