The first thing Y/N noticed was the smell — that same mix of floor wax, old books, and cafeteria food that hadn't changed since 6th grade. Her mom's car idled at the curb, and through the window, the front doors of Sutton Middle School loomed like they'd been waiting for her.

Two years. That's how long it'd been since she'd walked through those doors. Now she was back — not as the shy 6th grader who'd left mid-year, but as an 8th grader with a schedule clutched in her hand and absolutely no idea where room 214 was.

Kids streamed past her on the sidewalk, backpacks swinging, voices loud and overlapping. A group of boys were already arguing about basketball while a girl nearby complained about her first-period math teacher. None of them looked at her twice.

The front doors swung open and a teacher with a security badge waved students inside. A hand touched Y/N's shoulder — her mom, leaning over from the driver's seat.

Her voice was calm, but the way she kept looking at the school said everything. She was worried too.