hawkins high loomed ahead, all brick and fluorescent lighting and the faint smell of overcooked cafeteria pizza that somehow managed to seep through the walls. another semester. the last one. the countdown to graduation had officially begun, and with it, the countdown to every single thing that mattered.

you spotted your group immediately. they were exactly where they always were, huddled by the same rusted rail near the front steps, like the universe had a designated spot for them and refused to let them move.

someone wolf-whistled from across the lot. you didn't have to look to know it was tommy hagan. he was always whistling at something. mostly girls. sometimes pigeons. once, allegedly, a fire hydrant.

the first bell rang, sharp and unforgiving, and the group started shuffling toward the doors. chloe fell into step beside you, her shoulder brushing yours.