Nancy Wheeler weaved through the crowd, her bookbag slung over one shoulder. She stopped in front of Y/n, smiling expectantly.

Before Y/n could answer, a familiar, slightly frantic voice cut through the noise.

Dustin skidded to a halt beside them, his curly hair bouncing. He was breathing a little hard, like he’d been running.

He avoided looking directly at Y/n, his eyes darting toward the exit doors at the end of the hall. It was the same terrible, transparent lying he’d been doing for weeks.

He didn’t wait for an answer, turning and hurrying back the way he came, nearly colliding with a trash can.

She lowered her voice, leaning in slightly.

The crowd began to thin, leaving the hallway echoing and empty. From the far end, near the gym doors, a figure appeared—tall, familiar, running a hand through his hair.