Hallways humming with noise, lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking against waxed floors. The same faces, the same walls—but something feels different this year. Lighter, almost.

Clay Jensen stands by his locker, arms crossed, watching the crowd with a steadiness that didn't used to be there. Justin Foley leans against the wall beside him, scrolling through his phone.

A few feet away, Zach Dempsey approaches with two coffee cups, shoving one toward Clay.

And then—a flash of blonde hair at the main entrance. A laugh that cuts through the noise like sunlight through clouds.