The return to Everlin felt almost surreal. Callum stood in the faculty hallway, a framed certificate tucked under his arm from the district math contest where Nate had taken first place. It was a quiet triumph—one that came with polite applause, claps on the back, and more attention than he liked.
The school hallway was alive with its usual post-lunch shuffle. Students drifted past in pairs or small clusters, chatting, giggling, some dragging their feet to their next class while others practically ran to avoid a tardy slip. Callum adjusted the strap on his bag and forced a polite smile to every teacher who passed him.
"Mr. Hayes, congrats again!" Allen said, handing him a styrofoam cup of coffee as he passed by the teachers' lounge.
"Thanks," he murmured, grateful for the caffeine more than the praise.
"You're really putting our department on the map," Mr. Rodriguez added with a toothy grin. "Two first-place wins in a row? You better not leave us."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
Ms. Kim brushed past him near the copy machine, her perfume just strong enough to catch. "So," she said with a lopsided smile, "math hero and still single? Let's celebrate sometime. Drinks?"
He chuckled awkwardly. "I've got stacks of notebooks to get through, but thanks."
It was easier to duck into his classroom than continue that conversation. He closed the door and exhaled deeply, letting the familiar smell of whiteboard markers and dusty bookshelves settle him. The room was a quiet sanctuary, dim sunlight spilling through the blinds and illuminating floating specks of dust in the air.
By the time first period rolled around, the class was buzzing with lazy energy. He stood at the front, tapping the board with the back of his marker.
"Alright. Before anything else, we're giving a big round of applause to Nate," he said, glancing to where Nate sat, still sleepy. "District champ. And he only got nosebleeds in half the practice sessions."
The class laughed. Nate turned red.
"Seriously, though. Good job. And thank you to the rest of you for listening to me rant about math for the last month. You're all honorary nerds now. Sorry, no takebacks."
More laughter.
"And all of you listened to me drone on about factorials," Callum said with a grin. "So really, you deserve an honorary medal for endurance."
Snickers echoed around the room.
After the school lessons, bell rang, students funneled out one by one. Shouts of "Congrats, sir!" and "Later, teach!" trailed as backpacks swayed and sneakers squeaked against the floor tiles.
Except her.
Again.
She didn't move. Just stayed seated, earbuds in, head gently bobbing to the beat. Her fingers traced something invisible on her desk, the pad of her thumb running over her knuckle. He pretended to shuffle papers, but he felt her presence like a second heartbeat.
"Lara," he said, glancing up. "You should head home. Class is over."
She looked up and pulled one earbud out. "I know. I just wanted to finish this song."
He arched a brow. "Every time you stay, I get closer to sending a note home about loitering."
She stood, walked slowly toward him. "It's just... this song. Want to hear it?"
Before he could answer, she offered the dangling earbud.
He hesitated, then leaned in.
A familiar acoustic guitar riff filled his right ear. Then a voice—low, raspy, almost broken in tone.
He blinked. He knew this.
"This is—"
"Somber South," she said, eyes glittering with quiet mischief. "They didn't get famous. Only one album, then disappeared."
"I used to listen to them," he muttered, a mix of awe and unease crawling through him. "They never made it big. How do you even—do you know the singer or something?"
She shook her head. "Just something I listened to years ago."
Callum blinked. That didn't track. This band wasn't on Spotify until recently. And no one in her generation—hell, no one in his own circles—ever talked about Somber South. It had been a thing only he had quietly obsessed over in high school.
He swallowed. "Where'd you hear it?"
A beat of silence. Then: "A hot classmate of mine. In Halemont High. He played it over and over. So I did what girls do." She gave him a sly smile. "I copied the crush."
That smile lingered like perfume.
She turned before he could respond, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "See you tomorrow, sir."
The door clicked softly behind her.
Callum stood in stunned silence.
He should've felt disturbed.
First his photo. Now his favorite obscure band.
It couldn't be—could it?
He rubbed his jaw. A quiet dread curled in his chest.
Was this coincidence?
Or was he starting to drown in a story where the ending wasn't his to write?
And what unsettled him more—her mysterious familiarity with things no student should know? Or the strange jealousy prickling under his skin at the thought of her once having a crush on someone else from Halemont High?
He didn't know what to be more bothered by.