At home
Samuel stepped into the house, dropped his bag like it had personally wronged him, and just stood there for a second, mentally fried.
The entire day had been a loop of introductions. Class after class, same lines. Hi, I'm Samuel. Just moved here. From the LA forrest. No, I don't play basketball. Yes, I'm tall. He had zoned out for most of them, running on autopilot, until one moment finally pulled him out of it.
It wasn't until the third class that he finally tuned in. The room had no windows, which somehow made it harder to mentally drift, and for once he actually listened when people introduced themselves. That's when he heard it: "I'm Alex Dunphy. I like playing the cello, and I've lived twenty minutes away my whole life." He blinked, attention snapping into focus. She was sitting just a few desks away from him, calm and composed like this was the most normal thing in the world. And somehow, he hadn't noticed her until just now. He felt a flush of secondhand embarrassment creep in—after circling her house three times like a total weirdo that morning, the fact that it took her speaking for him to realize she was in the same room? Yeah. Not great.
And just when he thought the day couldn't get weirder, his brain decided to start playing a game of "Spot the Celebrity."
At first, he thought he was just tired. A guy from Outer Banks brushed past him in the hallway, and Samuel instinctively turned to look again, convinced his brain was messing with him. Then, in his next class, one of the guys from Euphoria sat two rows ahead of him, flipping through notes like none of this was strange.
He even saw actors he knew were from the UK or Australia, now sounding like they grew up in Southern California. No accents. No slips. Just perfect American high school diction, like they'd never starred in a press junket overseas. He wasn't sure if it was creepy or impressive.
By the time he saw his fifteenth familiar face, he gave up trying to match them to shows. At first, he'd tried. That guy's from that doctor show. She's definitely from that one where a hundred teenagers get sent to Earth after a nuclear war. And wasn't he the guy who played the Flash in the movies and got an ego power trip halfway through production? But eventually, they all blurred together.
He stopped seeing them as actors or characters. Here, they weren't famous. They weren't anything but kids—walking the halls, trading jokes, slumping in chairs like this was just another Monday. Whatever they used to be didn't seem to follow them here.
He hadn't spoken to anyone yet. Just watched. Studied. Tried to figure out how to play this right. First high school had been a blur of doing things the "normal" way. This time, he wasn't sure what normal even looked like—or if he wanted to follow it.
"First day was that bad, huh?"
Samuel hadn't even noticed Michael there. His head was still leaning against the front door, and his backpack sat untouched at his feet. Michael's voice came from the kitchen—calm, amused, and just a little too observant.
Samuel groaned softly and turned just enough to give a tired shrug. "It was a lot of... people. Yeah. But like... a lot of beautiful people. It's like everyone in that school looks like they should be in movies."
Michael didn't say anything right away, but he thought to himself, Well… you haven't exactly seen that many people yet.
Samuel ignored the silence and finally dragged himself to the couch, letting his body collapse into it like gravity had doubled. He didn't want to talk, think, or move.
Tomorrow was a school day again. That was fine. He could manage that. But tomorrow night the night of his birthday? That was the spin.
The wheel.
His birthday was almost here.
And whatever came with it… well, he wasn't ready. Not even close.
Meanwhile, at the Dunphy house…
Alex had been awake for a while, lying on her side in bed with her book open and her head night light still clipped to her headboard, casting a soft glow over the page. She hadn't turned a page in a while. Haley was asleep in the other bed, buried under a pillow with one leg sticking out like she'd escaped a tornado and given up halfway through.
Alex's thoughts weren't on her book. They were still stuck on him.
Samuel. The new guy. He'd only spoken once—during his introduction—and that was it. Nothing more. No follow-up chatter, no small talk. Just one short line and silence. Meanwhile, everyone around him was whispering. Who's he? Where's he from? Did you see how tall he is?
Some girls were obsessing over his eyes—"Did you see how green they are? Like, unnaturally green." Others were more into his hair—"That messy blonde thing? Ugh, it's so not fair." The kind of conversations that bounced around lockers and water fountains like static noise.
And while they talked about him, he didn't seem to notice—or care. What stood out more was how he occasionally looked… surprised. Not at someone talking to him or saying his name, but at random people across the room. He'd stare for a second too long, like something had just clicked in his head, then quickly look away, eyebrows slightly drawn, lost in thought. It was like he kept spotting familiar faces but couldn't place where he'd seen them before.
He wasn't nervous. He was quiet, but focused. Like he was trying to figure something out—not in a confused way, but in a calculated one.
Across the room, Haley groaned and pulled the pillow tighter over her head. "Ugh… why is it so bright? Turn off your nerd lamp."
Alex glanced toward her head night light, still on, still glowing softly. She didn't respond. She just reached up, clicked it off, and laid back in silence.
The room fell quiet again, except for the occasional rustle of Haley shifting under her blanket.
Alex stared at the ceiling. He's a mystery, she thought, and now I can't stop noticing him.
At School
Samuel rolled up to the bike rack and locked it slowly, letting the extra seconds buy him a bit more quiet. He stared at the school entrance, remembering the calm of his homeschooling days—learning at his own pace, no hallway chatter, no awkward introductions, no constant hum of teenage energy. Back then, school had been a space, not a performance.
He stepped inside. The noise was the same as yesterday, but today, people weren't wandering—they were moving with purpose. First period was about to start.
A couple of heads turned. One girl nudged her friend and whispered something with a smirk. He didn't catch the words, but he knew that look—people were talking about him.
He walked to his locker, opened it, grabbed the schedule he'd folded into quarters, and double-checked the room number. Today the real classes began. No more introductions, no more first-day blur. Teachers would be teaching. Students would be watching—some more than others.
He closed his locker and headed toward his first class of the day: Social Studies.
Room 204 wasn't far, but the hallway was starting to thicken with students. People moved faster now—less wandering, more slipping into familiar routines. Samuel kept his pace steady, eyes forward. He didn't need to check the signs twice.
The classroom was already half full when he stepped inside. Rows of desks, a whiteboard, a world map on the wall—everything looked standard. Normal. But that was the thing. Too normal, like it had been staged for a show about school.
He took an empty seat near the window and didn't look around right away. The teacher wasn't there yet. Just low conversation, zippers opening, chairs dragging. He unfolded his schedule again, even though he'd memorized it last night. Just something to do with his hands.
A few more students trickled in. One of them glanced at him, elbowed a friend, and whispered something. He pretended not to notice.
Then the classroom door opened, and the teacher walked in. Older, blazer, glasses, and a voice that sounded like he'd been talking about civilizations since they were current events.
"Alright," the man said, setting his coffee down on the desk. "Let's get started. First official day. Welcome to Social Studies. And yes—before anyone asks—this is the class where we actually talk about history."
Samuel was highly disappointed when they started talking about the American Revolution. The names were the same. The events were the same. No different plots, no weird additions, no bizarre TV-world twists. Just history. Normal, textbook, paint-drying history.
So he zoned out.
When he came out of it, the classroom was buzzing, and the teacher was raising his voice just enough to be heard over the noise.
"So who doesn't have a group yet for this project?"
Me, he thought, blinking. Well, I didn't even know we had to make a group until five seconds ago. He raised his hand.
He saw three other people raise their hands across the room—two near the back, one closer to the middle. Before anyone could speak, the teacher clapped his hands and pointed.
"Well, that fits perfectly. You four—form a group."
Group projects had always been a gamble. This one felt rigged from the start.
Samuel stood up slowly, trying to get a look at the others while also pretending he didn't care. In truth, he recognized them almost instantly—well, one of them for real.
Alex Dunphy.
They'd had dinner together the day after he moved in, her family full of noise and stories. He hadn't said much, and neither had she. Just enough to be polite. Nothing that really counted.
The guy at the back was harder to miss. He looked younger than he had in the pilot of Teen Wolf, maybe 14 at most, but Samuel knew that face. Knew the sarcasm in it, the quiet energy behind the eyes. His name here was the same as the actor's—Dylan O'Brien. No one else seemed to think that was strange.
The girl, Victoria, looked about 15. Her name had been called once in class already, and that had stuck. He recognized her too—not from just one show, but from a string of them, all from that one network. The one with the overly colorful sets, the weird canned laughter, and the producer Samuel remembered reading way too much about. The feet guy. Truly a horrible man—creepy, manipulative, and somehow protected by an entire industry that pretended not to see it.
Her name here was Victoria. That matched. He was pretty sure her real name was Victoria too, though he couldn't remember if the last name was Justice or if that was just a weird coincidence.
Of course this was his group.
---
Dylan grinned. "Okay, fair."
The silence that followed was thinner now, less awkward—but still hanging.
Victoria broke it first, sliding her chair forward like she was done waiting.
"Hi," she said with a small smile. "My name's Victoria Justice, and I want to become a singer."
That's what clicked for him. Singer.
Not the name. Not even the face. But the dream—that same overly packaged music industry dream she had back in the world he remembered. He saw it now: the press junkets, the staged performances, the carefully framed smiles. It all lined up. Of course she wanted to be a singer. Of course she was here.
Alex didn't react to the name. She stayed quiet, her eyes still moving between the three of them. Samuel could see the gears turning. She was analyzing—figuring out if this was a group that would actually do the work. Her glance at Dylan lingered just long enough to say she didn't trust him, and when it passed over Samuel, it held something else. Not suspicion. Just… questions.
He wasn't sure what she saw in him.
And he wasn't sure she'd decided yet.
Samuel cleared his throat. "Hi, I'm Samuel," he said, then added, "but you can call me Sam."
He paused, then said it. "I just moved here. And… I'm turning twelve tomorrow."
That landed differently.
Even before he looked up, he felt the shift. Victoria's eyebrows lifted just a bit. Dylan tilted his head like he was trying to do the math. And Alex—her eyes narrowed slightly, like she hadn't been expecting that answer at all.
He was younger. Not by much, but enough to register.
Most kids his age weren't in this grade. Most weren't this tall. Most didn't end up in group projects with actors and overachievers.
But here he was.
Dylan squinted at him. "So wait, you're twelve and just casually... here?"
Samuel gave a tired shrug. "Homeschooled kid. Got dropped into real school because my uncle thought I needed to socialize or whatever. Took placement tests, scored high."
He looked away, his mind drifting. It's just… my brain works different now. Ever since— he stopped himself. Anyway, I've got Sam Winchester's brain now. I absorb stuff, remember it, and it sticks. If it wasn't for that, I'd probably still be at home avoiding school altogether.
As the group began to divide tasks, the chatter shifted back to the project. Dylan was the first to speak up.
"Pirates," Dylan said with a grin, eyes lighting up. "We're doing this project on pirates, right? But not the boring stuff. Let's dig into the Golden Age—around 1710, when pirates like Blackbeard and Long John Silver were actually running things."
Samuel paused, considering the suggestion. Pirates. Yeah, that could be a good idea.
"Yeah, that could work," Samuel said, nodding thoughtfully. "We could focus on the Golden Age of Pirates around 1710, maybe even the pirate havens like Nassau. We could talk about the big names, but also the ones who never made it into the textbooks. The behind-the-scenes stuff."
Dylan grinned. "Exactly. The whole survival aspect, the alliances, the ships—make it feel less like a history lesson and more like a story. Guys like Long John Silver, too. Everyone knows the name, but not the story behind him."
Samuel thought for a moment. If Dylan only knew the full story about Long John Silver, he'd probably be devastated. The guy was mostly made up by Billy Jones to scare pirates into joining his fight. A myth created to rally the crew, but now people treat him like he was some legendary pirate.
Samuel couldn't help but smile. This wasn't so bad after all. He liked the direction the project was taking—mixing fact with legend, making history something more engaging. It wasn't just about fitting in anymore. For the first time, he was starting to enjoy working with this group.
And for once, it didn't feel like he was just faking it. Like he had something to offer. Maybe he could fit in here. The thought was fleeting, but it stuck with him as he pulled out his notebook and started scribbling down ideas. The awkwardness from earlier had started to fade, and even though he was still figuring things out, he felt a strange sense of relief.
To his surprise, Dylan was surprisingly chill—not the chaotic mess he expected, but actually focused when it counted. Victoria was truly passionate about the project, her ideas sharp and organized, and she wasn't afraid to push things further. Alex, well, she was just Alex—quiet, calculating, but she kept everything running smoothly without saying much.
The rest of the classes went by in a blur, and none of them felt like this one. The group project had been the highlight of his day—strangely enjoyable in a way he hadn't anticipated. But as the bell rang and the school day came to a close, a new sense of anticipation crept in.
.
But as the school day ended and he packed up, the relief didn't last long.
When he stepped inside his house, he knew what was coming. His birthday was tomorrow, but tonight—tonight was the night of the gacha spin.
He dropped his bag by the door, but the exhaustion of the day felt different tonight. The weight of what was coming hit him harder than it had before. Tomorrow was just another day of school, another round of introductions. But tonight? Tonight, the wheel would spin again, and he had no idea what it would give him this time.
He collapsed on the couch, his body sinking into the cushions. Tomorrow, he'd turn twelve—but tonight, everything else felt like it could change. He could feel the pull of the wheel, the anticipation of what would happen. His mind raced, even as his body begged for rest.
"Please, no Dexter traits," he muttered, a nervous chuckle escaping. "I don't need a dark passenger, lurking in my mind, making me think everyone's a target. Not exactly the birthday gift I'm hoping for."
He wasn't ready. Not by a long shot. But the wheel was coming. Tonight.