Field Notes: On Discipline, Deadlines, and People Who Talk Too Much at Lunch

  Naomi Park watched the new boy arrive from her bedroom window the day before.

  He stepped out of the car with hunched shoulders and a box tucked under one arm like he didn’t want anyone to notice him—which was, of course, impossible. New people in Mount Pleasant stuck out. Especially ones who moved into the basement suite next door.

  She’d taken a mental inventory: middle-class car, parents seemed normal, possibly nice, no signs of chaos or clutter—a hopeful indicator.

  Then she saw the boy’s backpack. Anime pins. The kind that came in bulk.

  She sighed and turned away.

  The next morning, Naomi woke at 6:55, exactly five minutes before her alarm.

  Her room was neat and quiet. Desk clear, bed made. Her schedule sat on a clipboard by the closet door: school, reading block, group project check-in, math study hour. She reviewed it automatically.

  She pulled open the bottom drawer of her nightstand. Inside, beneath a layer of folded scarves and an emergency sewing kit, lived a collection that no one knew about.

  A chipped Heart Kreuz pendant from Fairy Tail. A Sailor Mercury wand keychain, paint faded. A Tomoyo camcorder charm from Cardcaptor Sakura. Tokyo Mew Mew stickers, a still-packaged Madoka soul gem pin, and a bent Princess Tutu postcard.

  She picked up the pendant, rolled it in her palm. For a moment, her fingers hovered over the necklace clasp.

  Then she put it back.

  She dressed quickly: a repurposed button-up shirt from her brother’s college pile, sleeves rolled just right; charcoal jeans, neat and unfaded; clean sneakers, scrubbed until the soles looked new. Functional. Academic. Sharp.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Her closet wasn’t exactly built for fashion. Most of it came from Lucas—carefully chosen for him, passed down to her when he outgrew it.

  But Naomi made it work.

  Tomoyo-chan had taught her that style wasn’t about having the perfect outfit—it was about making what you had look like it was meant for you.

  Before she left the room, she stood in front of the mirror.

  She adjusted her collar.

  Then lifted her arm—just slightly. A flick of the wrist, a pivot of the heel.

  The final beat of a magical girl transformation pose.

  She caught herself in the mirror. Frowned.

  “Ridiculous,” she muttered.

  But she didn’t roll her eyes.

  Naomi walked to school with precise timing. The crosswalk turned green as she reached it. The bus pulled away just before she passed the stop.

  She liked when the world cooperated.

  At school, she sat with the high-achievers. Not her friends—not really. They were teammates. GPA allies.

  She ate lunch while reviewing flashcards. The group next to hers was talking about video games. The group behind her was talking about crushes.

  She didn’t join either conversation.

  Naomi noticed the new boy once. He sat alone, hunched over a sketchpad. He didn’t look sad, just… outside the frame. Like he knew he didn’t belong in the picture.

  She looked away before he noticed.

  After school, walking home, Naomi passed the duplex and paused.

  Something rattled.

  Just for a moment.

  A single windowpane on the basement side, shivering in its frame like it had caught the edge of a breeze that didn’t exist.

  She stared.

  Then shook her head and kept walking.

  There was homework to do. And that boy—whoever he was—was not her problem.

  She told herself that twice more before she finished her walk home.