09/04: Head inside for homeroom

The double doors of Northwood High swing open and the noise and stuffy air hit you immediately. The main hallway is a chaotic mess of students, a crush of bright backpacks and nervous energy. It smells exactly like you remember: floor wax and cheap body spray. It's so overwhelming you almost turn around and leave. You feel like a time traveler in a place that used to be home.

Clutching your backpack strap, you let the crowd push you toward the homeroom lists taped to the wall by the office. You scan the papers, your finger moving down the names until you find yours. Room 204. Mr. Henderson. You feel a flicker of nostalgia; Henderson was a technology teacher who was about to retire and used homeroom to read the newspaper. A safe place. Perfect.

Room 204 is already half-full. You slip inside, your eyes scanning the room and cataloging faces just like the app cataloged their stats. And then you see them. Your only friends from your past and current lives.

Aaron is sitting on a desk, laughing and telling a story to a couple of guys from the soccer team. He looks the same—tightly cropped black hair, a friendly face, and an easygoing posture that always made people like him. He sees you and breaks into a wide grin.

"Hey! There he is! Thought you might've slept through the first day," he calls out, hopping off the desk to meet you. He claps you on the shoulder. "How was summer, man? You totally ghosted on that last beach trip."

"It was fine. Just family stuff," you lie. The excuse feels old. In your first life, you spent the last week of summer in your room while Jenna and Aaron went down the shore. This time, knowing the future, you did the exact same thing. Old habits die hard.

"Ah, bummer," Aaron says, believing you instantly. "Well, you didn't miss much. Spent most of it playing wing-man for Jenna. Anyway, you get your schedule? I'm stuck with Euclid for Pre-calc first period. Pray for me."

Before you can answer, another voice cuts in. "Don't listen to him, he's just being dramatic." Jenna slides into view. Her hair is a chaotic masterpiece of dyed purple and black, and her lips are painted a dark, dramatic shade. She’s wearing a tight black top that does absolutely nothing to hide her generous breasts, and the dark clothes make her pale skin seem even whiter. She gives you a slow, mischievous grin. "Hey, you."

"Hey, Jenna," you manage, your own smile feeling stiff on your face. Looking at her is different now. In your first life, she was just Jenna, your best friend who happened to dress like she was going to a rock concert every day. Sure, she offered to take your virginity every year, but you thought she was just being Jenna. You never thought much of it.

But now, with the app's high score burned into your memory, you see everything you were blind to before. You notice the way her dark lipstick pulls into a smirk that seems meant just for you. The way she's looking at you isn't just friendly; there's a heat in her gaze, a playful challenge you never saw before.

She leans in a little closer, placing a hand on your arm. Her touch is surprisingly warm through your sleeve. "How was your summer?" she asks, her voice a little lower now. "I missed you."

"It was quiet," you say, acutely aware of her fingers. You try to steer the conversation back to something normal. "Ready for senior year?"

She squeezes your arm lightly before letting go, and her dark lips curve into a grin. "Ready to cause some trouble," she says. "It's senior year. We're supposed to go out with a bang, right?"

The way she says "bang" hangs in the air between you, and the pause that follows is loaded with meaning. This is what feels so strange. It's not just the knowledge of your past life that separates you; it's seeing the girl who was your best friend as a woman. The realization creates a new kind of wall, one made of unspoken attraction and a sudden, unnerving possibility.