Mom read the letter twice.
She stood by the sink with the envelope in one hand, the pages in the other, eyes skimming, lips pressing together in that way that meant she was concentrating and also maybe counting how many shifts it would cost.
I watched from the table, pretending to be very interested in a toast crumb.
Finally, she nodded once, crisp. “This makes sense,” she said. “Saturday mornings, eight to noon. Transportation provided.” She flicked the edge of the page with a fingernail. “And it’s a preparation for your community service, so it’s not really optional.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Field Studies and Community Engagement. Sounds very…brochure.”
“Ms. Cho says it’ll keep you out of trouble and on track,” Mom said. “I like both of those things.” She looked up, met my eyes. “You should do it.”
Since it was tied to the hours I already owed the city for my little art experiment, it wasn’t really a question. But she was asking anyway.
“I’ll do it,” I said.
She refolded the letter on its original creases, slid it back into the envelope like she was tucking it in. “We’ll set your alarm earlier,” she said. “I’ll make sure you eat before you go.”
That was that. Saturday Club secured.
The campus felt wrong without the noise.
The shuttle pulled up right in front of our building at exactly 7:40, same as a weekday, but the streets were quieter—no backpack herds, no car horns, just an early?morning hush and a trash truck complaining a block over. I climbed in with my backpack and a travel mug of coffee Mom had pressed into my hand, and half an hour later we were rolling through Northbridge’s iron gate.
On weekdays, the place buzzed. Today, it looked like it was holding its breath. Parking lot half?empty, no clumps of kids on the lawn, just a groundskeeper with a leaf blower and a couple of boarders cutting across the quad with that slow, weekend walk.
The shuttle let me off by the main loop. I stepped down, tugged my blazer straight, and immediately spotted Theo.
He was waiting by the sidewalk like he’d been there a while, hands in his pockets, backpack slung over one shoulder. He bounced on the balls of his feet once, like he had extra voltage.
“You made it,” he called, grin already turned up to nine.
“Technically my alarm made it,” I said. “I’m just along for the ride.”
He snorted and fell into step beside me as I walked away from the loop. “Cho said she talked to you,” he said. “Did she do the whole ‘optional but you’d be a fool to skip it’ speech?”
“More or less,” I said. “You seem…weirdly excited about giving up your Saturday.”
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
“It’s the good part,” he said. “The part where you actually get to do something, not just fill out logic puzzles and pretend algebra is enough preparation.”
His excitement was…charming. I hated that word, but it fit. There was an edge to it, too, like he’d had to fight for the chance to be here.
We cut around the side of the gym building, past the glass that looked in on empty courts, and out onto a stretch of field behind it. It wasn’t as manicured as the front lawn—patches of dirt, a few stubborn weeds, the faint smell of cut grass and old sweat from the track nearby.
A cluster of people was already there.
I recognized some immediately. The twins stood together, identical stances, identical navy shorts and gray Northbridge T?shirts, only the little gold bracelets on their wrists telling them apart—Sera’s butterfly, Shara’s rose. Vinh was off to one side, talking quietly with a tall kid I’d seen around the fencing room, his posture straight, hands behind his back like he was already in formation.
A girl with straight black hair down to her hips stood a little apart from everyone, arms at her sides, back very straight. She wore the same T?shirt and shorts, but they somehow looked more formal on her. When she shifted, I noticed the hilt of a sheathed blade at her hip. I knew it was the same deep green as the sword that had carved the Wraith to pieces.
My stomach did a little flip.
Theo noticed my glance. “That’s Lillibet,” he said. “Tenth grade. Don’t let the name fool you.”
Lillibet didn’t smile, didn’t even frown. She just watched the field like it owed her answers, eyes moving in small, efficient sweeps. If Vinh was composed, she made him look chatty.
A boy about my age hovered near the back of the group, arms wrapped around himself even though it wasn’t cold. Fair skin, fair hair that refused to lie flat, pale grey eyes that kept flicking to the edges of the field like he was checking for exits. His T?shirt hung off his frame like he’d grown too fast and it had forgotten to catch up.
“Artem Diduch,” Theo supplied in a lower voice. “He’s in our year.”
Artem’s gaze brushed over us and darted away. Nervous. Unhappy. Like he’d lost a bet to be here.
The rest were older—sophomores and juniors, maybe one senior.
A girl with brown skin and a long dark braid down her back stood with her hands in the pockets of a faded track jacket, bouncing lightly from foot to foot. She had sharp, assessing eyes and a little silver stud in one nostril.
“That’s Maya Singh,” Theo said. “Senior. Track and archery.”
Next to her, a broad?shouldered boy with close?cropped hair and warm brown skin laughed at something Vinh said. He wore a T?shirt that said STATE CHAMPIONSHIP in block letters, half?hidden under his hoodie.
“Luis Castillo,” Theo added. “Soccer and wrestling. Sophomore.”
A girl with light olive skin and a curtain of glossy black hair tucked behind one ear stood a bit away, arms folded, taking everything in. Glasses perched low on her nose; a pencil was jammed behind one ear, even out here.
“Hana Mori,” Theo murmured. “Freshman. Chem genius. Knows way too much about acids.”
Near her, a tall Black boy with a runner’s build stretched his calves against the bleacher, humming under his breath. His T?shirt had a faded band logo; a tiny healing scab marked one cheekbone.
“Jamal Carter. Junior. Cross?country. Also has a weird talent for not dying.”
And leaning against the end of the bleachers with a camera strap slung cross?body was a girl with light skin, freckles, and curly auburn hair piled into a messy bun. She was fiddling with the lens, but her eyes flicked up often, noting everyone’s positions like she was already composing shots.
“Rebecca Feldman,” Theo finished. “Junior. Newspaper and yearbook. You’ll love her when you’re not terrified she’s taking evidence photos.”
“Thank you for the deeply comforting tour,” I muttered.
He grinned.
A shadow passed over us.
This could be your next great read!
