When the Sun Finds You

Chapter One---- Things I Don't Talk About

(Mia--- Present Day)

Senior year was supposed to feel bigger.

Everyone said it would hit me on the first day---the excitement, the nostalgia, the

everything--but all I feel as I stand in front of my locker is... tired. Not physically. Just tired

in that deep, quiet way that sits in your bones.

I blame last spring.

Everyone else does too.

The hallway is buzzing with first-day energy. People hugging, shrieking, comparing

schedules. I try to slide through unnoticed, the way I practiced all summer. Hood up.

Headphones in. Eyes down.

No one needs to see me.

Not after everything.

I finally get my locker open. A miracle. Inside is exactly what I felt: a crumpled flyer for last

year's art show, a dried-out marker, and a corner of tape from where Ava and I stuck

Polaroids before... well. Before we weren't "Ava and Mia" anymore.

Her laugh echoes down the hallway now---loud, confident, everything mine isn't anymore.

I don't look at her. I don't even let myself glance. That's rule number one:

Do not look at Ava Tran.

Rule number Two:

Do not think about Luca Rivera.

Not that thinking about him does any good. He's gone---literally. Moved two years ago.

Disappeared from my life like someone ripped a page out of a book and pretended the

tears marks weren't still there.

And yeah, I still feel it sometimes.

The missing.

But that's why I made rules this year. I'm focused on passing my classes, keeping to myself,

and avoiding disaster.

I shove my notebook into my bag and start toward first peariod. I'm halfway down the hall

when someone calls my name.

"Mia! Hey--- wait up!"

I freeze. Only one person still talks to me with that much enthusiasm.

Eli.

He jogs up to me, glasses slightly crooked, hair the same messy curls he's had since

middle school. He's probably one of the last people who still treats me like I'm not

radioactive.

"You ditched our group chat for, like, three whole months," he says. "I was starting to think

you ran away to join a monastery."

"Almost did," I say.

He laughs, nudging me. "So how are you? Really."

I adjust my backpack strap. "Fine."

He gives me that look---the one says he knows I'm lying but won't push. That's why

we're still friends.

We walk toward class together. People stare--not long, just long enough for me to notice.

The memory of last spring hangs around me like smoke. I wish it would disappear already.

When we step into homeroom, the air shifts. Not dramatically. Just enough for the hairs on

my arms to lift. A weird feeling, like the universe is holding its breath.

Eli slides into the seat beside me. "You good?" he asks.

"Yeah," I lie. Again.

Our teacher starts droning about senior year expectations, but I'm barely listening. My

mind keeps wandering---toward the past, toward things I shouldn't miss.

Toward a boy who made summer feel endless and safe.

The one who vanished.

I stare down at my blank notebook page, twirling my pen. I shouldn't still be thinking

about Luca. Or Ava. Or what everyone whispers when they think I can't hear.

This year was suposed to be different.

Quiet.

Simple.

Normal.

But deep down, in the place I don't talk about, something tells me the quiet won't last.

Something always comes back eventually.

Even the things you're not ready for.

The second the thought crossess my mind, the classroom door swings open.

Not dramatically. Not in a movie-slow kind of way. Just a normal push of a door that

shouldn't mean anything.

But my heart jumps anyway---like it's bracing for something I didn't ask for.

It's only Mr. Dalton, carrying a stack of papers and a coffee that's already sloshing over the

rin. He mutters something about "first-day chaos," and everyone laughs.

Everyone except me.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding."

God, I'm jumpy. Too jumpy.

"Hey," Eli whispers, leaning closer. "You sure you're okay?"

No.

Not even a little.

But I nod anyway. "Just tired."

The lie sits between us like a fog neither of us knows how to clear.

Mr. Dalton hands out schedules, and mine lands on my desk like a verdict.

English--- Mrs. Hayes

Art II--- Wilson

Pre-Clac--- Hale

Lunch--- C

History---- Ruiz

Chemistry--- Lab 2

Study Hall--- Gym Balcony

The same routes. The same halls. The same people who know too much about me.

I swallowed hard.

Art II makes my chest ache the most. Last year, Ava and I took Art together. Sat at the

same table. Laughed until we couldn't breathe. Plotted stupid projects we never finished.

Before everything cracked down the middle.

Eli peeks at my schedule. "We've got History together," he says. "Also Calculus, but that's

only good news for you because I plan to cheat off your homework all year."

I push a smile onto my face. "You can't cheat if I fail."

"You won't." He says it with the kind of certainty I don't deserve.

The bell rings, loud and sharp. Everyone rushes for the dor. Eli throws me a small wave as

he's swallowed by the crowd.

I walk slower.

The hallway feels narrower now, like the walls are inching closer. I hug my books to my

chest, weaving through clusters of people who don't look at me--but don't not look at me

either.

That's the thing about being the girl who made a mistake in a small town:

People don't forget.

They just wait for the next thing to talk about.

I step into Art II last, hoping to blend into the back.

But the universe says no.

Ava is there.

Her hair is perfect---glossy black waves pulled into the same half-up style she wore all

freshman year. She's laughing with a new group of girls, head tilted back like nothing in

the world has ever hurt her.

Her laughter used to be my favorite sound.

Now it just stings.

Her eyes flicker toward me for half a second. Just long enough to say:

I see you.

I remember everything.

And you don't matter here anymore.

I drop my gaze and slip into the last seat in the back, hoping the earth will magically open

and swallow me.

It doesn't.

Mrs. Wilson begins class, but my mind drifts, tracing shapes on my paper---sunsets,

rooftops, water. Things I haven't drawn since the summer before Luca left.

My pencil falters.

I hate that he still haunts the edges of my sketches.

I hate that I still miss him like something ripped out of my ribs.

I hate that part of me wonders what he'd look like now.

Ms. Wilson's voice pulls me back. "This semester," she says, "we'll explore themes of

identity, change, and personal history."

My stomach drops.

Change.

Personal history.

Two things I wasn't ready to face.

She continues, "Your first assignment is simple: create a piece representing the moment

everything changed for you."

My pulse stutters.

The moment everything changed?

I have too many.

And none I want to relive.

Ava shifts in her seat.

Someone whispers.

Someone else laughs.

And I wonder---like I have a hundred times before--if my life would be different had Luca

never left.

If he broke his promise.

If I ever made the mistakes I did afterward.

If everything didn't fall apart exactly the way it did.

But wondering doesn't change anything.

The bell rings, and the day rushes on.

And I tell myself again---quietly, stubbornly, hopelessly:

THis year will be different.

Quiet.

Simple.

Normal.

Even if something in my chest whispers back...

Not for long.