Chapter Three: Pen, Paper, Panic
626 Words
▸ Isa
The third letter came on a Monday.
She hadn’t even opened her locker fully when she spotted it: another folded note, neatly tucked into the corner like it had always belonged there.
Isa looked around—still no one watching. No hidden cameras. No note-passer in sight.
She pulled it free and read it quietly.
> Dare #2: Join something.
A club, a team, anything that lets people see you.
—143
Isa sighed. “You ask too much for someone I’ve never met.”
Still, she found herself checking the club bulletin board after lunch. The options were overwhelming—dance, drama, robotics, chess. She wasn’t great at group things. She barely liked eye contact.
Then her eyes landed on a plain flyer taped near the bottom:
✎ Journalism Club – Thursdays after school | Room 204
Writers. Listeners. Observers. Come as you are.
Simple. Quiet. No spotlight.
She ran her thumb over the edge of the paper. Maybe this counted as “joining something.” Maybe she could just go once and leave.
Maybe she’d forget that Noah Delos Santos was listed as a co-editor in tiny text below.
She went anyway.
The classroom smelled like old books and printer ink. There were only a handful of students when Isa walked in, and her stomach immediately flipped when she spotted him at the front—Noah, leaning against a desk, arms crossed, notebook in hand.
He didn’t look up right away. But when he did, their eyes met.
No smirk this time.
Just quiet recognition.
Isa awkwardly sat in the back. She didn’t speak to anyone. Ava Lim, the club president, gave her a quick welcome and handed her a clipboard.
> “We’re short-staffed. If you’re good with words, we’ll take you.”
Isa didn’t know if she was “good with words,” but she filled out her name anyway.
That’s when Ava announced:
> “This month’s article pairs: Isa, you’ll be with Noah. You two are covering the ‘Hidden Corners of Northhill’ piece.”
Isa froze.
Noah glanced over at her—and gave a single, almost invisible nod.
Her stomach did a whole backflip.
▸ Noah
He wasn’t surprised.
Not really.
He had a feeling she’d show up. She’d read the letter—he knew by now that she always did. And he made sure that flyer ended up in the right place.
Still, seeing her actually walk in made something shift in him. Her wide eyes, the way she gripped the strap of her bag like it was armor—she didn’t think she belonged there.
But she did.
He watched her from across the room, curious. She kept to herself, barely said a word. But she listened, and that was rare enough.
When Ava announced the article pairing, he didn’t flinch. He just nodded.
Later, when the meeting ended and the room began to empty, she lingered behind, notebook pressed to her chest.
> “You okay working with me?” he asked casually.
> “Sure,” she said, almost too fast. Then paused. “Unless you’re not okay with it.”
He shook his head. “I’m fine.”
Another pause. She looked at the ground. “I’m not great at writing with people.”
> “Then we’ll start small,” he said. “We’ll walk the school. You take notes. I’ll listen.”
She finally looked up. Her smile was soft. Hesitant. Real.
> “Okay.”
He watched her leave, her ponytail swaying with each step.
This wasn’t part of the plan. He was just supposed to guide her through the letters.
But maybe—just maybe—he wanted to be the reason she started writing her own.
- Writer
