His Eyes
819 Words
Elmridge High hadn’t changed. Same red-brick building, same creaky lockers, same dusty scent of secrets sealed in time. As Rhea stepped through the front doors, the world inside slowed down. Students milled about, but she felt every gaze land on her like a spotlight.
“That’s her,” someone whispered.
“The girl whose brother disappeared.”
Rhea didn’t flinch. She kept her head high, her shoulders squared. She wasn’t here to relive the past. She was here to survive it.
The front office clerk gave her a schedule, a faded map of the school, and a forced smile. “Welcome back, Miss Calderon.”
Back. The word stung like an old bruise.
She found her locker, spun the combination, and shoved it open with more force than necessary. Books clattered. She tucked her schedule into the back of her notebook and moved down the hall toward her first class, ignoring the way conversations hushed as she passed.
Each class was the same—curious eyes, forced introductions, and subtle questions she knew weren’t really about algebra or English Lit. The teachers were polite, if distant. And through it all, Rhea couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being observed, measured, remembered.
At lunch, she bypassed the cafeteria and wandered to the outdoor courtyard, where a few students lounged in clusters. She picked a table near the edge, under the shadow of the pines, and unpacked the sandwich her mother had packed. She wasn’t hungry. She was scanning.
That’s when she felt it.
The air thickened.
She looked up—and there he was.
Lucci Reyes.
He stepped into the clearing like he belonged to it. The boy she remembered was gone. In his place was a man, taller, broader, with a sharp jawline and golden-brown eyes that practically glowed in the sunlight. He wore a dark jacket over a gray shirt, jeans, boots. Simple. But there was power in his stillness.
Their eyes met.
And for a second, the world dropped away.
Rhea stood. “Lucci?”
He blinked. “Rhea.”
His voice was lower now, rougher. Familiar, but edged.
“You’ve changed,” she said.
“So have you.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. The wind stirred between them.
“You shouldn’t have come back,” Lucci said.
“I didn’t exactly get a choice,” she replied, folding her arms. “And I didn’t come back to cause trouble.”
He hesitated, then looked toward the woods. “Some things have changed in Elmridge. Things that don’t welcome old ghosts.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not a ghost.”
“No,” he said. “But you’re haunted.”
With that, he turned and walked away.
Rhea sat back down slowly, heart hammering.
That night, she dreamed.
She was back in the forest, the trees whispering. Lucci stood beneath the moonlight, eyes glowing, his face shifting—wolf, boy, shadow. Her brother's voice called from somewhere far away, “Rhea, don’t forget.”
She woke with a jolt, tangled in her sheets.
The next day, he ignored her. In the halls, in class—he passed by without a glance. But she felt it. Every time he was near, her skin prickled, her blood hummed.
In third period biology, the teacher made an announcement: group project pairings. “Reyes and Calderon,” she said, and Rhea looked up in alarm.
Lucci slid into the seat beside her. His jaw was clenched. He opened his notebook without a word.
“We’re really doing this?” she whispered.
He didn’t look at her. “We don’t have a choice.”
“Is that how you treat old friends?”
“Old friends don’t disappear,” he said sharply, then sighed. “Sorry. That wasn’t fair.”
“No,” she said quietly. “But it was honest.”
They worked in silence for most of the class. Rhea tried not to stare, but the curve of his jaw, the way his fingers curled around his pen—it all tugged at something old and buried. A warmth that used to mean safety.
Finally, he said, “I saw you in the woods.”
She froze. “You were the eyes.”
He nodded. “You shouldn’t be out there alone.”
“What is it, Lucci? What’s out there?”
He hesitated. “The forest remembers. And it protects its own.”
Cryptic. Maddening.
“Do you know what happened to Eli?” she asked.
His face darkened. “No. But I know it wasn’t an accident.”
After class, he walked away again, but slower this time. Like he was waiting for her to follow. She didn’t.
That night, the whispers came again. From the forest, from her dreams. Her window creaked open slightly in the breeze. And just beyond the edge of the yard, two golden eyes watched.
- Writer
