New Angles
1542 Words
(Amara's POV)
If there’s one thing I’ve learned at Cleverly High, it’s that locker hallways are where reputations live and die.
People fall in love, break up, cry, gossip, and post TikToks—all in the same five minutes between classes.
Me? I just wanted to grab my notebook and survive the day without tripping over another rumor.
Adela leaned against the locker next to mine, scrolling through her phone.
“Okay, tell me this isn’t the dumbest thing you’ve seen today,” she said, holding up a t****k of a guy trying to backflip in crocs.
I snorted. “Secondhand embarrassment’s real.”
We laughed — loud enough to earn a few stares.
And right then, Ethan walked by — tall, sweaty from practice, shirt slightly untucked.
The hallway might as well have dimmed its lights and rolled out a soundtrack.
Adela’s whole face brightened. “Hey, babe!”
He gave her that effortless smile — the one that probably made half the school write his initials in their notebooks — and then, just for a second, his eyes flicked to me.
Just a glance. Barely a heartbeat.
But Adela saw it. I felt her see it.
Her voice dropped into that too-sweet tone that always meant trouble.
“Anyway,” she said lightly, turning to me, “girl talk.”
Before I could respond, Ethan’s voice cut in.
“Amara.”
I turned. “Hey, Reynolds.”
“Can we talk?” he asked.
That made my stomach dip — not because of what he said, but how he said it.
Quiet. Careful. Like he’d been thinking about it.
I blinked, keeping my face neutral. “Now?”
Adela laughed — bright, sugary, and sharp enough to sting. “Actually, I was gonna steal her for a sec. Girl talk.”
Her arm looped around mine before I could move, steering me toward the end of the hall.
“Adela—” Ethan started, but she didn’t even glance back.
“Relax,” she called over her shoulder. “We’ll be quick.”
The second we were out of earshot, her smile faltered just enough to show what she really meant.
“So,” she said softly, “what’s going on with you and my boyfriend?”
I blinked, thrown. “What?”
She gave a little laugh, like she was joking. “I mean, he’s been… noticing you a lot lately. And I get it — you’re new, you’re pretty, mysterious. I’d notice you too.”
I frowned. “Adela—”
She waved her manicured hand. “Relax. I’m just saying — boundaries, you know? Things can get messy if people start getting the wrong idea.”
The smile never left her face, but her eyes were razor-sharp.
I felt my throat tighten. “Good to know,” I said lightly. “I’ll make sure the universe gets the memo.”
Her eyes narrowed just slightly before she smiled again. “You’re funny.”
“I try.”
I didn’t wait for her to say more. I pulled away, heart thudding, pretending her words didn’t sting.
They did, though.
Because for a second, I thought we were real friends.
As I passed Ethan again, he started to say something — “Amara—” — but I kept walking.
Didn’t even look back.
The smell of gym sweat and floor wax clung to the air, and all I could think was: boundaries.
Like I’d somehow crossed a line I didn’t even see.
---
“Yo,” Malik said, falling into step beside me. “You look like you just got chewed out.”
I groaned. “Do you ever just say hi like a normal person?”
“Nope.” He popped the ‘p’. “So what’d you do this time?”
I rolled my eyes. “Apparently, exist too close to someone’s boyfriend.”
“Oof.” He winced theatrically. “That’s dangerous territory. I’d offer to protect you, but—”
“You’d probably cause more trouble.”
He grinned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
I bit back a smile. “You’re impossible.”
“Flattered,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Anyway, there’s a music and food festival downtown tomorrow. We should go.”
“Tomorrow’s a school day.”
He raised a brow. “And?”
“And my mom would actually summon a hurricane if she found out I ditched.”
“Then don’t get caught,” he said easily. “Come on, Okoye. Live a little.”
I hesitated, glancing down the hallway where Adela and Ethan stood talking—like nothing weird just happened.
Maybe Malik was right. Maybe I did need to live a little.
“Fine,” I said, shrugging. “But if I end up grounded for life, I’m haunting you.”
He laughed. “Deal.”
---
As I walked away, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
A message from Adela.
> Adela: You know I didn’t mean anything weird, right? Just looking out for you 💕
I stared at it for a long moment before replying.
> Me: Yeah. All good 😊
Then I locked my phone, shoved it back in my pocket, and told myself I believed it.
---
By the time I escaped the hallway drama, my brain was still replaying every word Adela said.
Boundaries.
The word stuck like gum under my shoe.
So instead of heading straight home, I ducked into the photography club room.
Maybe because it was the only place in school that didn’t feel like everyone was watching everyone else.
The air smelled faintly like coffee and printer ink. Tripods leaned against the walls, and half-developed photos were pinned to corkboards — little snapshots of people pretending not to pose.
Mr. Collins wasn’t around yet, which meant I had exactly five minutes to hide behind my camera and pretend I had my life together.
I set my bag down, turned on the lightbox, and started flipping through some of my recent shots — blurry hands, reflections in puddles, a half-smile caught mid-laugh. I liked that kind of imperfect beauty.
“Nice framing,” a voice said behind me.
I turned.
Tall guy. Warm brown skin. Wore a faded denim jacket and had a camera strap slung around his neck like it belonged there. His expression was calm — curious, but not in that annoying “I’m trying to flirt” way.
“Thanks,” I said, a little too quickly. “Just messing around.”
He stepped closer, studying the photos. “Messing around looks good on you, apparently.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is that your version of small talk?”
“Only when it’s true.”
He held out his hand. “Jordan.”
I shook it, noting the ink stain on his thumb. “Amara.”
“New?” he asked.
“Transferred two months ago. Still trying to remember which hallway doesn’t smell like expired cologne.”
He laughed — the easy kind that didn’t sound forced. “You’ll get used to it. This place is basically a never-ending perfume commercial.”
“Without the budget,” I said.
He grinned, and for a moment, the tension from earlier dissolved.
“So,” he said, glancing at my photos again. “You planning to be a photographer or just killing time till graduation?”
I hesitated. “Honestly? I don’t know. I like taking pictures, but I think I want to be on the other side of the camera.”
His eyes flicked up. “Modeling?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged, half embarrassed. “Not like runway stuff. Just… art. Something that feels real.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. You’ve got that kind of presence.”
“Presence?”
“Yeah. You look like you belong in stillness — like the world should pause for a second when it looks at you.”
I snorted. “That’s poetic. Do you practice that in the mirror or—?”
He laughed. “Only on Thursdays.”
I couldn’t help it — I smiled. A real one.
We talked for a while after that — about music, favorite cities, the kind of people who make life feel cinematic. Jordan told me he wanted to do documentary photography, travel the world, capture people’s stories before they disappear.
“Sounds like a lot of pressure,” I said.
He shrugged. “Yeah, but so is breathing. Might as well do something beautiful with it.”
Something about the way he said that stuck.
It wasn’t showy.
It was just honest.
When the bell finally rang, I realized I hadn’t thought about Adela, or Ethan, or any of the nonsense waiting outside that room.
For the first time that day, the noise in my head went quiet.
As I packed my things, my phone buzzed again — a text from Malik.
> Malik: Don’t forget. Tomorrow. 4 p.m. Festival. No backing out 😎
I stared at it for a second before typing back.
> Me: Who said I was backing out?
I smiled to myself.
Maybe living a little didn’t sound so bad after all.
- Writer
