“First Glance”
1231 Words
Bethany was already in her seat, notebook open, when Mr. Anderson, the homeroom teacher, slipped a folded note onto her desk and said, “We have a new student. Please welcome him.”
Morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows, turning dust motes into floating sparkles as the class gradually settled. A few students whispered lazily, still half-asleep; others scrolled through their phones under the desk. Bethany sat upright, her pen neatly aligned beside her notebook, the way she always started her mornings—prepared, organized, and ready.
The door swung open, and every wandering eye found its way toward the entrance.
A charming-looking boy stepped in.
He brushed a hand through his hair, the movement natural and practiced, and let his eyes sweep over the classroom with a calm confidence that sounded silent but loud. Something about him—his stillness, his posture, the quiet awareness he carried—made several girls sit up a little straighter. Even the boys paused their murmuring.
“Hi, everyone. I’m Lee Evan, just transferred here.”
His voice was low, controlled, almost bored, and a ripple of curiosity passed through the class like a wave brushing over stones.
Mr. Anderson smiled warmly and gestured toward the empty chair beside Bethany. “Take that seat, Evan. It’s right by Bethany.”
Evan walked down the aisle with slow, steady steps. His bag thudded softly as he set it on the floor before sliding into the chair. Bethany turned to him with a quick, warm smile—her usual instinctive friendliness kicking in.
“Hey, Evan. I’m Bethany.”
He glanced sideways at her, gave a half-shrug, and muttered, “Yeah… cool,” before turning away. His tone wasn’t hostile, just distant—like he’d built a wall and wasn’t planning to let anyone peek behind it. Bethany’s smile faltered for a moment before she caught herself and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, hiding the sting.
Class dragged on, but Bethany found herself glancing at him occasionally. Evan took notes silently, barely reacting to anything—not Mr. Anderson’s jokes, not the laughter of the students, not even her presence beside him. He was here, but he wasn’t here.
When roll-call ended, Mr. Anderson called Bethany to the front.
“Bethany, could you show Evan around? He’s new and should get familiar with the campus.”
Her heart paused for a beat.
“Sure,” she said, holding her notebook to her chest.
Out in the hallway, the school hummed with its usual energy—slamming lockers, echoing footsteps, the distant chatter of the arts club rehearsing lines.
Bethany launched into a fast, enthusiastic tour.
She showed him the science lab with its humming equipment, the courtyard where seniors practiced their dance routines, the quiet library, the bulletin boards cluttered with club posters, the wide field with the ancient oak tree, and the cafeteria with its famous best-tasting pizza Fridays.
Evan followed with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his steps quiet and measured. He looked around—not uninterested, but not eager either. More like someone scanning the world from behind invisible glass.
His replies stayed short.
“Nice.”
“Okay.”
“Yeah.”
When she asked if he played sports, he simply shrugged.
By the time they returned to class, Bethany felt her smile thinning. She tried joking about the school Wi-Fi being “a snail on vacation,” but Evan only gave a dry, almost reluctant chuckle.
It wasn’t much, but something about that tiny reaction made her feel she’d chipped at his wall—just a little.
The next morning, Bethany’s dad dropped her off at the school gate. The day was bright, warm, and full of that soft morning chaos—students spilling out of cars, prefects shouting reminders, and parents waving hurried goodbyes.
As she walked toward the entrance, a sleek black sedan pulled up near the curb. A young woman—sharp-featured, dressed in a crisp white shirt, her hair in a neat low bun—stepped out holding a notebook.
“Evan! Don’t forget your notebook!” she called.
Bethany slowed, eyebrows lifting.
The woman looked young—barely older than a college student. Her eyes carried a strictness, though, the kind that suggested responsibility far beyond her age.
Bethany approached curiously.
“Hey, Evan… is that your sister?”
Evan froze for a fraction of a second.
“No. That’s my mom,” he said flatly.
Bethany blinked.
“Your mom? She looks so young!”
She laughed lightly, but Evan rolled his eyes and walked off, leaving her standing behind, embarrassment warming her cheeks.
Break Time
The cafeteria buzzed with chatter, the clattering of trays, and the thick smell of melted cheese drifting through the air. Bethany carried her tray, scanning the noisy room.
But Evan wasn’t there.
She checked near the windows, the long tables, the vending machines—nothing. Finally, she stepped outside, heading toward the field.
Under the massive oak tree, Evan sat alone—knees tucked up, headphones in, staring at the ground.
“Hey there!” Bethany called.
He looked up sharply.
“What now?”
“I couldn’t find you in the cafeteria. What are you doing out here all by yourself?”
A wary look crossed his face.
“None of your business. Just go away.”
Bethany softened her voice.
“You look angry… is everything alright?”
For a small moment, his eyes held hers—stormy and distant.
Then he muttered, “No. But go away.”
Instead of leaving, she sat beside him and opened her lunch.
“Okay. I’ll leave you alone after I finish eating.”
Evan stared at her, puzzled. Why wasn’t she irritated? Why wasn’t she walking away like everyone else?
The silence between them felt steady, not awkward. Wind rustled the oak leaves above, scattering shadows across the grass. Bethany observed him quietly—how his expression stayed clouded, how he seemed far away even while sitting beside her.
When the bell rang, she stood.
“Break’s over. Let’s go.”
Evan shoved his earphones into his pocket and walked ahead without looking back.
The Following Days
Bethany kept trying—asking about homework, tests, clubs, anything to pull him out of his shell. Evan always answered with single words or silence. His coldness eventually became a whisper among classmates.
Then one morning, Bethany didn’t show up.
Evan walked in, glanced at her seat—and froze.
Empty.
He waited, thinking she might be late.
But the minutes passed. Lunch came. She still wasn’t there.
He approached Ava, her best friend.
“Do you know why Bethany’s not here?”
“Her dad said she isn’t feeling well,” Ava replied.
Evan nodded, but the news settled uncomfortably in his chest.
One day turned into two.
Her chair remained empty.
And every morning, he found himself looking at that empty seat before he even realized it.
He replayed memories he didn’t expect to keep—the way she laughed, her quiet kindness under the oak tree, the way she stayed even when he pushed her away.
Those moments sharpened into something new, something he couldn’t ignore.
Despite all his reluctance, Evan couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to check on Bethany.
Little did he know…
her absence was about to change everything.
- Writer
