Not Your Normal Kid

New grade, new books, new notes—new everything. But the same old me, as expected.

The first day of the new grade started like any other catastrophe in my life. I woke up late, groggy and disoriented, only to hear my mom yelling in my ear like a personal alarm clock on steroids. "You're going to be late on the first day of your new grade!" she wailed, her voice bouncing off the walls of my skull.

I scrambled out of bed and rushed through my morning routine. Brushing my teeth felt like a military operation, and breakfast was a blur of chewing and gulping. Somehow, I made it to school.

And then—like always—I found myself in the classroom, as if teleported there by some cosmic joke. I sat in my usual spot, minding my own business, trying to blend into the background like an NPC in a video game.

That's when he showed up. The kid. The chatterbox.

"Long time no see! How've you been?" he exclaimed, as if we hadn't just seen each other a week ago after final exams.

I blinked at him. What the heck? Was he serious? But then I remembered my new mission: to make a good relationship with him so he could be my bridge to her. So, for once, I decided to actually talk back.

I nodded and said, "Yeah, been good. You?"

Big mistake. He launched into one of his endless stories, a stream of words I couldn't keep up with. At some point, my brain tuned him out entirely, and I started wondering about the only person who mattered that day: her.

Where was she? When would she show up?

The day dragged on like a silent movie. Sure, things were happening around me, but it all felt muted and irrelevant. When the final bell rang, I realized she hadn't shown up at all. My mind spiraled into ridiculous theories.

Was she kidnapped by my enemies, who'd use her to blackmail me? Or worse—was she dead?

Yeah, I know. Dramatic. But that day, I felt genuinely sad. Not because she rejected me or anything reasonable. No, I was sad because a girl I barely knew hadn't come to class. What the heck was wrong with me?

On the way home, as I sat on the bus lost in my spiraling thoughts, I spotted her. My heart did a double take. She was on a bike with a middle-aged guy.

"Who the heck is he?" I muttered to myself. "Her secret boyfriend? Her...dad?" My brain was doing cartwheels, piecing together increasingly ridiculous scenarios.

I pressed my forehead against the bus window, trying to shut it all out, but my mind wouldn't stop. By the time I got home, I was a mess.

My mom was there to pick me up, which wasn't necessary, by the way. My house was just a few meters away from the road. Hulk could take one step and land in my living room.

But even with all the chaos, I realized something: I was happy to have seen her. Even if it was just for a moment.

I freshened up, ate dinner, and spent the evening with my little brother. Oh, yeah—did I mention I have a little brother? You wouldn't believe a kid like me, who's still basically a kid himself, has a sibling. But it's true. I have a little bro.

And that night, as I lay in bed, my thoughts kept drifting back to her. What was her story? And why did it matter so much to me?