Orientation
The sun is too bright. It's the kind of morning that would be called "beautiful" in those Better Living magazines. Crisp blue skies, golden light filtering through the trees, birds singing like they actually mean it.
Mason hates it.
The school is huge. New. Shiny floors and banners with dumb motivational quotes like "Be Your Best Self!" and "Every Day is a New Beginning!"
He stands in the main hallway with Jan and Malcolm flanking him like nervous security guards. Jan's holding his schedule like it's a holy scroll. Malcolm keeps checking his watch.
Everywhere, kids. Talking, laughing, slamming locker doors. Backpack straps squeaking. Feet pounding down the halls. A blur of motion and sound. It's too much.
Mason tries to breathe through it, but the air feels like it's thicker here. Like it's closing in around him. Just get through the day. That's what Jan said.
But as a girl brushes past him, her ponytail swinging like a pendulum, Mason freezes.
Her hair. Brown. Wavy.
His heart skips.
Olivia? He turns—but it's not her. Of course it's not.
But suddenly all the voices sound like her laugh. All the faces blur together. The colors shift.
The hallway is warping.
The fluorescent lights flicker—once, twice—then dim into a sickly orange hue. The lockers ripple.
The polished tile beneath his feet bubbles with heat.
And just like that, he's back in the dream. Fire in the halls. Children screaming. Smoke spilling down the corridors.
And there she is—Olivia, standing at the end of the hallway, flames licking at the walls around her.
"You said we'd play again tomorrow!" Mason flinches. The words cut sharper because they're the same as in his dream. Always the same. Always her.
Mason screams. Hands over his ears. Drops his backpack. Staggers backwards into Jan.
The illusion shatters like glass. Kids around him stop and stare. A few of them laugh nervously. One whispers, "What's wrong with that kid?"
Jan crouches beside him. "Mason? Mason, it's okay. You're okay." Malcolm looks like he wants to disappear.
A teacher is making her way toward them, eyes wide with concern.
Mason's chest is heaving. His face is pale, soaked with sweat. He's back in reality—but his heart doesn't know that.
He curls in on himself again, just like last night. And all he can say is: "She was there. I saw her."
Counselor's Office
The office smells like lavender and printer ink. There's a tiny tabletop fountain trickling in the corner. Posters of cartoon brains on the walls. A squishy blue couch across from a desk too clean to be used often.
Mason sits with his knees drawn up, arms crossed over his chest. The hallway incident is still clinging to him like smoke. His hair's damp with sweat. His fingers keep twitching like they're trying to shake something off.
The counselor sits across from him—mid-thirties, button-up shirt too bright, a coffee mug that says "Feelings Are Valid."
"Hey, Mason. I'm Mr. Kenner. You had a bit of a scare out there today, huh?"
Mason doesn't respond.
Kenner leans forward, smiling gently. Trying to disarm him. "You're not in trouble, okay? Sometimes our minds just get... overwhelmed. Especially when we're somewhere new."
Still nothing from Mason.
Kenner grabs a notepad and sets it on his knee. "Want to tell me what happened out there?"
Mason's jaw tightens. "I saw someone."
Kenner raises his eyebrows. "Okay... someone you know?"
Mason nods slowly. "Her name's Olivia." The name feels strange on his tongue—like saying it out loud gives it too much weight. Like it makes her more real than he can handle.
Kenner jots it down like the name matters more than the tremor in Mason's voice. "Is Olivia someone from your past?"
Mason shrugs. "I don't know."
Kenner blinks. "You don't know if you know her?"
Mason frowns. He looks up at the ceiling. "She was in my dream last night. But I saw her today. I thought. I don't know. It was like… it all changed. The hallway. The lights. Everything. And then she was there. But she wasn't. It felt real. Too real."
His voice cracks on those last two words.
Kenner softens. His pen slows. "That sounds really scary."
Mason looks down at his hands. "It's like the dreams are leaking. And I don't know what's real anymore. What if…" He pauses, then says it quieter: "What if I'm broken?"
Kenner gently sets his notepad aside. "You're not broken, Mason." He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "When we go through big, confusing things—especially when we're young—our brains can respond in ways that don't always make sense at first. The dreams, the fear, the confusion between what's real and what isn't—that's your mind trying to work something out."
Mason doesn't answer, but he's listening.
Kenner glances at the clock. "We're not going to solve everything today. But you can come back here whenever you need to. Okay?"
Mason nods. Just barely.
Kenner smiles. "Alright. Let's get you back to class—or home, if Jan and Malcolm decide that's best. One step at a time, yeah?"
Mason hesitates, then mumbles: "What if I see her again?"
Kenner doesn't have a good answer for that. So he just says: "Then we talk about it."
The Next Day
The morning air is cooler today, and the clouds hang low, soft and gray.
Mason steps out of the car with his backpack slung over one shoulder, already bracing himself.
Jan gives him a reassuring nod. Malcolm doesn't even try to hide how relieved he is to be back in familiar routine.
Mason's heart pounds like a drum in his chest.
Waiting by the doors is Mr. Kenner, clipboard in hand and that same too-sunny smile plastered across his face. "Morning, Mason!" he says, stepping forward. "Glad to see you back. I thought we'd try something different today. Let one of our students show you around—help you settle in. Could be a good way to make a new friend."
Mason shrugs, keeping his eyes low. He's not in the mood to play nice. "Yeah. Sure."
Kenner turns toward the hallway. "Ah! And here she comes now—just in time."
Footsteps. Light. Confident. And then she rounds the corner.
A girl in the school uniform, wearing a lanyard that reads STUDENT BODY PRESIDENT and holding a neatly organized binder. Her hair—brown, wavy, just like he remembers. Her eyes—warm, blue, too familiar. Her smile—
No.
Mason's chest goes tight. He blinks hard, once, twice. She's still there. His breath stutters. It's not possible. It's a dream. It has to be a dream again. But the air doesn't ripple. The floor doesn't melt. The lights stay solid. No fire. No smoke. No screaming. Just Olivia. Standing right there.
She extends a hand with a bright, confident grin. "Hi! I'm Olivia. You must be Mason."
His world tilts. Kenner's still talking—something about class schedules and lockers—but Mason hears none of it. His ears are full of static. His legs feel like they're made of paper.
Is this real? Is she real?
Olivia tilts her head slightly, eyes narrowing just a bit. "Are you okay?"
Mason's lips part, but nothing comes out. He stares at her like he's seen a ghost. Because maybe he has.
The halls buzz with morning chatter. Lockers slam. Sneakers squeak. Teachers pass with travel mugs and lesson plans tucked under their arms.
Mason walks beside her in a haze. Olivia talks with practiced ease, pointing things out with a cheerful rhythm. "That's the cafeteria—avoid the green meatballs. Trust me." "Science wing's down that hall, but don't ever open the third closet on the left." "Here's the library. They say the second floor's haunted, but I've never seen it—yet."
Her voice is light, teasing. But every few seconds, she glances sideways at Mason. Why does his name feel so... heavy? Mason. She turns it over in her head while she walks, chewing on the edges of the memory. The name scratches at something far back. Faded. Distant.
He's quiet. Too quiet.
"You doing okay?" she finally asks, pausing near a trophy case full of polished medals and dusty yearbooks.
He nods too fast. "Yeah. Yeah, just… a lot to take in." His voice cracks on the last word. He swallows hard. This isn't real. She's not real. She can't be real.
Mason keeps stealing glances at her when she's not looking—at the way her hair bounces slightly when she walks, the crinkle in the corners of her eyes when she smiles, the way her laugh makes the air feel… warm.
It's her. But it can't be her.
He forces himself to focus. "So you're, like… the president?" he asks, trying to sound normal. Trying to pretend like the walls aren't bending inward.
She laughs. "Yeah. Student body president. Sounds way fancier than it is. Mostly it means I get to chase down late event forms and nag the AV club."
He gives a weak smile. It's all he can manage.
They round a corner toward the art wing. Olivia slows her steps just a bit, a crease forming between her brows. "Sorry, this might sound weird, but… Have we met before?"
Mason stops walking. His blood goes cold.
She turns to face him, curious. "It's just… you feel familiar. And your name—I swear I've heard it somewhere before. Did you ever live near Montipet on Skrylimpo-4?" Mason's breath catches. Six years. It's been six years since he last heard her say that name. Sorry if that's a weird question."
He stares at her. He wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants to ask why did you leave?—but he's not even sure if she left… or if he did.
His voice is barely a whisper. "You don't remember me, do you?"
She blinks. "I'm sorry… should I?"
A bell rings in the distance, sharp and loud, snapping the moment like glass.
"C'mon," she says, hesitating just a second before walking again. "Let's get you to your first class."