"I'm in the wrong room—wait, that's not 309," I huffed as I skidded through the doorway, backpack straps slipping. "Can I help you?" the teacher asked without looking up from the attendance sheet. "I'm Aurora Luo. Sorry—first day—I'm new." My words spilled out. My shoes squeaked. A pencil rolled off a desk and hit the floor. A boy in the front row snorted. "New girl and clumsy. Classic." "Take a seat, Aurora," the teacher said. "This is Advanced Art History, room 307. You must be in Mr. Keane's math next door by eight-thirty." "I know," I said. "I know where 309 is. I meant—" My voice trailed when thirty heads turned like someone had shouted a fire alarm. "Name?" the teacher prompted. "Aurora Luo," I said again. "Welcome," she said, writing my name on the roster. "Find a spot. We start with a quick round—introduce yourself in one sentence. No long stories." I scanned the room. Desks were arranged in clusters. Students had sketchbooks, tablets, coffee cups. Phones were half-buried under headphones. A girl typed fast and laughed into a group chat on speaker; someone else was filming a doodle for followers. There were only two empty seats left: one at the front next to the snorting kid, and one at the very back, under a window, where a long sleeve stuck out from a hooded jacket. The back seat had an elbow tucked over a notebook and a face half-buried