The Silence of a Shark

Chapter VII - Ripple Effects

My usual haunt in the cafeteria afforded me a grand view of the ebb and flow of typical high school chaos—but lately, my focus narrowed, drawn to the subtle ripples around Amy. There's an expectancy about her, like a sailor sensing a change in the wind before a storm. She hasn't shared much, only mentioning a "job" that's shrouded in as much mystery as the Loch Ness Monster. Her energy, though, is palpably different—anticipatory, anxious, perhaps a mix of both.

In the past weeks, she's been glued to her phone more than ever, fingertips dancing across the screen in a relentless ballet. When she does engage with her tablemates, the conversations are often punctuated by distracted glances at her device, her lips curving into a smile at received messages, her brow occasionally furrowing in concentration or concern.

It's Thursday—just one day before she's supposed to start this enigmatic new job. A strange coincidence, I've noted the date, considering the unusual nature of the timings she's provided. It's not just a job shift; it's a life shift. And shifts, as any observer of tides knows, bring about significant change.

"Excited about tomorrow?" I overhear Kaylee ask, unaware of her question's weight, her eyes reflecting the harsh cafeteria lights.

Amy nods, a cautious optimism in her eyes. "Nervous more than anything. It's going to be... new."

Kaylee, ever the investigator in matters not concerning her own, leans in. "New like 'first-day jitters' or new like 'I'm stepping into an alternate dimension' new?"

Amy lets out a half chuckle, half snort—the kind that sneakily escapes when you're trying to maintain composure. "Somewhere in between, maybe?"

Their banter continues, but my mind races—Amy has never been one for half measures. Her quiet exterior belies a steely resolve, and "somewhere in between" must be quite the journey for her, I surmise.

When Kaylee's attention is pulled away by the arrival of James, bearing snacks as tributes to break up the day, I take the chance to glance at Amy again. She's scrolling through her feed, occasionally pausing to scrutinize something for a moment longer before moving on. I speculate that whatever this job is, it demands a certain presence online.

I can't help but wonder about Amy's venture into virtual territory—she strikes me less as the kind advocating for digital realms and more the sort who'd revel in quiet, tangible moments. Then again, Amy has consistently defied the boxes even I tried to put her into, proving time and again that the surface reveals little of the depths beneath.

Observing her now, there's an air of someone standing at the shoreline, watching the approaching tide of an inevitable, yet unknowable experience. And somewhere, in the back of my mind, echoes Eve's lightly veiled provocation: "Life is happening in real-time, don't forget to look up." Admittedly, while I do often look down, penning observations, it doesn't mean I'm unaware of the tides themselves.

The conversation at her table snaps me back—Bryce has joined, and he's talking about some game or another, his words tumbling over themselves in their haste to be heard. Amy's responses are automatic, as though a part of her is elsewhere, maybe on that digital shore.

As lunch draws to its close, the group disperses, each member caught up in their own currents. Amy lingers at the table for a moment, gathering her things slowly. The casual observer could easily miss the way her hands clench into brief fists before she relaxes, stands, and heads out. It's the physical manifestation of an internal resolution, I note, and not something as easily detected as the flush of embarrassment from Kaylee's probing or the swagger in Bryce's shrug.

I jot down another entry, the pen feeling particularly heavy in my hand today. "Amy, on the cusp of change, a deep dive into new waters." I pause, adding, "Uncertainty is the birthplace of transformation." It's more philosophical than I usually get, but then, Amy isn't exactly your usual high school senior.