Before October 28 | Sean Diaz

Chapter 1: Her

9/20/2024 update: Rewritten, with a little extra at the end. Hope you enjoy!

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"There's no way I'm wearing that to Jenn's party."

Your hand slaps Lyla's phone out of sight. Yet the slap seems to add fuel to the flame of her insistence—a flame large enough to decimate your school cafeteria, or be responsible for the charred meat patty on Lyla's tray.

Recoiling at the mere sight of Lyla's phone screen slithering over the table, her eager smile is that of a sly snake, albeit not a tempting one.

"Look at the model—" Lyla shoves her phone back into view. Its white background is blinding.

"You have to see the vision."

"I'm talking about that... neckline."

"Which you'd look so fucking good in?"

A groan escapes your lips, a slight wince in your expression. For a moment, your gaze flickers to a random wallflower at the corner of the cafeteria, their face glued to a book from the ruckus of students, lunch trays, and, you dare to say, Lyla too.

You sigh at the enviable sight, eyes returning to the girl sitting across from you.

This time you choose to gently slide the phone back to Lyla.

"So you're my fashion consultant now?"

"Not a fashion consultant," Lyla scoffs, screenshotting the dress on her screen, "but a friend curious to see you wear something different for once."

Your face scrunches in confusion. "I wear different clothes every day though?"

"No, dumbass." You swear you hear her teeth clink as she tries to bite a cookie from her tray. "Different as in something completely new."

A stifled laugh slips out of your chest. How has this girl, who is completely oblivious to the crumbs dotting her sweater, become your fashion consultant?

Lyla raises her eyebrows, the slight tug at her lips telling you this has to be a gimmick of hers. Even the lettuce on her tray seems to glimmer like the glint in her eyes.

"Okay— seriously." She finally catches the crumbs on her sweater and dusts them off. "It'd suit you."

Unwrapping a sandwich from your backpack, you let out a chuckle as you offer her half.
"Whatever you say, fashion consultant."

She rolls her eyes at the nickname, before savoring a bite of the sandwich you gave her. A warm feeling fills your belly as you watch her eyes light up.

"Holy shit." Her mouth is muffled by the sandwich. "This is heaven compared to this."

With a fork, she pokes at the iceberg lettuce salad cast aside on her lunch tray. It doesn't take much probing to hear the sogginess of the lackluster green leaves, nor see the completely blackened bottom of her meat patty. You can't help but raise your top lip, nose wrinkling at the sight.

Soon enough, your eyes scan the cafeteria around you, noticing other students also probing at their lunch.

Yet a particular hoodie catches your eye.

You straighten out your shirt. Pants too. And the thump in your chest seems to grow.
Gray hoodie. A black and white graphic design at the front. You cover it up, but your eyes widen ever so slightly, glued to the figure at the far entrance of the cafeteria. You even straighten your back to peer over the teenagers bobbing in and out of their seats.