Subject D

Seventh grade was over, and honestly, I didn’t even realize it until it was gone.

New school. New building. New faces. Same awkward me.

On my first day, I was answering the same basic questions over and over again.

“What’s your name?”

“Are you new here?”

“Where did you go to school before this?”

That’s when a student—new like me—asked for my name. I told her my name was Rose, and somehow, we clicked. Talking to her felt familiar, like being with my old self from my previous school.

In that moment, I forgot to ask her name.

The day ended quietly and awkwardly. I felt out of place in a school where everyone already seemed to belong. It felt like I was being judged by every glance, every whisper. I went home feeling strange and uncomfortable.

It wasn’t until the ride home that I realized it.

I never asked her name.

The next day, I didn’t plan on fixing that mistake. It just… happened. I saw her again, standing near the same place as yesterday, and before I could overthink it, I walked up to her.

“Hey,” I said. “I forgot to ask you something yesterday.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

I smiled awkwardly. “What’s your name?”

She told me, and just like that, the tension disappeared. We laughed about the whole thing, and she admitted she’d been a little annoyed—annoyed enough to complain to her mom about the strange girl who forgot basic manners.

After that, we started talking more. Sitting together in class. Walking between periods. Sharing stories about our old schools and what we missed the most. It didn’t take long for her—Minnie—to become my first real friend in a place that didn’t feel like home yet.

Somehow, that turned into laughing a little too loudly in the back of the classroom and getting side-eyed by teachers who hadn’t yet decided how much they disliked us.

Our friend group grew slowly, almost by accident. Someone joined us during lunch because there were no empty seats. Another started walking with us between classes. Soon, we weren’t just two new girls anymore—we were a small group that always seemed to be together, usually doing something mildly suspicious.

Mostly, though, Minnie and I talked.

A lot.

We traded stories about our old schools like they were embarrassing trading cards.

She told me about how she never did homework unless it was absolutely unavoidable, and how teachers always sighed before saying her name during attendance.

“I don’t mean to ignore them,” she said once. “I just stop listening.”

“That explains so much,” I said.

I told her about my old school too—about being the girl teachers liked. The one who always answered questions. The one whose name was followed by ‘such a good student’ and ‘so responsible’.

Minnie looked at me for a second. “So you’re a nerd.”

“Unfortunately.”

“That tracks,” she said. “You sit straight.”

Rude. Accurate, but rude.

The funny thing was, the more we talked, the more our stories lined up in ways neither of us expected.

Minnie was the girl who never listened in class.

I was the girl who listened too much.

She was known for not doing homework.

I was known for always turning it in.

“But you don’t actually care about being perfect,” Minnie said one afternoon. “Do you?”

“No,” I said immediately. “I just care about my grades.”

“That’s worse,” she replied.

And she wasn’t wrong.

I didn’t want to be in the good graces of every teacher. I just knew how to play the system. Somewhere along the way, that turned into teachers thinking I was a model student—even when I really wasn’t.

Minnie, on the other hand, looked like chaos but was surprisingly thoughtful once you got past the sarcasm and selective listening.

“So basically,” she said, “you’re a rebel stuck in a nerd’s reputation.”

“And you’re chaos pretending not to care,” I said.

She smiled. “Wow. We’re perfect.”

A few days later, during one of our usual conversations, I told her about Eva—my friend from my old school. I told her how Eva kept texting me, saying I had to find someone in my new school.

“His name is Duan,” I said. “She keeps asking if I’ve found him yet.”

Minnie stopped walking.

“Wait,” she said. “Eva Jeen?”

I nodded. “Yeah. How do you know her?”

She let out a small laugh. “That makes so much sense.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because she asked me the same thing,” Minnie said. “She told me to find a guy named Duan too.”

I stared at her. “You’re joking.”

She shook her head. “Nope. And she’s my cousin.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

The new school suddenly felt smaller. And the name Duan didn’t feel random anymore.

That night, I told Minnie everything.

We sat on my bed, our backpacks dumped on the floor like we’d given up on life for the day.

“So,” Minnie said, scrolling on her phone, “this Duan guy.”

I groaned. “I don’t even know why Eva is so obsessed with him.”

“She’s obsessed because she’s Eva,” Minnie replied. “That’s not new information.”

I stared at the ceiling. “What if he’s just… a guy?”

Minnie gasped dramatically. “No. Impossible. Eva doesn’t hype just a guy.”

That was, unfortunately, true.

“She keeps saying I have to find him,” I said. “Like it’s a quest. Or a warning.”

Minnie sat up. “What if he’s important?”

“Important how?”

“I don’t know. Mysterious. Main-character energy. Trauma. A dark past.” She paused. “Or he’s just hot.”

“Please don’t let this be about a boy who’s just hot,” I begged.

Minnie shrugged. “Statistically, it probably is.”

We sat there in silence for a moment, both thinking the same thing.

“I hate that I’m curious,” I said.

“I hate that I already decided we’re finding him,” Minnie replied.

I turned to her. “Wait. You’re serious?”

She nodded slowly. “We’re already talking about him. It’s too late. We’re involved.”

I sighed. “We don’t even know what he looks like.”

“Details,” Minnie said. “Minor ones.”

“That feels illegal.”

Minnie smiled. “Tomorrow. We find Duan.”

I laughed. “We are absolutely going to regret this.”

“Definitely,” she said. “But it’ll be funny.”

And that was how we made the worst, yet most confident decision of our lives.

Apparently, Eva had already decided for us.

Before we set out to find Duan, Eva decided to be helpful.

And by helpful, I mean aggressively vague.

She texted me sometime that night, right when I was about to sleep.

Eva: OKAY so I told my cousin about Duan

Eva: you guys HAVE to find him

I showed the messages to Minnie, who leaned over my phone like it was about to reveal the meaning of life.

Me: Can you at least tell us what he looks like?

Eva: Um. Normal?

I blinked.

Me: Normal how.

Eva: Like… tall-ish. Or maybe average. One of those.

Minnie groaned. “That narrows it down to approximately the entire school.”

I typed again.

Me: Hair color?

Eva: Dark. I think.

Me: THINK??

Eva: I’m pretty sure. Unless it’s light.

At this point, Minnie took the phone from me.

Minnie: What grade is he in?

Eva: A grade.

“She’s doing this on purpose,” Minnie said flatly.

Minnie: What class?

Eva: Classes.

I wanted to scream.

Me: Eva, we are not playing Guess Who.

Eva: Relax. You’ll know him when you see him.

That was the moment we realized we were completely screwed.

The final message came a few seconds later.

Eva: His name is Duan. That’s important.

I stared at the screen. “She really said that like we didn’t already know.”

Minnie nodded. “Cool. So we’re looking for a tall-or-not, dark-or-not-haired guy in a grade, with classes.”

Perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

And somehow, despite all of that, we still decided to go through with it.