Pilot
Year: 2010
Luna's POV
At six in the morning my mother’s voice was already in the room: “Noona, it’s time to wake up… Wake up or you’ll be late.”
“Late? Late for what?” I mumbled, burrowing deeper into the quilt. She pushed the curtain aside and sunlight stabbed straight into my face. I squinted and rolled onto my back.
“Stupid girl, it’s your first day of high school — senior year, remember?”
“Got it.” I sat up, blinking. The plum-and-white swirl of my room looked perfectly ordinary in the bright light: the white side table, the phone that buzzed with a school announcement I’d checked half-awake. My thumb opened the school form and there it was in black and white: classes shuffled, everyone moved into new sections.
What the heck.
I read it again. Anna and I — my friend, my almost-sister — not in the same section. My stomach tightened with that petty, salt-tinged ache that comes with unfairness.
“Mom! Mom!” I called. “They shuffled the classes. Anna and I aren’t in the same section.”
A small, satisfied smile tugged at her mouth. “So finally you two are separated, huh?”
“Hey! Are you happy about it?” I side-eyed her.
“No, I’m not!” she said, but her face didn’t match her words.
“Yeah, I know,” I said, too sarcastic. “Cut the crap and get ready,” she commanded, and I obeyed.
My uniform — navy skirt, plain white shirt with the school monogram, blue necktie — felt like armor I put on without thinking. I tied my hair into a high ponytail, the way I always did when I wanted to look put together and invisible at the same time.
“Good morning, Dad,” I said at breakfast.
“Morning, princess.” He looked up from the paper. “What happened to you? You look upset.”
“It’s nothing much. New start, bad news.” My mother chimed in, “Unice separating from her!” She complained loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
“It’s formal, that’s not true,” I snapped. “We’ll still stick together.”
My father folded the paper. “But that’s not a big deal, Luna. You’ll meet new people. Learn teamwork. It might be good for you.”
His optimism landed like a marshmallow where my anger still sat like a stone. I kissed their cheeks and left for school, bus ticket in my pocket, lucky to snag the window seat. The morning air was cold and clean; the breeze hit my face and reminded me there were worse things than a shuffled seating chart. It almost made me brave.
Hazelground’s gates were crowded with students. I detoured past the usual clusters and went straight to the lockers — where Anna would be, I was sure of it.
“Hey, Ann.” I threaded my way through.
“Hi, Noona. You read the announcement?”
“First thing this morning,” I admitted. “And maybe the worst.”
“Time to go to class,” she said. “See you at lunch — if we run into each other.” She laughed lightly; I laughed too, but the laugh had an edge. We had been best friends until she started hanging out with other people. She spent less time with me and more time in a different orbit. I hated the way that felt. I tried to talk to her about it once. She wasn’t willing to listen.
Then two boys barreled past and one of them crashed into me. I hit the floor. A rough, deep voice hovered above me, “Luna, are you okay?”
Kenji. I knew the worry in his voice before I looked up. He offered his hand and I took it, letting him pull me back upright.
“Nah. About to die!” I pretended. He narrowed his eyes like a knight concerned for his damsel.
“Just kidding. I’m fine.” I laughed as he helped me to my feet. Kenji had been my friend for years — my savior whenever I flung myself into trouble. I was the trouble; he was the tissues. He was steady in the way I wasn’t, the kind of person girls whispered about in the cafeteria and then blushed when he looked their way.
He sat a row behind me. Jasper, already there, grinned like a cat who’d found a new toy. Jasper was famous for mischief; the principal’s office was his second home. The last time he’d landed there it involved firecrackers and a very unfortunate security camera. Still, underneath the troublemaking was a good heart, or so I told myself.
“Hi, Moon. How can I see you in daylight? I thought people could only see you at night!” Jasper teased — because of course he called me Moon.
I gave him a smirk and threatened to throw my heavy bag at him. He yanked Kenji to protect himself and Kenji played along, all exasperation and fake terror. Claire — calm, soft Claire who was like a mother to all of us — watched with that small, indulgent smile she kept for my theatrics.
We had been a group: Anna, Claire, Kenji, Jasper, me. But after Anna and Claire had a fight I didn’t understand, things had shifted. I tried to mediate, to push the mean girls out of the way, but Anna wouldn’t choose. She slid away, and no explanation stuck.
Class began slowly — introductions, nervous laughter, a teacher who gave us permission to chat. One by one we said our names: Luna Castillo. Claire Wilson. Kenji Sasaki. Jasper Cullen. Each name landed like a pebble into the stream of the day.
“Someone’s getting popular,” Claire said, mockingly, when a cluster of girls giggled at Kenji’s passing glance.
“I’m handsome. Of course girls will look,” Jasper said.
“You’re not the one they’re whispering about,” I teased. We traded barbs like currency. I was used to it. I preferred noise to silence.
Kenji had his nose in a book until Claire and I started making faces. Then I saw it: a tiny smile on his face, and the faintest blush on his cheeks. Heat stretched through me. When he reached across and touched my forehead, I stiffened. The contact — so casual, so observant — sent a little shock through me that wasn’t from fever.
“Doesn’t look like a fever. You okay?” he asked.
“Uh…” I floundered. “Maybe it’s the room temperature.”
He laughed softly and I pretended not to melt.
The day slid forward, the bell a metronome between classes. When the final bell rang and the throng pushed toward the gates, Jasper grabbed my arm and slipped me out of sight of Kenji and Claire.
“What’s going on? Don’t tell me you’re about to set off another firecracker and want me to run you out of the school to save both our asses,” I said, half-exasperated, half-excited at his obvious mischief.
“Not really,” he said, and the smile he couldn’t hide meant trouble.
“What do you mean ‘not really’? I swear, I’m not part of any of your plans. Kenji and Claire are gone — who will save my ass?”
“You don’t trust me to save you?”
“No. I only trust Kenji,” I said, and the truth sounded louder than I intended.
“Then at least hear me out,” he said. He leaned in, conspiratorial, and for the first time all morning I forgot the class lists and the shifting alliances and the small, ugly petty feelings that had been sitting in my chest.
“Okay,” I sighed. “Go on.”
“I want you to help me decide on a good place,” he whispered, eyes bright, “and keep everything a secret.”
“A good place for what?” I asked, though I already knew — because with Jasper, trouble was always the most delicious kind of invitation.
“For…” He paused, and the word dangled there, unfinished, the promise of it humming between us.
