With each step in Eliana’s red flats, Eliot feels himself fade further into the background. He’s wearing her glasses now—thin frames that feel slightly crooked on his face, though he adjusts them constantly. The emerald-green blazer of his new school uniform fits well enough, but the blue-striped tie feels tighter than it should, like it’s suffocating him.

Walking a few paces behind two girls in matching uniforms, he studies them. Their laughter floats back to him, light and easy, as they link arms like old friends. Eliot observes from a safe distance, keeping his expression neutral.

“They’re from my school,” he realizes, eyeing their uniforms. His gaze drifts to the girl on the left. She’s taller, with an elegant, deliberate stride that reminds him of a cat—a cheetah, perhaps. “Not her,” he thinks, shaking his head. The other girl, clinging playfully to her friend’s arm, catches his attention. She’s energetic, her steps light and uneven, almost bouncing. Her movements are a little clumsy, as if she might trip over her own feet. “She’s the type to make everyone laugh,” Eliot thinks, his lips twitching in a small, fleeting smile. “Maybe her.”

Eliot adjusts his own stride, mimicking the bubbly girl’s swaying walk, just slightly. It feels awkward, unnatural, but he keeps going, her lightness contrasting sharply with the weight of the small gift baskets in his hands. When the strain becomes too much, he stops at the bus stop, setting the baskets down for a moment to catch his breath.

A few minutes later, the bus arrives. One foot after the other, Eliot climbs aboard, nodding politely at the driver. “Hello,” he says, soft but cheerful, the way Eliana would.

He moves down the aisle, careful to avoid eye contact, and picks a window seat. Placing the baskets on the seat beside him, he pulls a small pocketbook from his blazer pocket. He flips it open, but he’s not really reading. Instead, he watches. Observes. A woman in the seat ahead sits with her legs crossed, her posture casual yet confident. Eliot mirrors her, crossing his own legs. It’s uncomfortable, but he forces himself to keep them that way.

A few rows up, another student in the same uniform catches his attention. She’s sitting upright, focused on her phone, her thumbs darting across the screen. Her nails are painted with tiny designs—one a dog, the other a paw print. The details are cute, playful, distinctly hers.

Eliot glances down at his own hands and freezes. He forgot to paint his nails. His stomach tightens, and the pounding of his heart becomes a distant roar in his ears. “How could I forget?” The thought slices through him, sharp and cold. His fingers dig into the edge of his seat, his knuckles white with tension. Each mistake feeding into the next., a chain reaction pulling him under. “If I forgot this, what else did I miss? Did I forget something important?”

He forces himself to look at his bag. “It’s fine. I have my bottle,” he thinks. But the doubt creeps in again. “What if I forgot that, too?” His fingers fumble with the zipper as he rummages through the bag, his breath quickening. Panic rises, sharp and suffocating, until his fingers brush against the familiar shape. There it is, tucked at the bottom, beneath a tangle of papers and pens. Relief washes over him in a wave, but it’s quickly followed by a pang of frustration. “I need to be more organized,” he scolds himself. “And no more packing after taking pills.”

The bus jerks to a stop, and Eliot hurriedly gathers his things. He steps off, falling into stride behind the girl with the dog-themed nails. She’s about his height, maybe a little shorter. Summoning Eliana’s confidence , he cheerfully speaks up. “Hi! Love your nails,” he says, his voice light but practiced.

The girl glances back, surprised but pleased. “Thanks,” she replies with a smile. “I like your hair—so shiny and long.”

Eliot pushes her glasses up, the faintest hint of pride creeping into his voice. “Thanks. Did you do your nails yourself?” She asks, gesturing toward the girl’s hands.

“Yeah, I did,” Dorothy replies, looking down at her fingers. “It took forever to get the details right. I almost gave up on the little dog.”

Eliot tilts his head, studying the designs more closely as they walk. “Wow, that’s impressive. I don’t think I’d have the patience for that. I’m terrible at designs—I can barely paint a solid coat without messing it up.”

Dorothy laughs. “It just takes practice. I’ve been doing it for years, so I’ve gotten used to it.”

“I don’t know,” Eliot says, letting out a small laugh. “I’d probably end up with blobs instead of dogs. Do you ever do nails for other people?”

“Sometimes,” Dorothy says with a shrug. “Mostly for my friends. They keep asking for crazy stuff—like once, someone wanted watermelon slices on every nail.”

Eliot grins. “Okay, that’s pretty ambitious. If you ever feel like taking on a challenge, let me know—I could use some cute nails for a change.”

Dorothy chuckles. “Deal. I’ll keep my tools ready.”

They fall into a brief silence as they near the school, but it’s a comfortable one. Eliot glances over at her and realizes, with a mix of relief and surprise, that talking to her feels easier than he expected.

“I’m Eliana, by the way,” she says finally, slipping into the persona with ease. “But everyone calls me Ana.”

“Oh, I’m Dorothy,” she responds, her smile widening. “I’m a first year.”

“Me too,” Eliana says, matching her smile. As they near the school doors, She spots a familiar group in the distance—Eliana’s old middle school friends. His stomach tightens, but he forces his face into a bright expression, raising a hand to wave. “Guess I’ll see you around,” Eliana says to Dorothy. “Probably on the bus.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Dorothy says. “See you, Ana.”

Eliana speeds up, walking toward the group of girls near the lockers. They’re familiar to Eliot now, though he doesn’t really like them. But Eliana did, and that’s all that matters. Arms open wide, he greets them with a practiced, radiant smile, juggling the gift baskets as he hugs two of them at once.

“I missed you guys so much!” She says brightly.

“You’re the one who left us for the whole summer,” Liana teases, whining.

“Yeah, off to Greece without a second thought,” Mayana adds.

"Plus you’re a week late , you missed so much “ Ariana says .

Eliana laughs, pulling back from the hug. “I’m sorry for the betrayal!” She jokes, clapping her hands together in mock apology. “But I brought back peace offerings! ”

“Those baskets?” Ariana asks, raising a brow.

“Oh, no, these aren’t for you,” Eliana quips. “I’m bribing the faculty.”

“Bet one’s for the nurse,” Mayana guesses.

Eliot hesitates, but only for a fraction of a second. “Of course. You know me! Gotta make sure I’ve secured my spot for when I want to skip class.”

“For your panic attacks, you mean,” Ariana says, her tone sharp and thoughtless.

The words hang in the air, silencing the group. Eliot’s jaw tightens, and he looks away, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. Liana and Mayana glare at Ariana, their disapproval evident.

Eliot forces a laugh, breaking the tension. “No worries,” he says quickly. “Anyway, I brought snacks, too. Something new every day this week. You have to try them—they’re amazing.” Eliana say. 

“Oooh, can’t wait! I’m getting hungry already,” Liana says eagerly, her eyes lighting up.

“If we keep talking about food, Liana’s going to eat her lunch before class even starts,” Mayana teases, elbowing her.

The girls latch onto a new topic, and Eliana falls back into step with them, her smile unwavering. But his mind races, the cracks in his carefully crafted facade growing deeper.

“Does she know something?” he wonders, the question tightening his chest. “No… it can’t be.”

His fingers brush the edge of the gift basket he’s carrying, gripping it tighter as if grounding himself. “She remembered from years ago—that’s all. I should have been more careful,” he thinks, swallowing down the rising panic.

His pace quickens slightly, almost as if he can outrun the weight pressing down on him. “We’ll be better,” he tells himself silently. “We have to be better.”

A glint of light catches his eye, pulling his attention to a nearby classroom window. He glances at the glass—and stops cold.

Eliana is there, staring back at him from the reflection. Her green eyes bore into his, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. Her hair is immaculate, her tie perfectly straight, her blazer smooth where his feels stiff and awkward.

“You’re slipping,” she whispers, her voice sharp and low, audible only to him.

“I’m not,” he whispers back, his lips barely moving. His heart pounds as he glances around, praying no one notices him talking to his reflection.

“Then why are they looking at you like that?” she hisses, her expression hardening. Her gaze flicks pointedly to the group of girls walking ahead, their laughter ringing out in the distance.

Eliot’s chest tightens. He doesn’t look away from her, from the accusation in her eyes. “I’ll fix it,” he says quietly. “I promise.”

Her lips curve into a small, satisfied smile. “You’d better,” she replies before fading from the glass, leaving only his reflection—a distorted shadow of her.

Eliot exhales shakily and hurries after the others, his polished red flats clicking softly against the tile. The bright, sunny mask slips back into place, perfectly rehearsed.

No one notices the cracks underneath.