I’m halfway through my usual route to the table with Marcus and the rest of the guys when I see him.

Eli.

He’s at the far end of the cafeteria, alone at a two-top near the windows. Hoodie up. Earbuds in. Sketchbook open. The same as always—like he’s figured out how to disappear even in a room full of noise.

I keep walking.

Past the soda machine.

Past my table.

Then I double back and head toward him like it’s no big deal. Like I don’t feel a dozen eyes on my back wondering where I’m going.

Eli looks up when I stop at his table.

“You mind?”

He hesitates—long enough that I think he’s going to say no—but then he slides his tray slightly to the side.

I sit down.

We don’t talk at first. I unwrap my sandwich. He keeps drawing.

“You ever eat?” I ask eventually.

He shrugs. “Sometimes.”

I nod, like that makes sense.

A few minutes pass in silence. It’s weird, but not uncomfortable. More like… background noise. Calmer than I thought it would be.

Then he surprises me.

“You’re not like your friends.”

I look up. “Yeah? How’s that?”

He shrugs, pencil still moving. “You don’t try so hard.”

I let out a soft laugh. “You think this is me not trying?”

He finally looks at me. “I think this is the real you. Or closer.”

I don’t have anything clever to say to that. So I just nod.

We sit there, the two of us—loud boy, quiet boy, pretending we’re not watching each other when we think the other isn’t looking.

Somewhere between bites, I realize I don’t want this lunch to end too fast.