09 strange people

Luna’s POV

The dream of introducing Rory to Tyler haunts me, a sharp reminder of my naivety. I should’ve seen her feelings, but I was too dazzled by his charm. The memory stings, and as I trudge through Royal Heights’ cafeteria, the weight of it lingers. I grab a Japanese bento with grilled salmon—say what you want about this school, but the food is five-star, a daily global menu crafted by top chefs. It’s a small comfort when you’re starving, physically and emotionally.

Tray in hand, I scan for a quiet corner. The popular tables buzz with chatter, but I’m not part of that world anymore. I head toward the farthest spot, where the whispers are softer, the stares less piercing. My foot catches on something—a bag, a leg, I don’t know—and I’m falling before I can react. My tray crashes, pasta, salad, and fruit scattering across the floor. The clatter echoes, drawing every eye in the room.

My hands shake as I scramble to clean the mess, cheeks burning. Whispers ripple around me, but no one moves to help. Students step over the spill, careful not to dirty their shoes. I glance up, and Tyler’s at his table, rolling his eyes like I’m a nuisance. My heart twists. Max is there too, starting to stand, but a teammate grips his arm, pulling him back with a warning look. I don’t wait to see more. I grab my tray and bolt, head down, the word “Lunatic” echoing in my mind.

In the music room, I pour my pain into Clair de Lune, the piano my only friend. The notes flow, sad and heavy, until I finish, staring at the keys. A glance at my watch says it’s time to go, but a voice stops me. “Clair de Lune. It means Moonlight, doesn’t it?”

I whip around, heart racing. Max lounges on a couch, eyes closed, hands behind his head. How long has he been here? I was lost in the music, oblivious to him sneaking in. “What are you doing here?” I demand.

“My mom plays that song,” he says, standing, a smirk playing on his lips as he approaches the piano. He leans against it, too close. “But you play it differently.”

Curiosity betrays me. “How different?”

“Every song hits different depending on the player’s emotions,” he says, eyes locked on mine. “That’s the saddest Clair de Lune I’ve ever heard.”

I snort, deflecting. “You’re exaggerating.”

He doesn’t laugh. His gaze is intense, pinning me. “What’s eating you, Luna Klein?”

I freeze, his words slicing through my defenses. “What?”

“What’s hurting you?” he repeats, softer but piercing. “You’re sad. You’re not okay.”

My chest tightens, his questions hitting too close. I force a laugh. “What are you talking about? I’m fine.”

He doesn’t buy it, stepping closer. “Are you? Fine being alone, eating in the corner so no one mocks you?”

“I don’t like chatting while eating,” I lie, clenching my fists.

“Is that so, Lunatic?” His smile is sharp, cruel. “You like that name, don’t you? It suits you. They’re right, aren’t they?”

Tears burn my eyes, his words cutting deeper than I expect. Why is he doing this? “What are you trying to say, Max?” My voice shakes, pain seeping through.

“No one would care if you poisoned yourself, fell, or died,” he hisses. “No one gives a fuck about you, Luna.”

The truth in his words shatters me. My throat closes, tears threatening to spill. “And Tyler,” he continues, voice low, “you know how much he despises you? You’re scared of him, rushing to escape.”

I was scared you’d help me, Max, I think, scared it’d ruin your place with the team. But I can’t say it. He’s too close now, his face an inch from mine, green eyes boring into me. Tears pool, and I hate that he sees them.

“Still saying you’re okay?” His voice trembles, and I realize he’s pushing me to break, to admit the truth. “I’m going to find out who did this to you.”

I’m speechless, caught between fear and a flicker of something else—relief that someone sees my pain, even if it’s him. But I can’t let him dig deeper. Not when it could cost him everything.

---

Max’s POV

The cafeteria’s alive with chatter, my new teammates hyping me up. I’m thrilled to be on the team—American football’s a new beast, but my passion’s been stoked by Dad and Uncle Jake since I was a kid. Sitting across from Tyler, I dig into my salmon bento, savoring the five-star quality. This school’s food is unreal.

Tyler smirks, leaning back. “You haven’t seen anything from Coach Williams.”

“Spill,” I say, grinning.

“Wait till we face last year’s champs,” he warns. “Coach’ll roar. Punctuality’s everything—screw it, and we’re all in freezing water mid-winter.”

I laugh, unfazed. My old coach in Australia was just as brutal. “Got it. Thanks for the heads-up.”

A teammate claps my shoulder. “It’ll be worth it, dude.”

A loud clatter cuts through the noise. Luna’s on the floor, her tray a mess of spilled pasta, salad, and fruit. Her hands tremble as she tries to clean it. Did she trip? I start to stand, but a firm grip on my arm stops me. The guy beside me shoots a warning look, shaking his head. I glance at Tyler—he rolls his eyes, dismissive. Whispers ripple, but no one helps. Students step over her mess like she’s invisible. Before I can move, Luna’s up, tray in hand, and gone.

The grip on my arm loosens, and I sink back, stunned. My teammates pivot to last night’s game, like nothing happened. What the fuck? I scan the room, looking for a culprit—someone who tripped her—but everyone’s acting normal, eating, chatting. My gut twists. Something’s wrong here.

It’s not just this. The chemistry lab, when no one cared about her chemical spill. The “Lunatic” taunts. The hateful glances. The silence when we talk. I thought Luna was the problem—arrogant, distant, choosing isolation. But what if it’s the other way around? What if she’s shutting herself off to survive? What if she’s an outcast?

I clench my jaw, appetite gone. This school’s got a dark undercurrent, and I’m done ignoring it. I need answers.

---

Later, I slip into the music room, drawn by the sound of Clair de Lune. Luna’s at the piano, lost in the music, her notes heavy with sorrow. I settle on a couch, listening until she finishes. “Clair de Lune. Moonlight, right?” I say, breaking her reverie.

Her eyes widen, startled. “What are you doing here?”

“My mom plays it,” I say, standing, closing the distance. “But yours is different. Saddest I’ve ever heard.”

She snorts, deflecting. “You’re exaggerating.”

I don’t let it slide. “What’s eating you, Luna Klein?” Her guard’s up, but I push. “You’re sad. Not okay. What’s hurting you?”

She laughs it off, claiming she’s fine, but I see through it. “Fine eating alone in the corner to avoid mockery?” I challenge. “Fine with ‘Lunatic’? With no one caring if you’re hurt, or worse?”

Her eyes glisten, pain breaking through. “What are you saying, Max?” she whispers, voice trembling.

“No one would give a fuck if you died,” I say, harsh, testing her. “And Tyler—he despises you. You’re terrified of him.”

Tears well up, and I hate myself for pushing, but I need her to crack, to admit it. I step closer, our faces inches apart. “Still saying you’re okay?” My voice shakes, mirroring hers.

Her tears don’t fall, but they’re there, raw and real. “I’m going to find out who did this to you,” I vow, my resolve hardening. Luna’s not just a spoiled brat—she’s a girl carrying a weight this school put on her, and I’m done letting it slide.