"It's kind of our thing," Shawn said with a wink, as if being self-declared mystery solvers was the most natural afterschool hobby in the world.
Gus rolled his eyes. "We haven't solved anything yet. Unless you count identifying who keeps writing 'butt' in the history textbooks."
"That was an investigation," Shawn replied with mock indignation. "There were suspects. There were clues. There was a butt-related pattern."
Ethan took a sip of water, watching them volley back and forth like a comedy duo rehearsing in real time. He hadn't expected this kind of energy at lunch—but now that it was here, it felt oddly right. Like the world had been a little too quiet before.
Maya leaned toward him, whispering, "This might be the most entertaining lunch I've had all semester."
He nodded slowly, still half-amused, half-confused. "Do they come with subtitles?"
Maya chuckled, then turned her attention to the cafeteria doors, which had opened again.
A tall, blonde girl in a neatly pressed plaid jacket stepped in, holding a tray of food like it was an accessory. Her hair was effortlessly styled, her makeup subtle but pristine, and she carried herself with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly how much space she deserved in a room.
Ethan recognized her immediately from English class: Cher Horowitz. She'd only arrived a few days ago, but it didn't take long for people to notice her. Not because she was loud—though she certainly wasn't quiet—but because she had a sort of curated sparkle. Like a character who knew she was in a show and made sure she always hit her best angles.
She hovered near the entrance, scanning for a table, then sighed and started heading toward a mostly empty bench along the back wall.
Maya frowned. "Wait, that's Cher. I didn't know she didn't have anyone to sit with."
"She looks like she has a PR team," Ethan murmured.
"Well, PR teams need lunch too." Maya waved. "Cher! Over here!"
Cher turned, blinked in surprise, then smiled like someone being offered a lifeline in a fashion emergency.
"Oh my God, thank you," she said as she reached them. "I was seriously about to go eat by the vending machines. Again. It's tragic."
She placed her tray down at the end of their table and gave a polite nod around. "Hi, I'm Cher."
"Shawn," said Shawn, already offering his hand like he was sealing a business deal. "This is Gus, Ethan, and Maya."
Gus gave a half-wave. Ethan nodded. Maya offered a warm smile.
Cher sat down gracefully, tucking a napkin into her lap with mechanical precision. "You all are lifesavers. I swear, I'm still learning how this school works. My last one had a sushi bar and optional yoga credits."
Ethan blinked. "Where was that, Narnia?"
"Beverly Hills," Cher said brightly. "Same thing, different closet space."
Shawn leaned forward, intrigued. "You're from 90210?"
"Grew up there," Cher said with a practiced smile. "Daddy thought moving here would be a 'grounding experience.'" She air-quoted the phrase like it had been said a dozen times. "It's been... educational."
"Culture shock?" Maya asked.
Cher nodded dramatically. "Like switching from Moët to Minute Maid." She looked at Ethan's tray. "No offense to the fruit cup. I respect the classics."
Ethan couldn't help it—he laughed. She had the sharp delivery of someone who had spent her life turning everything into commentary. But it wasn't cruel. Just... rehearsed.
Shawn grinned. "You're fun. Most people would walk into a new school and crumble under cafeteria politics. You, meanwhile, show up in couture and throw shade at the juice."
Cher flipped her hair. "Shade is free. And I paid good money for the shoes. It balances."
The group fell into a rhythm quickly. Maya and Cher bonded over their shared love for early-2000s romcoms. Shawn challenged Cher to a game of "Who Has the Most Dramatic High School Story," which led to an escalating spiral of tales involving stolen science fair projects and mistaken identities in debate club.
Ethan mostly watched, occasionally chiming in with a dry quip that earned a laugh or a nod. It felt like a strange little ecosystem had sprouted at their table—chaotic, messy, but somehow functional. Like a band that never rehearsed but still managed to play in sync.
When Cher asked what everyone liked to do outside of school, Maya mentioned photography, Gus talked about reading and biking, Shawn said "crime-solving," with a completely straight face, and Cher replied, "redecorating my room—therapy but with better lighting."
Then all eyes turned to Ethan.
He hesitated.
"Piano," he finally said, brushing a crumb off his tray.
"Ohh, I love piano!" Cher said immediately. "My cousin took lessons. Her teacher was super old and smelled like violets and regret, but she got really good."
Ethan smiled faintly. "I started when I was six. It's... where my brain makes sense."
"That's beautiful," Maya said quietly.
"I bet you're amazing," Cher added. "Do you perform?"
He shook his head. "Just compose. Mostly for myself."
Shawn tilted his head. "Any songs I'd know?"
Ethan shrugged. "Probably not. But... I've been working on something new."
"Oh?" Maya asked.
He paused. Then pulled a folded piece of paper from his backpack. It was just a sketch of notes, scribbled in his distinct, neat handwriting.
"I made a new song called Pompeii. It stemms from the volcanic eruption in history. I really like the rythm."
Maya leaned in. "Can I see?"
He handed her the sheet, nervous but proud.
Cher peeked over. "Ooooh. This is like reading someone's diary, but classier."
Shawn tapped the table. "Can we hear it?"
Ethan looked down. "I'd need a piano. And a little less... cafeteria."
"Fair enough," Shawn said. "Rain check. But you should know, I'm already mentally scoring our group's montage scene. I'm thinking dramatic strings, slow-mo walking, someone dropping a lunch tray in the background."
"I volunteer to drop the tray," Cher said, raising her hand.
"Of course you do," Gus muttered.
Ethan folded the paper and tucked it back into his folder. His thoughts were already dancing between chords. It wasn't a finished piece, not yet, but it was forming. Like the song of a day he hadn't quite lived yet.
They finished lunch slowly, reluctant to break the easy vibe that had settled between them.
As the bell rang, Maya stood and stretched. "Next stop, English?"
Ethan nodded, standing up beside her.
"Let's all meet again tomorrow," Shawn suggested, already balancing the pineapple on his head like a circus act. "Same table. Same time. Different chaos."
"Count me in," Cher said, adjusting her hair in her compact mirror.
Gus just sighed and followed Shawn, as always.
Maya bumped Ethan's arm gently. "You okay?"
He nodded.
"I'm... surprisingly okay."