The high school cafeteria looked exactly like what it was: a feeding factory for noisy teenagers.
Sitting at our usual table—the one strategically placed right by the trash cans and far from any prying eyes—I stirred the lukewarm mashed potatoes on my tray.
Across from me, Aamir was beaming, talking about a soccer match with all the enthusiasm of a TV anchor, completely immune to the surrounding gloom.
That’s when the ghost made her appearance.
Maya dropped into the empty chair to my right.
True to form, she sported dark circles so deep it looked like she hadn’t slept since 2014.
Without a word, she reached out, filched the crispiest fry from my tray, and crunched it with a weary sigh.
“You know,” she muttered with her mouth full, “you two make a truly fascinating duo. The sun and the black hole. Our magnificent losers. It’s almost poetic to watch.”
“Good morning to you too, Maya,” I replied.
“I see the supermarket has put you in a stellar mood.”
She ignored my remark and leaned forward, lowering her voice.
Her underground intelligence network was more efficient than the S.R.B.’s secret service.
“Hold onto your plastic trays, boys. There’s a new development. A new student is arriving this afternoon. And we’re not talking about some local accountant’s cousin. She’s an absolute VIP. An untouchable, coddled straight by the government.”
Aamir raised an interested eyebrow.
“Like, a diplomat’s daughter?”
“Like, a Super-mega VIP with a marketing budget bigger than the GDP of a small country,” Maya corrected.
“A girl so far out of our league we shouldn’t even be legally allowed to breathe the same air. Get ready to feel even more pathetic than usual.”
Two hours later, in Science class.
The air was heavy, lulled by Mr. Harris’s monotone voice.
Then, the door opened.
And the world stopped.
The new girl walked in.
Her name was Sienna.
She wasn’t just “beautiful.” She exuded the aura of a flawless, precision-calibrated product worth a billion dollars.
Everything about her screamed genetic perfection and intensive training.
She was the S.R.B.’s famous prodigy recruit, the apprentice heroine everyone on social media had been buzzing about for weeks.
Rumors claimed she possessed the raw potential of an S-Rank.
The makings of a “Hope” or a “Nova.”
Don’t judge me.
I’m a seventeen-year-old guy with wild hormones and a nonexistent social life.
This girl was an anomaly of perfection.
A creature descended from Olympus only to get lost in a suburban high school.
I was a miserable speck of dust; she was a supernova.
She stood in front of the blackboard.
Her smile was dazzling, engineered to reassure crowds and burst through screens.
“I’m Sienna. I’m thrilled to join your school, though—and I apologize in advance—I will probably be absent quite often due to… my professional obligations.”
A perfect public relations speech.
Harris, visibly impressed or briefed by his superiors, scanned the room to find her a seat.
My blood ran cold.
There was only one empty chair left.
In the front row.
Right next to the guy who sleeps with his eyes open.
Right next to me.
“Miss, take the seat next to Mr. Frey,” Harris ordered.
“And Frey, try to stay conscious to welcome her.”
The class muffled a laugh.
Sienna stepped forward.
She sat down to my right.
My sense of smell was instantly assaulted.
She smelled of rare flowers and clean money.
I smelled of cold sweat, fear, and old deodorant.
She turned her head toward me, her eyes locking onto mine, and flashed a radiant smile.
“Hi, I’m Sienna. Nice to meet you.”
At that exact microsecond, my heart exploded.
My pulse spiked to 150 beats per minute in half a second.
My palms went slick.
A textbook physiological stress response from a high schooler struck down by a crush.
But to the dormant symbiote beneath my skin, it was a disastrous trigger.
The parasite didn’t understand love, shyness, or hormones.
It was a primal biological weapon.
To it, such a violent acceleration of the heart, coupled with a surge of adrenaline and a cold sweat, meant only one thing: Immediate mortal danger.
Absolute necessity to evacuate.
A sudden wave of nausea flipped my stomach.
The room seemed to tilt.
My center of gravity vanished entirely.
I had the horrific, dizzying sensation of falling toward the ceiling.
I looked down under the desk, and my blood turned to ice.
They were floating two inches off the ground.
My body was turning weightless, irresistibly pulled upward by the suit’s anti-gravity, which was attempting to exfiltrate me from this “mortal danger zone.” I was already lifting my chair up with me.
Panic took over.
In a desperate move, I violently hooked my ankles under the metal legs of my chair to anchor myself to the floor.
I gripped the edge of my desk until my knuckles turned white.
My muscles strained to the absolute limit, my triceps screaming from the effort to keep me seated.
The wood of the desk let out a grim creak.
From the outside, the scene must have been peak comedy: a pathetic high schooler, totally paralyzed and curled over his table, sweating buckets, eyes wide, terrified by the mere presence of the prettiest girl in school sitting next to him.
But on the inside, it was a terrifying trench warfare.
I was using every ounce of my human strength to counter the divine power of a parasite trying to launch me like a rocket right in the middle of Science class.
The muscular strain and the nausea finally broke me.
My nose began to bleed slightly.
I couldn’t hold the pressure back any longer.
I raised a trembling hand, rudely cutting Mr. Harris off.
“Sir…” I stammered, my jaw clenched, my eyes glued to my desk to avoid lifting off.
“I… I’m gonna throw up.”
Without waiting for his answer, I bolted out of my seat, releasing my grip.
To fight the levitation trying to carry me away, I forced myself to stamp heavily with every step, like a deep-sea diver walking on the moon in lead boots.
I fled the classroom under the half-disgusted, half-amused stares of my classmates.
And under Sienna’s confused gaze.
I reached the bathroom and shoved my way into the first stall.
I emptied my lunch into the bowl.
Getting away from the “threat” did the trick.
As my heart rate slowed down, the symbiote calmed itself.
Gravity returned to normal.
The weight of my own body suddenly felt crushing.
I dragged myself over to the sinks and gripped the cold porcelain.
I looked up into the splattered mirror.
My reflection was pathetic.
I was pale as a corpse, my hair matted with sweat, a trace of dried blood beneath my nostril, looking like a man who had lost everything.
I had just passed for the ultimate sick geek—the textbook cliché of a loser struck down by social anxiety—right next to my absolute crush, during her very first hour on her very first day.
I knew perfectly well I didn’t stand a chance with a girl like Sienna to begin with.
But staring at my bruised eyes in the mirror, I still found a way to curse this damn organic parasite crawling under my skin.
“It’s official,” I whispered to the mirror with a bitter, joyless laugh.
“My divine suit is a total babe-repellent. Seriously… thanks for the superpowers, universe.”