Just too good looking

By the time second period ended, the hallway had already turned into a current of whispers, laughter, and sidelong glances. Kyle walked through it all with the same quiet detachment he'd perfected over the years, shoulders slightly hunched, gaze fixed ahead. His black hair, still damp from the morning mist, curled slightly over his forehead, and his deep blue eyes flicked from face to face, never lingering long.

He hated this part of his life more than he could explain.

He didn't ask to be attractive. Didn't ask for the attention, the way girls would glance his way, giggle behind their hands, or pretend to drop something in front of his locker. He'd grown used to it, brushing it off like rain on a coat. He was polite, always—but distant. Friendly enough to not be cold, cold enough to not give hope.

But that never stopped them from trying.

"Hey Kyle," said a voice behind him, syrupy sweet. "Do you have a pencil I could borrow?"

He turned, already knowing who it was.

Samantha Walker. Blonde, tall, the school volleyball star. Her smile was blinding, her lip gloss shimmering under the hallway lights.

Kyle pulled a pencil from his bag. "Sure."

Their fingers brushed briefly as she took it. Her eyes sparkled, locking with his.

"You're a lifesaver," she purred. "You should come to our game Friday. I could use your good luck."

"I'll think about it," he said gently, already stepping away.

She called after him, "You always say that!"

He didn't look back.

By lunch, the air around him buzzed with more than just cafeteria noise. Rumors and whispers always found their way back to Kyle. Today was no different. But what cut sharper was what his ears caught near the vending machines.

"She's totally using him. I don't know how he doesn't see it."

Kyle paused, hidden by the corner wall.

"She only talks to him when she's not with Chris. It's so obvious."

His pulse quickened.

They were talking about her—Leah.

Leah Withers. The girl with dark auburn hair that fell like a curtain over her shoulder, soft green eyes, and a laugh that always sounded like it belonged in a movie. Leah, who used to ask for his help in science class. Who once sat with him when he had no lunch money and shared her apple slices. Who sometimes touched his arm when she talked and leaned in a little too close when she laughed.

He had liked her for months.

But she never gave him clarity—never pushed him away, never pulled him close. She kept him suspended in a strange limbo of glances, half-smiles, and suggestive comments. Enough to fuel hope. Not enough to act on.

Today, she passed him in the hallway, wearing a cropped red sweater and walking beside Chris Lawrence—rich, smug, polished Chris with the designer jacket and the expensive watch. She smiled at Kyle like nothing was wrong.

"Hey you," she said with that easy, intimate tone. "You didn't text me back last night."

"I was tired," Kyle replied, keeping his expression neutral.

"Too tired for me?" she teased, tilting her head.

Kyle wanted to believe she meant it.

Chris chuckled beside her. "Don't take it personally, Leah. Maybe he's just too cool for phone calls."

Leah laughed, but her eyes stayed on Kyle.

"See you later," she said, giving him a wink before walking off with Chris, her arm brushing against his.

Kyle stood there a long time.

Intervention

At lunch, he barely touched his food.

Kate noticed immediately. She poked at her salad but didn't eat either.

"You know she's playing you, right?"

Kyle looked up slowly. "What?"

"Leah. Come on, Kyle. Don't act like it's not obvious."

Jason looked up from his sandwich, sighing. "Man, we didn't want to say anything. But she's not serious. She's with Chris. Has been for a while."

Kyle looked down at his tray, his fingers tightening around his fork.

"She used to be different," he said quietly. "She used to talk to me like I mattered."

Kate reached out, putting a hand over his. "Maybe she did. But people like that… they pick what's shiny. And Chris has money. That's what she really wants."

Jason nodded. "She wants attention. You give it. Chris gives gifts. He's got the edge."

Kyle let out a bitter laugh. "That's depressing."

"It's real," Kate said gently.

He nodded. But something still hurt. Not because Leah rejected him—she never even made her intentions clear. It was the fact that she let him believe she might feel the same. That she smiled at him like he was special… when she knew she never saw him that way.

The final period dragged on. Mr. Halberd's voice was monotone, discussing ancient civilizations with a kind of passionless accuracy that could kill any interest. Kyle stared out the window. Trees swayed in the breeze, sunlight catching on leaves like shards of gold. Birds flitted from branch to branch. Peaceful. Distant.

A different world.

He barely heard when the bell rang. He moved like a ghost through the hallway, students bustling past him. At his locker, he took his time, mechanically switching out his books. The weight of the day sat heavily on his shoulders.

Just as he turned to leave, he paused.

There—across the hallway. Near the exit doors.

A woman stood with her arms crossed, watching him.

She wore a tailored charcoal coat over sleek black pants. Her dark brown hair was pinned back in a tight twist. Her posture was too precise, her eyes too sharp.

Agent Maris.

She didn't move. She didn't wave. She simply watched.

And then—blink—and she was gone. The hallway swelled with students crossing his vision, and when they cleared, she had disappeared.

Kyle's breath caught in his throat. His heart thudded.

Did he imagine it?

He scanned the area. Nothing. No trace. Just the usual tide of students heading out, laughing, chattering, pushing each other.

But he knew what he saw.

Agent Maris had been watching him.

Walking Home Again

The walk home felt like being hunted by shadows. Kyle kept glancing over his shoulder, eyes darting to every parked car, every reflection in store windows. Was she still there, just hidden?

By the time he reached his apartment, his palms were damp, and his nerves were frayed.

His mother was on the phone in the kitchen, her tone cheerful. She waved at him as he entered. "Hi, honey! Just catching up with Aunt Rosa. There's lasagna in the oven."

Kyle nodded, forcing a smile.

His room was a sanctuary, but tonight, even it felt exposed. He closed the curtains and sat on his bed, staring at the wall.

Why was she watching him again?

He hadn't told the truth, sure. But he hadn't said anything to draw attention either. Had they found something in the store footage? Did they know he'd seen the cyborg up close?

And more terrifying—was she there to protect him?

Or silence him?