Samuel barely made it to lunch.
For most of second period, he debated just walking out. Claim he was sick. Call Michael. Say his stomach hurt—or his head, or anything. He could bike home, crawl into bed, and pretend the world outside didn't know his name or his voice or the stupid title Paradise.
But he stayed.
He wasn't sure why. Maybe because he didn't want to look weak. Or maybe because running felt too much like letting Haley win.
Still, by the time he stepped into the cafeteria, his legs felt heavier than they should, like every step came with the weight of a hundred eyes watching him from the moment the bell rang.
When he walked into the cafeteria, he didn't pause.
Didn't glance around. Didn't check who was watching.
He just walked—straight through the noise, through the subtle hush that followed him down the aisle, like someone had just hit the volume down button on the room.
He kept his eyes locked ahead, tray clutched tightly in both hands, feet moving with purpose. Avoiding every glance, every whisper, every person shifting to get a better look.
At the far table near the windows, Dylan spotted him first. He raised a hand in greeting like he always did, casual, like nothing had changed. Tori sat next to him, head down, absently picking at the corner of her sandwich wrapper. And next to her, Alex Dunphy, flipping through notes with an unreadable expression on her face.
Samuel didn't say anything as he sat down.
When he sat down, he let out a slow, tired sigh and unzipped his backpack. Ignored the cafeteria tray completely. He pulled out a small container from home—chicken stir-fry with rice, perfectly packed, still warm thanks to the insulated wrap he used. The kind of meal no one else in the cafeteria would think to bring. The kind of food that said: I don't want to be here long.
He popped the lid, grabbed his fork, and took a bite before anyone could say anything.
Dylan, naturally, couldn't hold back.
"Dude," he said, leaning forward with a grin, "how can you not like the attention? It's like… you and Tori are the most popular freshmen in school right now."
Samuel didn't look up. He chewed. Swallowed. Then stabbed another bite like it personally offended him. "Yeah," he muttered. "A dream come true."
Dylan raised his eyebrows. "I'm just saying—half the juniors know your name now. And they're not bullying you for it. That's a win."
Alex didn't look up from her book. She turned a page slowly, then said in her usual deadpan tone, "Popularity based on internet virality is about as stable as a middle school relationship. You've got, like, three days before people move on to a squirrel on a skateboard."
Samuel didn't miss a beat.
"I don't like attention," he said, voice low but firm. "And especially not a video without my consent that got posted by a self-absorbed person."
Haley POV
At a table near the center of the cafeteria, Haley sat with Maddy and Cassie, surrounded by a mix of football players and cheerleaders. The energy was loud—laughs, inside jokes, the clatter of trays and high-pitched recaps of hallway drama. Phones were out, screens flashing clips of Paradise between bites of lunch and bursts of commentary.
Haley scrolled through the newest comments on the video, pretending not to care, even as she angled her phone so the others could see the view count tick higher.
Cassie leaned over to peek at Haley's phone, her perfectly shaped brows lifting. "So when's the next video coming?" she asked, smirking. "Or are you just posting the one and calling it a day?"
Haley smiled, tossing her hair back like the question barely scratched the surface of her plans. "Please, I already have big ideas for the next video. Just need to figure out the day with Samuel. Maybe Tori too, if she's in the mood to keep being adorable."
Maddie leaned back in her seat, sipping her drink as her eyes flicked across the cafeteria. "Hey, I see Samuel, Tori, and your sister at that table over there," she said, tone light but laced with challenge. "What about planning it now?" Her smirk deepened. She'd seen Samuel's reaction to the attention—there were definitely no plans in place.
Haley paused, her gaze drifting toward Samuel's table. For a second, she actually considered Maddie's tone—but then she shrugged, confidence sliding back into place like muscle memory.
"Why not?" she said, grabbing her phone. "Who would say no to me?"
Back to Samuel
Back at the window table, Tori finally looked up from her half-eaten sandwich and glanced at Samuel's container. "That smells way better than anything they're serving here," she said, half-teasing, half-serious. "You're kind of ruining the cafeteria for the rest of us."
Samuel glanced up, his expression still guarded but softening just a bit. "It's just chicken and rice," he muttered. "Nothing fancy."
Tori smirked. "Yeah, well… 'just chicken and rice' doesn't usually make everyone around it hungry." She sighed, eyeing her sandwich with new disappointment. "I didn't even notice how bad this tasted until you started eating. Now it's like chewing cardboard next to a five-star meal."
Dylan, halfway through his second helping of whatever the cafeteria was calling pasta that day, looked up with sauce on his cheek and zero shame. "I don't get what you guys are complaining about," he said, mouth still half-full. "This stuff slaps."
Samuel raised an eyebrow. "You're literally eating something that looks like it was boiled in regret."
Dylan just shrugged and took another bite, chewing loudly. "Tastes like middle school and freedom. No notes."
Samuel glanced at Tori's sandwich, then at Dylan's tray, and smirked. "If you're really that desperate to avoid eating whatever that is," he said, nodding toward Dylan, "I could just make extra next time."
Tori looked up, surprised—and maybe just a little tempted. "Wait—seriously? You'd actually do that?"
She tilted her head slightly, her tone softening. "Are you sure that's okay?"
Samuel gave a small shrug, stabbing another piece of chicken. "I mean, I couldn't just sit here and let other people suffer through cafeteria food. That'd be cruel."
Tori let out a short laugh, still watching him like she wasn't sure if he was serious or not. Before she could respond, movement from across the cafeteria caught his attention.
Haley.
He saw her first—walking toward them with that trademark confidence, Maddy and Cassie right behind her, chatting like they owned the floor. Samuel's fork paused midair. "Hey, Alex," he said without looking away, "your sister and her friends are walking over."
Alex looked up from her book, barely lifting her head. She followed Samuel's gaze, then sighed. "Great. Just what this table needed—an influx of chaos and contour."
Samuel let out a short laugh, unable to help himself at Alex's line.
Just as he took another bite, Haley stopped at the edge of the table, hands on her hips, eyes narrowing slightly. "What are you laughing about?" she asked, already sounding like she assumed it was about her.
Samuel didn't answer right away. He kept chewing, swallowed, set his fork down with just a bit too much care. Then, without looking up, he stabbed another piece of chicken.
"Oh, just laughing about how viral fame is exactly what I asked for when I sang in a living room with no camera in sight."
Haley froze, clearly not expecting pushback—especially not from him, and especially not in front of Maddy and Cassie. Her smile faltered, and for the briefest second, something flickered behind her eyes. A mix of surprise and self-consciousness, like she suddenly remembered she had an audience.
Alex looked up from her book, curiosity fully engaged now. Most people tiptoed around Haley like she came with a spotlight and a built-in fan club. But Samuel? He didn't flinch. And that made things interesting.
Dylan leaned back, still chewing, looking positively thrilled. Like he'd just scored front-row seats to the kind of drama that usually only happened on reality TV.
For a second, no one said anything.
The silence wasn't loud, but it stung. Haley's expression twitched—part disbelief, part embarrassment. She glanced at Maddy and Cassie like she expected backup, but neither of them said a word. Even they weren't sure which side to land on.
"I was just trying to help," Haley finally said, voice tighter now, but still trying to keep her usual confidence intact. "People loved it. You're welcome, by the way."
Samuel finally looked up, eyes steady. "I didn't ask for help."
Haley blinked. "It's not like I was being malicious—"
"But you didn't ask." His tone wasn't raised. If anything, it was too calm. "You just decided."
At that, Tori quietly shifted in her seat. Alex had fully lowered her book now, watching like she was trying to calculate how long it would take Haley to realize she was losing control of the room.
And Dylan? Dylan was grinning like someone had just been served popcorn.
Haley opened her mouth like she had something ready—some clever comeback, maybe a defense that would spin things back in her favor—but nothing came out. For once, she looked... stuck. Not because she didn't have words, but because none of them felt like they'd land the way she was used to.
Tori finally broke her silence, voice soft. "I should've said something, too. I knew she was filming. I just didn't think it would blow up like this."
Samuel didn't look at her, but something in his shoulders shifted. Not anger—just disappointment pulling tighter across his expression.
"You didn't decide to film it. You didn't post it for everyone to see."
Haley's head snapped toward him, arms crossing defensively. "Oh, come on," she said, her voice sharper now. "You didn't say it was private. How was I supposed to know you'd act like I ruined your life?"
There was a pause, just long enough to make the tension start to settle—until Samuel looked up, eyebrows slightly furrowed.
"Why are you even here, Haley?" he asked, voice calm but laced with irritation. "What did you want, walking over?"
Haley blinked, clearly not expecting to be called out so directly. "I don't know," she said with a shrug, like the answer should be obvious. "I thought maybe we could talk about, like… recording a second song?"
I just stared at her—the kind of dumbfounded stillness that only happens when someone says something so staggeringly off-base, it fries your brain cells.
The table went quiet again.
But this time, it wasn't the kind of silence that followed tension—it was the kind that happens when something is so out of touch, it doesn't even realize it should be embarrassing.
Alex blinked once. "Wow," she said, slowly setting her book down. "I mean… I knew the ego was big, but this is a new frontier."
Tori looked away, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting.
Even Dylan, who'd been living for the drama, tilted his head. "Girl… read the room."
Haley's expression flickered—confusion giving way to something closer to discomfort.
He just set down his fork, looked her dead in the eye, and said, "Why would I ever let you film me a second time?"
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Then Cassie, still standing behind Haley, tilted her head slightly and looked at Tori—voice just a little too casual, like she was tossing Haley a lifeline.
""Wait... you liked it, right? Being in the video?"
Tori hesitated, then gave a small shrug. Her voice was quiet, but steady. "I didn't hate it."
She didn't look at Samuel when she said it—but she didn't sound apologetic, either. Just honest.
I turned to her, blinking like something in my brain had just clicked into place.
Of course she didn't hate it. She was good. She had dreams. That night in the living room—it was a moment for me. For her, it was the beginning of something real.
The realization sat heavy in my chest, not angry—just… sobering.
Why wouldn't she want more?
Haley must've seen it in my face, because her confidence returned like someone flipped a switch. She straightened up, lips curling into something halfway between smug and satisfied.
"Well," she said, with a shrug that dripped with forced casualness, "if she's doing it… then maybe you're just a coward."
The words hung in the air.
Not loud, not shouted—but sharp. Personal. Calculated.
And every eye at the table was suddenly on me.
For a second, I wanted to say something. Anything. A line that would shut it all down, prove she didn't get to label me, didn't get to twist this into something it wasn't.
But nothing came.
Just a wave of noise in my head—memories of the video, the comments, the stares, the way it felt to walk through the hallway like I was wearing a neon sign. The way Tori didn't mind. The way Haley didn't ask. The way everyone else seemed to already know what I was supposed to be.
Am I a coward?
The thought hit harder than her words. It burrowed under my skin and curled there, ugly and quiet. Was that what I'd been doing all along? Hiding? Staying small so no one would expect anything from me? Letting the background swallow me up so I wouldn't have to face what came with being seen?
Maybe Haley wasn't completely wrong.
I clenched my jaw, forced a breath through my nose, and pushed back my chair.
"I'll think about it," I said quietly.
I didn't look back.
But as I walked away—tray untouched, appetite gone, phone buzzing in my pocket like a ghost tapping on my shoulder—I felt her eyes on me.
Tori.
She didn't say anything. But she didn't look away either.
Calling in sick would've been a way better idea.