Maya thought sophomore year would feel like a victory lap. She had survived being the new girl, braved the ups and downs of friendship, and found her voice—literally and artistically.


But as she walked into school that first Monday, she noticed the shift. Subtle, like the way fall slowly replaces summer.


Brielle was already waiting at their lockers, scrolling through her phone with furrowed brows.


“Hey,” Maya said, nudging her.


Brielle looked up with a half-smile. “Morning. You hear about the schedule change? I got moved to a different lunch.”


Maya’s stomach dropped. “Seriously?”


Brielle nodded. “They split the art and theater kids from everyone else. Budget thing, I think.”


It was a small change—but it felt like a crack in the foundation. Lunch had always been their time, the glue in the middle of the day.


They walked to homeroom quietly. Around them, the school buzzed with new teachers, new rumors, and faces that felt both familiar and distant. Maya passed a few freshmen who looked just like she had a year ago—lost and hopeful.


That afternoon, Maya wandered into the art room, hoping to paint out some of her restlessness. But even the easels felt different. Her favorite corner was gone, replaced by stacked supplies.


Then she spotted someone across the room—tall, confident, and entirely new.


A girl with a sketchpad full of bold, jagged designs. She looked up and caught Maya’s eye.


“You an artist too?” the girl asked.


“Trying to be,” Maya replied.


The girl smiled. “I’m Zaria. Just moved here from Detroit.”


New girl. Maya knew exactly how that felt.


“Come sit,” Zaria said. “I don’t bite.”


Maya hesitated—but only for a second.


Because even when the ground shifts, sometimes new roots take hold.