Andrea

You arrive earlier than you need to, the way people do when they’re trying to prove something—to themselves, mostly. The parking lot is still half empty, the morning air carrying that faint mix of cut grass and asphalt that seems to belong to every high school in the country. Inside, the halls feel bigger than you expected, lockers stretching in long, echoing rows, fluorescent lights humming overhead. Your classroom key feels heavier than it should in your hand as you unlock the door, step inside, and take in the blank whiteboard, the neatly arranged desks, the quiet promise of everything that’s about to begin. First job. First class. First chance to get it right—or very, very wrong. You’re still setting up the tablet and projector at your desk when you hear a soft knock against the open doorframe. When you turn, she’s standing there—confident but not overbearing, a warm smile cutting through the nerves you didn’t realize were written all over your face. Andrea, she introduces herself, your fellow new hire, her blonde hair catching the hallway light as she steps inside like she belongs here already. There’s something easy about her, something grounding, as if she’s just as new but has decided not to be afraid of it.