The One Who Stayed

A short story

It was one of those golden, humming lunch breaks at Brookvale Junior High School. The hallways pulsed with chatter and shuffling sneakers, trays clattering in the canteen, and the sun casting lazy rectangles across the floor through the corridor windows.

Billy Jensen jogged back toward Class 2-B, his backpack bouncing on one shoulder.

“Dang it,” he muttered, remembering he’d left his pencil case behind.

While most students had vanished into the buzz of lunchtime freedom, the classroom felt frozen.

Still.

The fluorescent lights flickered gently above.

As he stepped in, he noticed someone near the back window.

A boy sat in the last row, hunched over his desk, sleeves tugged halfway over his palms. His name was Harry—a quiet kid who rarely spoke, always alone, like a shadow that didn’t quite belong to anything.

…

Billy blinked.

“Hey, man. You okay? Not hungry?”

Harry looked up slowly, startled, his eyes wide behind round glasses.

“Oh. Um… just not feeling like eating.”

His voice was soft, like the end of a song that no one heard.

Billy found his pencil case, but instead of leaving, he sat on the desk beside Harry’s.

“You mind if I hang out for a bit?”

Harry shrugged, awkward but not unwelcoming.

Billy pulled out a small chocolate bar from his hoodie pocket and offered it. “Trade for a smile?”

Harry hesitated—then smiled. Just a little. But it was there.

They started chatting. Billy talked about the horror of cafeteria meatballs, how his little brother once fed green beans to the dog under the table, and the time he got stuck in a locker playing hide and seek.

Harry laughed. Really laughed. His shoulders relaxed. The kind of laugh that sneaks out before a person remembers to be shy.

“You’re kinda weird,” Harry said between chuckles.

Billy grinned.

“Yeah, it’s a survival tactic.”

…

After a few minutes, Billy stood.

“Alright, I gotta go before Sam steals all the fries.”

Harry smiled and gave a small wave. “Thanks for… talking. No one usually does.”

Billy paused at the door. “You should come to the canteen. It’s not so scary once you throw a spoon at someone. Trust me.”

Harry laughed again. “Maybe next time.”

…

Billy half-jogged to the canteen, weaving through noisy groups of students. His friends were already digging into their lunches.

But then he stopped short.

At one of the tables near the window—there was Harry, laughing with a group of students.

Same face. Same glasses. Same hoodie.

Billy blinked, confused, then walked over.

“Hey—Harry?”

Harry turned, surprised.

“Yeah?”

“You’re here? Already?”

Harry frowned.

“Uh… yeah? I’ve been here since the bell rang.”

One of the kids next to him added —

“He beat all of us here. First in line.”

Billy stared.

“But I just talked to you… In the classroom. Like five minutes ago.”

Harry’s confusion deepened.

“No, you didn’t. I left class right after the bell.”

His friends all nodded.

Billy’s mouth went dry.

“But… you laughed. You said ‘Thanks’ for talking. You said—”

Harry shook his head, gently but firmly. “I haven’t been back to the classroom since third period.”

…

Billy wandered back toward the classroom, heart drumming in his chest.

Empty.

The desks were untouched. The lights flickered again.

The seat in the back? Cold. Still.

He sat for a moment in the silence. The hallway buzzed faintly beyond the walls, but in here—it felt suspended. The air smelled faintly of pencil shavings and chalk.

He whispered, almost to himself:

“Who did I talk to?”

A sudden breeze crept through the open window.

Outside, the leaves on the schoolyard tree stirred gently, just enough to make the world feel… watched.

…