CHAPTER TEN..
Noel Madison returned to Evalon High on a Tuesday.
There were no announcements.
No banners.
No whispers loud enough to warn the halls.
And yet—everyone knew.
The gates opened as they always did, iron and polished steel parting slowly, but the moment Noel drove in was not hesitant.
Just measured.
Noel Madison drove through the gates of Evalon High like a man entering a place he no longer belonged to, even though his name still echoed through every corridor.
His uniform fit perfectly, pressed and clean, but the slight stiffness in his movement betrayed what fabric could not hide.
Each step was deliberate.
Controlled.
A negotiation between healing muscle and stubborn will.
The conversations around him didn't stop.
They died.
Laughter thinned into coughs.
Voices dropped mid-sentence.
Phones lowered—not out of respect, but uncertainty. It was one thing to watch Noel Madison crash on a screen.
It was another to see him standing again, breathing, eyes steady.
Alive.
Noel didn't look around.
He never did.
That was what unsettled them most.
The soft nonchalant walk. !
Evalon High had always been a theater of excess—glass corridors catching the sun just right, banners celebrating alumni achievements, marble floors polished so often they reflected ambition itself.
Today, it felt hollow.
Noel passed the trophy case.
Racing medals.
Track plaques.
Team photos where his face appeared younger, brighter, untouched.
He didn't stop.
He didn't slow.
Behind him, whispers followed like ghosts.
"Is that him."
"He's walking step the same..fine."
"I thought his ribs were broken."
"Alex almost—"
"Shh."
Noel heard none of it.
Or maybe he heard all of it and simply refused to carry it.
Queensley's pov:
She spotted him from across the courtyard.
Queensley froze mid-step, her hand tightening around her bag strap.
For a heartbeat, she forgot how to breathe.
The sun caught his hair just enough to remind her of that morning—the race, the laughter, the way everything had felt so light before it shattered.
She moved before thinking.
"Noel."
He turned.
Just slightly.
That was enough.
Relief rushed through her so fast it almost hurt.
"You're not suppressed to come.!" Heal up first.
She said.
Noel's pov: I was not supposed to come yunno " he said turning around seeing if the school changed a bit.
"Yeah buh You're late," , Queensley said forcing a small smile, defaulting to familiarity because she didn't trust herself with anything else.
He nodded.
"Still am."
She studied his face carefully—not the scars, not the faint bruising near his temple, but his eyes.
Still distant.
Still intact.
"People thought you wouldn't come back this soon," she said quietly as they walked side by side.
Noel shrugged.
"People think a lot of things."
She hesitated, then added, "Alex is here."
He didn't react." It's his school after all "
He said raising his hands .
That, too, unsettled her.
Alexander Wilson.
Alex stood near the senior wing, surrounded by people who were pretending nothing had changed.
But he felt it.
The shift.
He was not an empath or psychic but he knows what they were thinking .
The weight pressing against his ribs wasn't guilt—it was something worse.
Uncertainty.
He saw Noel before Noel saw him.
Or rather, before Noel acknowledged him.
Alex's first instinct was anger.
He's walking like nothing happened.
Then came something colder.
He's walking at all.
Their eyes met across the courtyard.
No challenge.
No recognition.
Just awareness.
Noel didn't stop.
Didn't glare.
Didn't even slow his pace.
He walked past Alex like he was just another student.
And somehow, that hurt more than any accusation.
In The Classroom.
The door creaked softly as Noel entered.
He was gaming in the lab.
Fourty-eight students turned to look at him.
The teacher paused mid-sentence.
"…Take your seat, Noel," she said after a beat, voice too neutral.
He did.
The chair scraped softly against the floor.
Emily Jones sat a rows ahead.
She turned slowly, eyes widening when she saw him.
Her lips parted, relief flooding her expression.
"You're back," she whispered.
Oh so someone actually cares if I'm alivehe said sarcastically.
"I'm litrally just getting back from the camp" she said with a puppy eye and was good at it .
"Looks like it," he replied.
"You okay?"
Noel leaned back slightly.
"Define okay."
She didn't smile.
Neither did he.
Between Periods
The halls were worse.
Crowded.
Too close.
Too loud.
Girls approached in clusters—some shy, some bold, some opportunistic.
Admiration dripped from their voices like entitlement dressed as concern.
"Oh my God, Noel, are you feeling better?"
"We were so worried."
"You're so strong."
"You didn't deserve that."
He nodded.
He thanked them.
He kept walking.
Each interaction slid off him like rain on glass.
They saw the legend.
Not the weight.
Queensley watched it all from a distance, arms crossed, jaw tight.
She knew that look in his eyes—the one he wore when he was surrounded but utterly alone.
She stepped in when one girl grabbed his arm.
"Hey,"
Queensley said calmly. "Give him space."
The girl scoffed.
"I was just—"
"He asked for space," Queensley repeated.
Noel hadn't said a word.
But he didn't stop her.
Lunch..
Noel didn't sit at his usual table.
He took a seat at the far end of the courtyard, under the shade of an old tree most students ignored.
He ate slowly, methodically, as if timing each movement.
Queensley joined him.
"Soooo," she said, breaking the silence.
"You're officially terrifying now."
He huffed softly.
"That wasn't the goal.??
"
She studied him for a moment.
"I went live because it was my responsibility," she said suddenly.
He looked up.
"I know," he replied.
She blinked.
"You don't sound angry."
"I'm not."
"Everyone thinks it was for clout."
He shook his head once.
"You don't chase attention. You document it."
That made her smile—just a little.
She leaned back, eyes drifting toward the school building.
"Alex hasn't spoken since the race," she said.
"Not really."
Noel followed her gaze.
"Good."
She turned back to him.
"That's it?"
"That's it." He said .
What no one noticed—what no one could see—was how exhausting it was to be watched.
Every step measured.
Every breath evaluated.
Every silence interpreted.
Noel wasn't healing in public.
He was performing survival.
And the school didn't understand the difference.
They thought admiration was comfort.
They thought attention was support.
They didn't know that being seen wasn't the same as being understood.
Near the end of the day, a low murmur rippled through the halls.
Not gossip.
Anticipation.
Flyers appeared on notice boards.
Unmarked.
Minimal.
Just a symbol.
A cracked circle.
And two words printed beneath it:
REMATCH.??
No date.
No location.
But everyone knew what it meant.
Queensley stared at it, heart pounding.
She ran to Noel's class.
"They're talking again," she said.
"Another race."
He looked at the flyer.
Then away.
"Let them."
"But—"
He stood, adjusting his bag on his shoulder.
"They already made their choice," he said quietly.
"Now they live with it." By themselves but I ain't playing .
They should keep me out of it.!.
He stood up and stretched for his bag.
As he walked toward the exit, the school watched him go.
Not cheering.
Not whispering.
Just watching.
Because they could feel it now.
The calm wasn't peace.
It was pressure.
And whatever came next—
Would leave Evalon High in awe.