By lunchtime, Mira was already exhausted.
Section H was… a lot.
Someone argued about borrowed notes. Someone else was asleep with their head on the desk. A paper airplane flew past Mira's face and crashed into the board.
"HEY!" Jade shouted. "If you're gonna throw that, at least aim for the trash!"
"It was the trash," a boy replied, dodging a chalk eraser.
Laughter erupted.
Mira sat quietly, unsure whether to smile or pretend she didn't exist. She wasn't used to noise like this—not the playful kind, not the kind that felt oddly warm.
"Transfer girl."
Mira flinched and looked up. Jade stood beside her desk, hands on her hips.
"You've been quiet since this morning," Jade said. "You okay?"
Mira nodded quickly. "Y-Yes."
Jade studied her for a moment, then grinned. "Good. Because Section H doesn't do awkward silence. You'll get used to us."
She pulled a chair and sat backward on it. "Rule number one: ignore what other sections say."
Mira blinked. "They… say things?"
Jade laughed. "Oh, you have no idea."
As if summoned, a group of students from another section passed by the open door.
"Section H still breathing?" one of them muttered.
"Miracles do happen," another snickered.
The laughter inside the classroom slowly faded.
Mira felt her chest tighten.
Jade stood up.
"Oi," she called out calmly, eyes sharp. "If you're bored, go back to your perfect lives. We're busy."
The students scoffed and walked away.
Mira stared.
"You didn't have to—" she started.
"Yes, I did," Jade said lightly. "Because this section? It's ours. And we protect what's ours."
Something warm stirred in Mira's chest—small, fragile, unfamiliar.
The bell rang.
As students packed up, Jade leaned closer. "Sit with us tomorrow, okay? By the window's fine—but don't disappear completely."
Mira nodded, a shy smile slipping through before she could stop it.
For the first time since transferring, she felt it.
Section H wasn't perfect.
It wasn't quiet.
It wasn't admired.
But maybe… it was a place where she could belong.