The school bell rang out across the courtyard with its familiar, tinny chime, a sound woven into every weekday like thread through fabric. Children spilled out of double doors in scattered groups, their laughter rising and falling with the wind. Mia lingered at the fence line, just beyond the boundary, her eyes fixed on Sarah.
Sarah exited the building with her usual deliberate steps, her expression cautious but calm. She walked beside Jenny, the same girl who always waited by the front stairs—the one with the scuffed sneakers and tangled curls.
Jenny spoke animatedly, waving her hands in half-mock drama. Sarah chuckled softly, a real sound, not the mechanical mimic Mia had seen on harder days. They made their way across the concrete to a bench by the flagpole, dropping their bags at their feet. From where Mia stood, she could see the protective way Jenny positioned herself: body angled just slightly forward, gaze scanning for nearby threats.
The courtyard was a familiar ballet of chaos. Kids shouted goodbyes, clutched paper crafts and lunchboxes, and played impromptu games of tag. A teacher leaned against the side wall, sipping from a thermos, sunglasses hiding tired eyes.
A small group of older boys passed by, nudging each other and laughing too loud. One of them tossed a half-crumpled flyer at a trash can and missed. Sarah tensed, just for a second. Jenny turned her head, eyes narrowing, and the boy looked away first.
Mia's fingers tightened around the chain-link.
There it was: protection. Loyalty forged in quiet moments. The kind that doesn't show up in records or grades or parent reports. The kind that keeps a girl from sinking when no one else sees she's slipping.
She pulled out her notebook and logged it.
Observation: Jenny shields Sarah from social disruption. Status: Strong Anchor.
Sarah opened her backpack and retrieved a folded sheet of paper. She handed it to Jenny, who scanned it quickly and nodded. A permission slip of some kind, Mia guessed. They began discussing it, voices low. Jenny held it to the light, then gestured toward the school's back lot.
The wind picked up. A candy wrapper danced across the pavement. Mia felt the faint throb of a headache beginning at the base of her skull. She pressed her palm to her temple.
Not now.
Jenny stood and stretched, pointing toward the bike rack. Sarah followed, their bags slung over one shoulder each. As they passed the school mural—a sunburst painted in yellows and oranges, the paint chipping in places—Jenny said something that made Sarah smile again.
Mia felt a thread of warmth coil in her chest.
But then the headache pulsed sharper.
She winced and stepped back from the fence, steadying herself against a light post. The world tilted slightly, then righted itself. Her vision wavered around the edges.
Memory blur. Minor.
She took out her pen and added another line beneath her previous note:
Symptom: Disorientation, <5 seconds. Tag: MB-Level-1
The phrase didn't feel new. Had she already written that? It didn't matter. She had to keep tracking it.
She looked up again.
Sarah and Jenny were climbing onto their bikes now. Jenny said something over her shoulder, and Sarah responded with a nod. Mia moved to follow them at a distance.
They turned right at the main intersection, weaving through the occasional puddle left from last night's rain. Mia stayed on the opposite sidewalk, eyes on their silhouettes. Sarah's braid bounced lightly between her shoulders.
She couldn't hear the conversation, but she could read the shape of it—comfort, familiarity, shielded space. Jenny talked with her hands, often checking behind them like a rearview mirror.
They pedaled down the street together.
And Mia walked, quiet and invisible, a ghost trailing guardians.
One block later, the girls stopped. Jenny pulled a wrapped sandwich from her backpack and tore it in half. Sarah accepted the piece without hesitation.
Mia slowed behind a lamppost, watching them sit on the low wall outside an apartment complex. They talked while they ate, alternating bites with conversation. When Sarah dropped a piece of crust, Jenny picked it up and tossed it into a bush without breaking her sentence.
Secondary Anchor Behavior Confirmed.
Mia logged the detail.
Her headache subsided gradually. She exhaled through her nose and took another note:
MB-Level-1 stabilized without collapse. Tracked interval: ~4 minutes.
The sun emerged briefly from behind a thick band of clouds, casting elongated shadows across the sidewalk. Mia's own shadow reached out beside her, fractured by the metal lines of a bike rack.
Jenny suddenly stood and slung her bag over her shoulder. Sarah followed, and they mounted their bikes again. This time, Mia let them move farther ahead before continuing.
She reached into her coat pocket and found a small foil-wrapped candy. A caramel. She unwrapped it and let it melt on her tongue. The taste was familiar. The wrapper said "MapleCo."
Had she eaten this before? Or just remembered eating it?
She tucked the wrapper into her journal.
As the girls disappeared around the corner, Mia stopped.
She sat on a bench near the community mailbox, flipping through old entries.
One page stood out.
A drawing.
Rough lines. Two girls on bikes. One slightly ahead. One looking over her shoulder.
Captioned: "Guardian logic: outride what follows."
She didn't remember drawing it.
But she smiled anyway.
Then she stood, and followed.