We pulled into the parking lot of Westwood High, the giant school sign standing tall like some kind of modern monument. The place was huge, clean, and... kind of intimidating. Swarms of students buzzed around the entrance, all laughing and chatting like they belonged here.
Dad put the car in park, then turned to me with a smile and pulled me into a hug.
"You'll be fine, Alex," he said warmly. "Just be yourself and have fun. And remember—I'm always here if you need anything. I love you, buddy."
I hugged him back, trying to act cool about it, even though his words hit me right in the chest.
"Love you too, Dad. Thanks... for everything."
I stepped out, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and waved before walking toward the school. My heart pounded—not just from nerves, but from this strange, hopeful feeling that maybe... just maybe... today wouldn't be so bad.
Westwood High was something else.
The place looked straight out of a brochure—sleek buildings, wide walkways, green lawns like a golf course. Trees offered shade where students sat in little circles. A giant mural stretched across one wall, full of color and imagination. It felt like a place where things happened—big things.
There was this energy in the air, too. Laughter, doors clanging open and shut, the chatter of groups planning their day. It was loud, but not overwhelming. Just... alive.
I tried to act like I wasn't completely overwhelmed. Just keep walking.
That's when I saw them.
A group of kids near the entrance, all about my age. They were joking around, clearly tight-knit. But one girl stood out—a blonde with bright blue eyes and an easy, confident smile. She spotted me and waved.
"Hey, you must be Alex," she said, stepping toward me.
"Uh, yeah... that's me," I replied, surprised she knew my name.
"I'm Mia. Welcome to Westwood High."
We shook hands, and I swear there was a moment—a flicker of something warm. She had this calm presence, like she actually wanted to talk to me, not just out of politeness.
"How'd you know who I was?" I asked, curious.
"Molly—our homeroom teacher—told me," she explained. "Since you're joining a bit late, I'm your official welcoming committee. Class rep duties."
She turned and motioned toward the group behind her. "Come on, meet my friends."
One by one, they introduced themselves:
"This is Jake, soccer team captain."
"Lily—editor of the school paper."
"Noah—chess club president."
"And Zoe, our band's lead singer."
They all gave me a smile or a nod. No weird looks, no judgment. Just... chill, friendly people. I could get used to this.
"So, where are you from?" Mia asked as we started walking together.
"New York," I replied.
"Whoa, big city. What brought you all the way here?"
"My dad got a new job offer."
"Oh? What does he do?"
"He's a writer."
Her eyes lit up. "No way! What kind of stuff does he write?"
"Fantasy novels," I said.
She tilted her head, thoughtful. "Wait... what's his name?"
"Jones Walker."
She froze mid-step, then gasped. "The Jones Walker? As in The Dragon Chronicles Jones Walker?!"
I grinned, caught off guard by how excited she was. "Yeah, that's him. You've read his books?"
"Read them? I devoured them. I'm obsessed! The characters, the plot twists, the magic systems—it's all genius!"
She practically bounced with excitement. "I can't believe you're his son!"
"It's always wild hearing that," I said, laughing a little. "But yeah, I grew up hearing those stories way before they hit bookstores."
The others chimed in, each with their own connection.
Jake mentioned how the stories fired him up before games.
Lily said she'd written a whole article on The Dragon Chronicles last semester.
Noah grinned and admitted he visualized entire battle strategies based on the books.
And Zoe? "Some of my best lyrics were inspired by the world your dad created," she said, smiling.
Standing there, listening to them all, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time—belonging.
It wasn't forced. It wasn't fake. It just... happened.
Then Mia turned to me with this spark in her eyes. "Alex, what if we started a book club? Focused on your dad's novels? There are so many fans here—I bet we could get something awesome going."
The idea hit me like a jolt of lightning.
"Actually... I love that. A book club sounds amazing."
They all started tossing out ideas—reading circles, themed discussions, maybe even a fan-art wall. The energy was contagious.
For the first time in a while, I wasn't the quiet kid, or the new kid, or the kid hiding in the back.
I was Alex Walker—the kid with something to share.
As we stepped through the doors into Westwood, the once-looming school now felt... welcoming.
And with every step, I could feel it:
This wasn't just the start of a school day.
It was the beginning of something way bigger.