Setup Crew Chronicles

The auditorium smelled like floor wax and teenage desperation. I clutched the tangled mess of HDMI cables like a security blanket, seriously questioning every life choice that led to me volunteering for setup crew.

"Yo, Marcus!" Jake called from the stage, looking ridiculously confident for someone wearing a freshman beanie in May. "You good with the projector setup?"

"Yeah, just, uh, cable management is an art form," I said, praying he wouldn't notice my hands were shaking. Jake was the kind of guy who could pull off stupid and still be crush-worthy. I was the kind of guy who could pull off helpful and still be invisible.

That's when I saw her. Luna. Junior class president, debate team captain, human embodiment of the word *intimidating*. She stood by the podium like a stone sphinx, watching everything with those unreadable dark eyes, somehow making a simple school assembly feel like the most important event of the year.

"Need help?" Luna appeared beside me, and I nearly dropped the cables.

"No! I mean, yes. Maybe. These cables are—"

"A nightmare," she finished. Her smile was unexpectedly nice. Like, actually nice. "Mr. Harrison always buys the cheapest ones. They're basically revenge cables at this point."

We worked side by side, untangling the mess in comfortable silence. I learned Luna chewed her lip when concentrating. She learned I had zero chill but could actually fix things when handed a roll of duct tape.

Then Tyler's voice boomed across the auditorium. "Yo, Marcus! Still playing with cables? That's adorable, little man."

My face burned. Tyler—our school's actual bull mascot, varsity jacket, radiating testosterone like it was his job—lived for these moments.

But Luna didn't laugh. She looked right at Tyler. "He's literally saving your presentation right now. Show some respect or I'm telling Mrs. Chen you borrowed the school projector for your 'gaming setup' again."

Tyler's face fell. "That was supposed to be secret."

"Oops," Luna said, not sounding sorry at all.

The bell rang. Students flooded in. Luna squeezed my arm before walking away—quick, casual, like she did it every day.

"Thanks for the help, Marcus," she called over her shoulder.

I stood there holding my cable like an idiot, grinning so hard my face hurt. Sometimes the sphinx doesn't ask riddles. Sometimes she just helps you untangle cables and roast a bull. I could work with that.