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(PU) THE ONES WHO DON’T GET NOTICED
🕑 Added 2025-06-02 10:13:08 +0000 UTCWinslow was a school built on the art of not-seeing. Not in any magical sense—Taylor didn’t believe in that kind of thing—but in the quiet,
Winslow was a school built on the art of not-seeing.
Not in any magical sense—Taylor didn’t believe in that kind of thing—but in the quiet, rotting way people learned to look past what made them uncomfortable. A hallway fight? Not their problem. A bleeding nose in the girls’ bathroom? Coincidence. Whispered insults, tripped feet, trash in a locker? Just kids being kids.
Teachers smiled and passed it all by.
Mr. Gladly, with his baby face and pathological need to be liked, had probably convinced himself everyone was friends. The rest of the staff didn’t even bother pretending.
Taylor had stopped expecting anyone to see her a long time ago.
That was what made Naruto so… irritating.
Because he noticed.
She’d seen it again today during the second gym class, during the same weird warm-ups, and the same frog-stance nonsense. Most of the class had written him off as a harmless joke. A little eccentric. Maybe a burnout waiting to happen. One more teacher who wouldn’t last the semester.
But Taylor didn’t write him off. Not yet. She was watching. Really watching.
And Naruto?
He was still watching too.
Not in a creepy way. Or like the way the trio or their posse did, who only noticed people when they were useful targets. And not like the teachers who only noticed the kids with straight A’s or the popular ones and ignored the behavioral red flags.
No, Naruto noticed everyone. And it wasn’t superficial.
He remembered names. Not just the names of the loud ones like Greg, or the ones who flirted openly with him for a laugh. He remembered the girl with the oversized hoodie who never took out her headphones. The boy who wore multiple layers, even when the gym got hot. The kid who hovered near the exit and never spoke unless forced.
He noticed when someone was unsure of a new stance. When someone’s hands trembled not out of exertion. When someone didn’t laugh when everyone else did.
He noticed her.
Not constantly. Not like he was singling her out. Just… often enough that it made her uncomfortable. Like she’d been doing a good job hiding and he’d looked straight through every obstacle towards her anyway.
Taylor didn’t like being seen. It usually meant something bad was about to happen.
But… when it came to Naruto, it didn't seem much like a threat or a trap waiting to happen. Just observation, quiet and impossible to ignore.
She caught him once, during one of those mind-body drills where they had to balance on one leg and “feel the natural energy of the surroundings,” whatever that meant. She’d been wobbling a little more than usual, her ankle sore from tripping on wet stairs the day before, and her sleep from the night before practically nonexistent.
He didn’t point it out and allow her classmates to mock her like Gladly would have done. He simply passed by her slowly like those stereotypical Chinese masters in old movies, hands behind his back, and said in a tone just light enough to pretend it was offhand:
“Sometimes the wind gets pushy. Best thing to do is plant your roots deeper.”
Then he moved on. As if he hadn’t said anything strange at all.
It was absurd. It was corny. It was one cliché short of a fortune cookie.
And worse, Taylor didn’t even know what he’d meant.
. . . . .
Later, after class, she lingered near the door longer than she meant to. The gym had mostly emptied, students drifting out in loose groups, laughing about Greg’s attempt to spin-kick and falling flat on his butt. Someone had caught it on video, but Greg hadn't seemed to mind, laughing along good-naturedly.
The trio brushed past her without a comment like usual. Madison was laughing at something Sophia said. Emma didn’t even look in Taylor’s direction.
Naruto was still at the far end of the gym, barefoot as ever, stacking orange cones with one hand and wiping chalk off the floor with the other. There was chalk dust on his hands and a smudge of it across his cheek where he’d rubbed his face with the wrong hand.
Taylor sighed and made to slip away. Maybe she should go. A part of her wanted to talk to Naruto, but that part was small, cautious, easily overruled by the louder, colder voice that said: Don’t get your hopes up. It will only make things worse.
So, despite wanting to wait by the door for just a moment longer, she made to leave.
That was when Naruto, without looking up, chose to speak:
“You got good balance, y’know, and an eye for movement. If you keep on practicing, you’d be a force to reckon with.”
Taylor froze.
“You planning on sticking around, or just judging me from a safe distance?” he added, finally glancing up with that infuriating grin. “Both are cool though. I'm just curious.”
She scowled before she could stop herself. “Do you always talk like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you think this is a Saturday morning cartoon and you’re the wise martial arts teacher who solves everyone’s trauma with cryptic advice.”
Naruto laughed, actually laughed. Open and bright and annoying, like her comment was the best thing he’d heard all day.
“Well,” he said, stretching one arm over his head, “I am the teacher. And you do have trauma. Most people do. Especially kids in a place like this.”
So he did know.
He knew how bad Winslow was, how toxic the halls could be, how teachers turned blind eyes, how the walls practically vibrated with apathy and rot.
So why here?
Why this school?
Why teach in a place where even the janitors looked like they wanted to quit every other week? Where kids like her were invisible unless they bled or broke something loud enough to force attention?
Did he have no other options? Some dead-end assignment he couldn’t get out of? Or was this all part of some deeper game?
Taylor narrowed her eyes slightly, suspicion curling in her gut like smoke. He seemed too cheerful. Too invested. Too present. Most teachers at Winslow didn’t even bother learning names, let alone remembering which student was hiding a limp or who had stopped laughing altogether.
It didn’t add up.
No one chose Winslow unless they had nowhere else to go.
Or unless they had a reason.
An ulterior motive.
And Taylor Hebert knew better than most that people always had motives.
Even the smiling ones.
Especially the smiling ones.
“…You don’t know anything about me,” she muttered.
“I know you’re shy and awkward, but there's steel hidden within you. That you move like someone who’s used to avoiding certain people in your class, if I’m not mistaken. And I know you haven’t haven’t smiled once in class, but when Greg fell on his ass today, your mouth almost twitched.”
Taylor glared at him. “You memorize everyone like that?”
“Only the ones who are used to being ignored.”
She didn’t respond, just turned and left.
But that night, lying in bed with her body wrapped in her sheets, Taylor Hebert found herself thinking about Naruto.
About frogs. About roots. About the way he’d looked at her like she wasn’t invisible.
And worse?
She didn’t hate it. Not completely.
