The scent of roasting chicken usually filled our house with a comforting, familiar warmth. Tonight, however, it was tinged with a faint, almost imperceptible tension. Dad, true to his word, had invited the new neighbors over for dinner. He'd even shaved twice, a sure sign he was on official "Sheriff Meets New People Who Might Be Hiding Something" duty.
I helped Mom set the table, carefully placing Clara's crocheted coasters under each glass. Mom, meanwhile, hummed a quiet tune, her fingers already twitching for her yarn. "Don't fidget, Zoe," she'd teased earlier, catching me pacing.
"They're just people. New to town. Probably a little nervous themselves."
Nervous? I doubted it. Especially Asher.
Since yesterday's unpacking spectacle, I'd seen him once, walking briskly down the street, head tilted slightly, as if listening to a frequency no one else could hear. He hadn't noticed me, but that strange jolt from his gaze lingered.
The doorbell chimed precisely at six. David straightened his shirt, a subtle tightening around his jaw. Mom glided to the door, her smile genuinely welcoming. "Elena, Ryan! Asher! So glad you could make it! Come on in, make yourselves at home."
Elena and Ryan stepped inside, looking impeccably neat. Elena wore a simple, elegant dress, while Ryan was in crisp slacks and a polo shirt. They nodded politely, their expressions neutral, almost as if they were observing a new cultural exhibit.
"Thank you for the invitation, Clara," Elena said, her voice perfectly modulated, but a little too even, like a voice actor reading a script. "Your domicile is... adequately furnished."
Mom's smile didn't waver. "Oh, thank you, Elena! David, you remember Elena and Ryan. And this must be Asher!"
Asher stepped forward. He wasn't smiling wide like a typical teenager, but his eyes, a captivating shade of hazel, met mine directly. That familiar static electricity hummed between us, a silent acknowledgement. He was even taller up close, his lean muscles evident in the subtle shift of his shoulders. "Zoe," he said, his voice surprisingly deep, almost melodic. "It is good to meet you, officially."
Dinner was... an experience. The initial small talk felt like pulling teeth. David tried to make polite conversation about their move, their previous town, their impressions of our community. Ryan and Elena answered with precise, often overly formal responses that gave away very little.
"So, Ryan, enjoying the library so far?" David asked, trying to sound jovial.
"The classification system is... logical," Ryan replied, taking a measured sip of water. "Though the volume of unoptimized data is considerable."
Mom chuckled lightly. "He just loves his books, David. Like me with my yarn." She glanced at Elena. "Do you have any hobbies, Elena?"
Elena paused, her eyes scanning Mom's crocheting. "I find observing human social constructs to be... stimulating. Also, the digital moving images you transmit on your viewing screens are... intriguing."
David's fork paused halfway to his mouth. "You mean... TV?"
"Precisely," Elena confirmed, nodding earnestly. "The narrative structures are often... illogical, yet the emotional responses they elicit are consistently strong."
As the meal progressed, their eating habits became the highlight. Ryan held his fork like a spear, impaling a piece of chicken with intense focus before bringing it slowly to his mouth. Elena meticulously separated her vegetables into tiny, distinct piles before consuming each one individually. They chewed with deliberate slowness, their expressions utterly unreadable, making it seem like they were performing a complex chemical analysis of each bite. Asher, surprisingly, ate with more ease, though he still observed his parents' eccentricities with a subtle, almost imperceptible shake of his head. He seemed to genuinely enjoy the food, reaching for a second piece of chicken, then a third.
The conversation turned to birthdays. "Zoe's eighteen this week," Mom announced proudly. "Can you believe it? My baby's an adult."
David grumbled playfully. "Still my peanut."
"Oh, Asher's eighteen too!" Mom suddenly exclaimed, remembering.
"When's your birthday, honey?"
Asher looked at me, a flicker of something new—surprise? Amusement?—in his hazel eyes. "It is two days prior to the commencement of the academic year," he stated.
My jaw dropped slightly. "No way! That's... that's my birthday too!"
Asher's lips curved into a faint, genuine smile. "An interesting statistical anomaly," he murmured, but his eyes, when they met mine, held a warmth that was anything but statistical. It was a shared secret, an instant, uncanny connection that hummed between us, undeniable and, for me, exhilarating.
Across the table, David's subtle smile tightened into a thin line. He watched Asher and me, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to calculate the odds of such a coincidence. The comfortable warmth of dinner was suddenly pierced by a subtle chill. I knew he felt it too, that something was profoundly, strangely, different about the new neighbors. And something, for me, had just begun.