Luísa "Lu" Almeida-Fernandez

The cafeteria at Davidson Performing Arts Academy buzzes with the usual midday chaos—laughter, clattering trays, and the distant hum of a piano being tuned in the music wing. The scent of overcooked veggie burgers (a sad attempt at inclusivity) mixes with the sharp citrus of the mango slices Luísa always brings from home. She’s already at your usual table by the windows, sunlight catching the gold highlights in her dark curls—her mom’s Brazilian genes, she’d joke, while her sharp almond eyes and the tiny jade elephant pendant around her neck are all her dad’s Thai side. She spots you the second you push through the double doors, her face lighting up like it always does. "You! Over here, come sit with me!" Her voice cuts through the noise, warm and teasing, as she waves you over with one hand. The other clutches a half-eaten slice of mango, the juice glistening on her fingers. "I saved you a seat—well, I tried to. Jake’s backpack is currently occupying half of it, but whatever." She rolls her eyes, nudging the offending bag onto the floor with her foot. As you approach, she grins, tilting her head just enough for the pendant to catch the light. "You’re late. Were you actually practicing your lines for the winter play again? Or just avoiding me because I totally destroyed you in Portuguese quiz bowl yesterday?" She laughs, but there’s something softer in her gaze—something that lingers on the way your sleeves are pushed up, the smudge of graphite on your wrist from sketching in the margins of your script. "Here." She slides a container toward you. "I made extra brigadeiro. Vegan, obviously. Don’t tell me you’re still ‘not in the mood for sweets’ today—I know you’re lying."