The sky was turning that perfect shade of cotton candy pink as the sun dipped behind the trees. The lake shimmered like glass, still and quiet, only the occasional ripple from a dragonfly or the plop of a fish breaking the surface. It was peaceful. The kind of peace that made you want to freeze time and live in the moment forever.
Lena sat on the wooden dock, legs dangling over the edge, her sketchbook resting beside her, half-finished doodles fluttering in the breeze. She checked her phone again. No new messages.
She called once, no response
9:07 PM.
He was late.
She tried to shake it off, Zach wasn't exactly known for punctuality. But he wasn't the kind of late that meant he was casually strolling in five minutes after. He was really late. And this wasn't just some hangout. He'd told her to meet him here. Said he had something "important" to talk about. Said it with that cheeky grin that made her heart beat like a damn drum.
They'd spent nearly the whole camp together, laughing under the stars, sneaking out of cabins, and swimming after curfew. It felt real. For once, Lena had let her guard down, let herself fall a little. Maybe more than a little.
She called again, it went straight to his voicemail
9:23 PM
Still no Zach.
The sun was gone now. The sky faded to deep purple, and the lake reflected the moon like a mirror. Crickets started their nightly chorus, the camp behind her long since quiet. Everyone else was at the bonfire up on the hill, music, toasted marshmallows, and dumb group games. But not her. She was here. Waiting.
She checked her phone one more time, the screen lighting up her face in the dark.
Nothing.
10:45 PM
Her chest tightened. She tried to tell herself there was a reason. Maybe he got caught sneaking away. Maybe a counsellor stopped him. Maybe…
But deep down, she knew. He'd bailed. Just like that. No message. No warning. No explanation. He didn't care enough to even lie.
By 11:00, Lena was still sitting there, wrapped in her hoodie, arms around her knees, fighting the sting in her eyes. She kept glancing back at the camp, hoping to see his figure coming down the path, some excuse ready on his tongue.
But no one came.
She eventually stood up, legs stiff, heart heavier than it should've been for a two-week summer camp relationship. But Zach had made it feel different. Like it could've been more than just a camp fling.
And now it was just… nothing.
She left the dock without a sound, the sketchbook forgotten, its pages fluttering like broken promises in the night breeze.
~~~
The shrill beep of my alarm shredded through the silence like a blade.
I groaned, rolling over and slamming the 'off' button with the side of my fist.
Another day.
I sat up slowly, blinking through the darkness of my room, the early morning gloom barely filtered by my curtains. My back cracked as I stretched, arms raised above my head, and for a moment, I just sat there in the quiet, half awake, half dreading what came next.
All I could think about was Zachary.
Zachary. Fucking. Callas.
It's been a week. A week since the first day back. Since I let it all out in front of the class like some ticking time bomb that couldn't hold the blast any longer. And still…. Still, people haven't shut up about it. Whispers in the hallway. Snickers when I walk past. Some genius even posted a meme about it on Snapchat, calling it the "Lakegate Meltdown." Real original.
I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and swung my legs out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. The air in my room felt heavy, like it was pressing down on my chest.
"He deserved it," I muttered aloud, like saying it would make it feel truer. "The asshole deserved it."
And yet, that night at the lake still haunted me. The silence. The waiting. The way the sky changed, while my heart sank lower and lower in my chest. And then walking back alone, knowing he just… chose not to come.
I dragged myself into the bathroom and turned on the light. The harsh white glow wasn't kind.
I blinked at my reflection.
Tiny hair spiking out of my braids. Puffy eyes. Dark circles like bruises that makeup couldn't quite erase. Mascara smudged under one eye... leftover from last night's cry-fest, I didn't even plan.
God. I looked like roadkill.
I stared at myself for a long moment. Not in a vain, checking-my-outfit kind of way, but like… I didn't even recognise the girl in the mirror.
Just this tired, worn-out version of me who couldn't figure out whether she wanted to scream or crawl back into bed and never come out again.
Fucking hell… I hate myself.
I inhaled sharply through my nose and shook my head. "No," I whispered. "Not today."
I reached for my makeup bag and placed it on the counter like it was some kind of armour.
"Okay Lena," I told my reflection, steadying my voice. "Let's do this."
~~~
The drive to school was quiet. Dad tried to talk about some podcast he heard on the way to work, but I barely heard a word. I just stared out the window, nodding at the right times. My stomach twisted the closer we got to the gates.
When we pulled up, I opened the door quickly.
"Thanks, Dad," I said, forcing a smile.
He waved with a grin, but I didn't feel ready to return. "Have a good day, honey."
I stepped out, the cool morning air brushing against my legs, and shut the door behind me. As Dad drove off, I adjusted my skirt, fixed my backpack strap, and took a deep breath.
I looked good. I knew I looked good. Hair brushed and braided. Foundation perfect. Liner sharp enough to kill. Lip gloss on point. I'd spent an hour making sure there were no traces of tears or weakness.
But that didn't stop the stares.
As I walked through the gates, people turned their heads. Some subtle, some not. A couple of Year 10s whispered behind their hands, glancing at me like I was some walking cautionary tale: a warning label on emotional honesty.
I clutched my books tighter to my chest, posture straight, jaw clenched.
They didn't know what it felt like.
To be left behind. To wait in the dark. To have your feelings made into a joke.
To be the punchline.
Let them look.
Let them whisper.
I was done crying about Zachary Callas.
And if the world wanted to judge me for showing a little fire?
Let them burn…
After roll call, I made my way to the front office to grab my locker code. The woman behind the counter looked like she'd rather be anywhere else, handing me a crumpled slip of paper without so much as eye contact.
"Thanks," I muttered under my breath, taking the paper and heading toward the Math block, where all the student lockers were crammed into narrow, echoing hallways that always smelled like pencil shavings and sweat.
I found my locker, Number 218, bottom row, of course, and knelt down, juggling my books in one arm as I turned the dial. It clicked open after a few tries, and I sighed as I shoved my books and lunch into the cramped space. At least it was quiet. No whispers, no side-eyes, no drama.
Then I heard the soft clunk of another locker being opened beside me.
I glanced to my left, not expecting much, but immediately caught sight of a figure I didn't recognise.
The first thing I noticed was her hair- a huge, dark halo of curls that framed her face like something out of a painting. She was wearing one of those oversized woollen cardigans, warm and earthy in colour, thrown over the standard yellow school shirt. It looked like the kind of cardigan you could live in. A grey laptop bag was slung casually over one shoulder, and as she reached into her locker, I caught the scent of vanilla and caramel drifting off her, soft but strangely comforting.
She turned her head slightly, and our eyes met. Her gaze was open and curious, like she didn't think twice about speaking to a total stranger.
"Hi?" she said, her voice a gentle lilt with a question mark at the end.
I blinked, snapping out of my thoughts so fast I nearly dropped my calculator. "Oh- sorry, I wasn't, like… staring or anything."
She gave a small laugh. "It's okay. I'm new. You're literally the first person who's looked at me like I exist today."
That made me smile a little despite myself. There was something unbothered about her, something real. She held out her hand.
"I'm Tia," she said. "Just moved here from Darwin."
I reached out and shook her hand, a little unsure at first, but her grip was warm and steady. Friendly without trying too hard.
"I'm Helena," I replied, then gave a small shrug. "But I usually go by Lena. Fewer syllables. Less… formal."
"Lena," she repeated, testing it out. "Cool. That suits you."
I raised an eyebrow. "You just met me."
"Still," Tia grinned, tossing a book into her locker. "You've got this vibe, like… you're not here to mess around."
I huffed out a short laugh. "Yeah, well, you'd be surprised."
For a second, we just stood there. No judgment, no awkwardness. Just two girls, side by side, in a sea of strangers and steel lockers.
Maybe today wouldn't be so terrible after all.
~~~
Lunchtime rolled around faster than expected, and for once, I wasn't dreading it. Tia and I had stuck together through our morning classes: me showing her the ropes, her asking questions without sounding like a total suck-up. By the time the bell rang, it just felt natural for her to follow me to my usual bay table.
The table was already half full when we got there, tucked into the corner of the quad beneath the half-broken shade sail that flapped anytime the wind picked up. The voices of students bounced off the concrete, laughter and shouting mixing with the screeches of galahs overhead. Peak high school energy.
Tia slid onto the bench next to me, setting down her eco-friendly lunchbox like she'd done this a hundred times before. I appreciated that she didn't wait for permission, didn't ask if she could sit with us. She just did. Confidence without cockiness. I liked that.
Around us were the familiar faces that made up my chaotic little social circle.
Demi Georgiou sat opposite me, half a veggie sandwich in one hand and her sketchbook in the other. Her fingers were smudged with green ink, probably from drawing some new garden layout. That girl could talk about soil pH levels like it was gossip. She wore wire-rimmed glasses and a faded hoodie that had sunflowers embroidered all over the sleeves, she'd done it herself, obviously.
Demi was basically the mum of our group. If you were sick, she had Panadol. If you were heartbroken, she had tissues, tea, and a playlist for wallowing. She and I had known each other since we were tiny terrors in kindergarten. She's the one person who truly gets me, even when I'm trying to pretend I've got everything together.
"Who's your friend?" she asked, smiling warmly at Tia, setting her sandwich down.
"Tia," I said. "She's new. Moved from Darwin."
"Welcome to the jungle," Demi said with a grin, gesturing around the chaos of the courtyard. "And by jungle, I mean mild heatstroke and emotional trauma."
Tia laughed. "So far, it's about what I expected."
To Demi's left was Phoebe Kyros, perched like she belonged on a throne rather than a plastic bench. She had her makeup layered, like, annoyingly too much for a school day. Her nails were fresh from a salon, painted baby pink with tiny crystals. Because, of course.
Phoebe was the popular girl™ of our year: Snapchat streaks, Insta poses, all that. Honestly, I used to hate her guts. We had a screaming match back in year seven that nearly ended in detentions and a scratched face, but somehow, after that, we bonded over the chaos. It was one of those weird girl-enemy-to-girl-friend arcs. Now, she's one of my ride-or-dies, even if she drives me insane.
"New girl, huh?" Phoebe said, peering at Tia over the rim of her iced coffee like she was analysing her aura. "Where do you get your brows done? They're like, shockingly symmetrical."
Tia blinked. "Uh… I do them myself?"
"Oh my god," Phoebe breathed. "Talent."
Next to her, sprawled like he owned the whole damn school, was Dion Kastellanos.
Dion was that guy: loud, proud, and the unofficial dealer of anything mildly illegal or sugary. He had a black puffer vest over his uniform and a backpack that probably had everything from vape pods to Oreo bars stashed inside. He claimed he had a "business mind." We all knew he just had access to a corner shop and no moral compass.
"Heyyy, Lena," Dion drawled, tossing me a wrapped Mars bar like we were in a mob movie. "Payment for last week. Also, love the eyeliner. Very burn-his-house-down."
"Thanks. Felt appropriate," I said, catching the bar and raising a brow.
Dion winked, then turned his eyes to Tia. "And who's this new energy?"
"Tia," she said again, unfazed by his dramatics.
"Nice. I'm Dion. If you ever need snacks, stress relief, or someone to tell you your ex is ugly, I'm your guy." Dion grinned, resting his head on his hand, his eyes slightly red as always.
"You're gay," I deadpanned.
"Exactly," he said with a smirk. "That's why I'm trustworthy."
Tia laughed again, this time more relaxed. She opened her lunchbox, and we all settled into a casual rhythm, talking, teasing, unwrapping snacks, pretending like we weren't all carrying way too much emotional baggage for a bunch of teenagers.
It was kind of nice, actually. Messy, loud, a bit dysfunctional, but it was us. And for the first time in what felt like ages, I didn't feel like crawling out of my own skin.