I didn't think this day would come so soon… or come at all, honestly.
I stepped out of the shower, my hair damp against my shoulders, and slipped into the dress my mom had bought for me weeks ago. She said it would be perfect for "a fresh start." I think she's way more excited about this whole senior year thing than I am.
And who could blame her?
She never got the chance to see me go to my first high school dance. Never got to worry about crushes or rumors or messy breakups. She never had to argue about curfews or makeup or how short my skirt was. I couldn't give her any of that.
All I gave her were hospital visits.
Her first time watching her daughter go into surgery.
Her first time holding my hand during chemo.
Her first time brushing my hair out of my face… and then watching it fall out in clumps.
I was the one sick — but she was the one who cried.
It started when I was fifteen. Cancer. One word and everything changed. My world shrank to white walls, IV poles, and the quiet beeping of machines. I missed so much school I stopped counting. The surgeries drained me. The treatments aged me. But I always pretended I was fine. I had to. I couldn't stand to see the pain in my parents' eyes — the helplessness. It was enough they had to watch their only daughter fade while other kids my age were out living, laughing, growing up.
And then… the miracle came.
A final diagnosis: I was in remission.
I didn't cry. I didn't even smile. I just stared at the doctor like I couldn't process it. But my parents—God, the way they looked at me. The way my mom collapsed into my dad's arms. That's when it hit me. I was really coming back. And not just to life. But to living.
So here I am.
Getting ready for my first day of senior year — my first real day back in high school.
When I went downstairs, I found my mom humming in the kitchen, flipping pancakes like she was auditioning for a cooking show. My dad sat at the table, smiling at the sight of her like he hadn't seen her smile in years — and maybe he hadn't.
When he saw me, he stood up immediately and wrapped me in a warm hug.
"Good morning, sweetheart."
I smiled against his chest, then walked over to my mom. Her eyes lit up the second she saw me.
"Oh, Lana…" her voice cracked, and her eyes shimmered with tears.
But before they could fall, my dad gently touched her shoulder. "We agreed—no more crying in this house."
After breakfast, Mom offered to drive me. I almost said no, but truthfully, the nerves were starting to creep in, and having her nearby felt like a safety net. But Dad playfully protested.
"Let the girl go on her own," he said. "She's grown now."
The school wasn't far, so I agreed to walk.
And as I stood in front of those tall gates, staring at the crowds of teenagers pouring in, I felt everything at once—fear, anxiety, excitement, disbelief.
I was finally here.
Free from tubes and IVs and pitying glances.
Free to live my life… or at least the version of life I'd planned: peaceful, lowkey, and drama-free until graduation.
It was a clever plan.
Or so I thought.
Inside, I went straight to one of the staff offices. A kind teacher handed me my textbooks and my schedule. She smiled warmly, but I could tell she recognized my name. Most of them probably did. I used to be that girl—the overachiever, the straight-A student. Always first place in middle school. Quiet, focused, invisible. Until I vanished completely.
My first class was English. A subject I used to love.
I slid into one of the middle desks, right behind a girl with fiery red hair. She seemed nice, but I'd forgotten how to make friends. My social skills were somewhere in a chemo drip bag, I think.
The teacher walked in, glanced at me, and her whole face lit up.
"Lana," she said, smiling gently. "Welcome back. We're so glad to have you again."
Suddenly, all eyes turned toward me.
And there it was.
The exact opposite of what I wanted.
The red-haired girl turned around in her seat, her smile easy and bright. "Hi! I'm Ava. What's your name?"
"Lana," I answered, cautiously returning her smile.
Ava talked like we'd known each other for years. She made jokes, asked questions, told stories. And, surprisingly… I liked it. It felt good to be seen without being pitied. Having a friend to talk to...it was all new.
When the bell rang, she grabbed my arm like we were already best friends and walked me to my locker.
"You're sitting with me at lunch," she said. "No arguments. Here—put your number in my phone."
I laughed and did as she asked.
The second class was chemistry. Not a favorite for most people, but it's secretly mine. It was quiet, analytical, full of order — something my life rarely had. I sat near the front and noticed another student answering all the teacher's questions. Confident, clever, a little smug. Handsome too.
Challenge accepted.
Soon, I was raising my hand just as fast as he was. It turned into a lowkey battle of brains, and I found myself… smiling. Competing. Living.
After class, the boy walked over, grinning. "Finally. Someone who doesn't make this class boring. I was starting to think I was the only one who liked chemistry in this school."
I laughed. "Guess I'm your savior, then."
"I'm Jason," he said, holding out a hand.
"Lana," I replied, shaking it.
"Nice to meet you, Lana. Hope we'll be seeing more of each other."
He winked — yes, winked — and walked off.
I turned back to my locker, cursing myself internally. Did I seem nervous? Was I weird? That was literally the fourth boy I've ever talked to in my entire life — after my dad, my grandpa, and my oncologist. Smooth, Lana. Real smooth.
The cafeteria was packed. For a moment, it felt like I was walking onto a highschool movie set — the noise, the cliques, the buzz of energy I hadn't felt in years.
Then I spotted Ava waving at me from a table with two other girls.
She bounced up. "This is Lana—the girl I told you about!"
The girls smiled warmly. Their names were Lori and Emma.
They were nice. Kind. Funny. I didn't feel like a stranger with them.
Ava leaned closer and asked, "So, did you transfer here? Or were you homeschooled?"
I froze for half a second.
I didn't want pity. I don't want to feel that when I'm with them.
"I had some… stuff going on," I said carefully. "Couldn't attend school for a while."
They didn't push. Just nodded.
I liked them already.
After school, I walked home, and my mom was waiting at the door like she was about to ask a million questions. We sat together in the kitchen while she cooked, and I told her everything—the classes, the girls, the boy who might've winked at me.
Seeing her smile again… that was the least I could give her after everything she's given me.
That night, I studied a little, then passed out cold from exhaustion. Socializing is no joke when you've been out of practice for years.
The next day wasn't much different I attended all my classes. Sat with Ava and the girls again. Maybe… just maybe… school life wasn't as scary as I thought.
The third day i was starting to get used to the routine...It was after French. I was walking to my locker, clutching my assignment paper, when someone slammed into me hard enough to knock me off my feet.
I hit the floor with a thud, papers scattering across the hallway.
I looked up.
And my heart sank.
Zayden Wolfe.
The school's most infamous heartbreaker. Gorgeous. Arrogant. Untouchable. Ava had given me the full rundown on day one—daily hookups, zero commitment, dangerous levels of charm. The girls at this school practically worshipped him.
I waited for an apology.
Instead, he smirked.
"Oh, poor girl. Your ways are too old," he said, eyes scanning me like I was beneath him. "I don't fall for the 'bump into me so I'll notice you' plan. Sorry. You'll have to try harder next time."
Then he turned and walked off.
No apology. No concern.
Just ego.
I sat there, stunned, humiliated, furious.
God, I hated Zayden Wolfe.
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First chapterrr...i hope you like it i wanted to write this a very long time ago.