The first bell of the term rings through Maplewood High like a sigh a sound that means summer's over and life is back to uniform skirts, chipped lockers, and the faint smell of disinfectant in the corridors.
I stand by my locker, trying to wedge a stack of new textbooks onto a shelf that's already too small, when a familiar voice says, "You still hoard every notebook you've ever owned, don't you?"
I don't have to turn around to know who it is.
Liam Brooks.
He's leaning against the locker next to mine, sleeves rolled up, hair amess that somehow looks intentional. He's got that lazy grin the one that makes you forgive him for being late, loud, or occasionally irritating.
"Organisation is not hoarding," I say, tugging a stubborn book free. "It's preparation."
He chuckles, low and warm. "Preparation for what, exactly? The apocalypse?"
"Exams," I say pointedly, shutting my locker with a clang. "Though they do feel about the same."
He slings his bag over his shoulder and walks with me down the hall. We've done this a thousand times the same hallways, the same insidejokes. Liam's been the constant in my life since we were five, when he offered me half his biscuit on the first day of primary school. He's seen me at my worst braces, bad fringe, the lot.
What he doesn't know is that somewhere between sharing crayons and swapping playlists, I started wanting more than just friendship.
"You're quiet today," he says, glancing at me. "Don't tell me you've already had your existential crisis and it's only first period."
I smirk. "Not yet. But I'll pencil it in after lunch."
He laughs again, and for a moment, everything feels simple. Just me,Liam, and the safe little world we've built the one where nothing changes.
But as we reach the noticeboard near the canteen, I notice a poster pinned up.
"Welcome new students! Maplewood High welcomes Maya Cruz."
A name I've never heard before.
The photo is a bit blurry, but even through the grainy print, you can tell dark hair, sharp eyes, a quiet sort of confidence.
"New girl," Liam says, reading over my shoulder. "I'll bet she won't last a week. People either love this place or run screaming.""Maybe she'll be normal," I reply. "Not another TikTok-obsessed disaster."
"Doubt it," he says. "Anyway, you'll still be my favourite disaster."
He nudges me with his elbow, grinning, and I pretend not to blush.
By the time lunch rolls around, the cafeteria is buzzing. Everyone's talking about the new girl. Some say she's from Spain, others whisper about her being expelled from her last school. Maplewood thrives on rumours truth rarely survives the first retelling.
And then I see her.
Maya Cruz walks in like she doesn't notice the stares or maybe she justdoesn't care. Her uniform fits perfectly, her dark hair tied back in a loose braid that swings against her shoulder. There's something about her that feels… deliberate.
Liam spots her too. "She's brave," he murmurs. "Sitting next to Josh and his lot? That's social suicide."
I smile faintly. "Maybe she didn't get the memo."
He hesitates for half a second, then grabs his tray. "Come on, we should say hi."
"We?" I echo.
"Yeah, you're the friendly one. I'm the moral support."
Before I can protest, he's alreadyweaving through the tables towards her. My stomach twists.
He introduces himself with that easy charm of his, the one that works on teachers and shopkeepers alike. Maya looks up, eyes bright, and smiles. It's not forced. It's real.
I join them reluctantly, trying not to feel like an intruder.
"Tara," Liam says, gesturing between us. "This is Maya. Maya, this is Tara the one person who actually does her homework."
"Hi," Maya says. Her accent is soft, faintly British but with something else underneath. "Nice to meet you."
"Same," I reply. "Welcome to Maplewood."She smiles again, and I find myself noticing the details — how her eyes seem to study everything, how she laughs lightly at Liam's jokes.
And just like that, I feel something shift.
Something small, almost invisible.
A crack in the picture-perfect balance of my world.
After school, Liam and I walk home together like always, but it's different now. He talks about Maya how she's funny, sharper than she looks, "kind of cool, actually."
I nod, pretending not to care.
But in my chest, jealousy flickers quiet, uninvited, and impossible to ignore.