Chapter 1: Hello Chapter 1

239. 239 days between now and graduation. Removing holidays, weekends, and days I don’t share classes with him, it comes down to 119. 119 days to start up a conversation. Everyone tells you to just ‘be yourself’ and it will all magically work out. But when I’m near him, all I ever wish for is to be someone else.

My current situation, Operation: Admire From Afar, isn’t too bad though. Our classroom is divided in two, separating us like parallel banks running along a river. All I have to do is let my face fall into my palm, glance over to my right, and I’m treated to his perfect side profile. The sunlight shining through the window beside me brings his black hair to life, catching on each strand that hangs above his flawless skin. Even his name is perfect—Carlos. Alluring, but simple. Easy on the ears, only two syllables long. Not like Lilliya, a name almost everyone skips the middle of, as if it doesn’t matter.

Carlos’ hair ruffles as he turns his head toward the window, toward me, but not at me. But even that sends my heart into a flat-line. I drop my head, staring at the scribbles etched into my desk until his attention drifts back to the teacher. Then, quickly, I look up again.

In other classes, this year-long habit of staring would’ve been caught immediately by other students. Thankfully, Miss Miyazawa is my teacher. Her classes are the only ones where people willingly sit in the front row.

Miss Miyazawa’s hair is pulled back into a ponytail, two rogue strands escaping her bangs curl down to her face and tickle her cheeks. Her hard brown eyes switch between reading the material aloud and gauging our attention.

“Berg the Giant sprang up also. ‘You—did it—?’” Miss Miyazawa’s long white nails scratch against the back of the booklet. “‘Yes, yes, yes. I have betrayed you. But come quickly. Come now, now that you can repent. We must escape. We will escape.’ The murderer stooped to the ground where the battle-ax of his fathers lay at his feet. Tord looked down at his hands, as if he saw there the fetters that had drawn him on to kill the man he loved. Like the chains of the Fenrir wolf, they were woven out of empty air.” She put the booklet down, scanning the classroom. “Does anyone here know what the Fenrir wolf is referring to?”

The class is silent for a heartbeat. Then, Carlos’ hand shoots up.

“Carlos, yes.”

“Fenrir is a wolf in Norse mythology.”

“Correct.” She offers a gleaming smile that makes me sick in my stomach. I hope she isn’t his type. I have nothing in common with her. My plain brown hair is nowhere near as eye-catching as her silky, jet-black strands. Her long legs tower over most of the guys in our year—I need help just to grab things off the top shelf of a cupboard. The only compliment I ever get is about my eyes, but they’re perpetually weighed down by the black circles lingering beneath them. On a good day, I look like I’m half-alive.

I glance up at the clock mounted on the green classroom wall. Five minutes until hometime. My pen taps against the desk, keeping time with my thoughts. Easy to talk to, is how he’s always described.

But even if I got the courage to talk to him, what would I say? What do you talk about with someone you don’t have anything in common with? And I’m not even sure that we don’t, because finding that out would require actually talking to him. Which I don’t do, because I never have a valid reason.

It’s just one neat vicious circle, and I’m stuck in the middle of it.

“Lilliya.”

I fix my gaze on the front of the classroom. Miss Miyazawa stands by the whiteboard, marker in hand. “Lilliya, would you care to share with us what you wrote for question two?”

Question two? I don’t even remember seeing question one. My throat tightens, burning up like someone was playing pinball with a fireball inside of it.

“I’m, uh, still working on it,” I say, flipping through the booklet.

“They’re at the back of the booklet,” she adds, not unkindly. But the class laughs anyway.

My face burns. Every pair of eyes feels trained on me, and I feel like exploding.

“Has anyone else worked through question number two?” Miss Miyazawa asks, standing akimbo as her eyes sweep the room. “Or at least have an idea about what they would write about?”

Her eyebrows lift just as the bell bellows, catching her off guard. She straightens up, then raises her voice over it. “Please complete the questions on your sheet before our next lesson.”

The bell might signal the end of class, but the real authority comes from the rustle of bags. I pack slowly, timing myself with Carlos. He slips today’s booklet neatly into a binder.

Mine makes a crunch sound as they find a place between my waterbottle and lunchbox.

I smooth my skirt out, refold my collar, and sling my black duffel over my shoulder. My heart jumps at the thought of closing the distance by even a centimetre.

I step forward, and my heart twists. I freeze.

I step back, returning to my place along the ruler. Tomorrow. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. Tomorrow, for sure.

It’s the same promise I made all of last year. They say if you repeat a lie often enough, it eventually becomes the truth.

I’m just not sure how many times ‘enough’ is.

The hall floods with students rushing home. I’m bumped along by insincere ‘sorries’ as I’m consumed by a tide of arms and legs. The crowd spills through the forked walkway outside of the building.

Our school sits right on the main road, and I can see why the locals complain. The footpaths are already narrow, and they feel even tighter when students drift along side by side, uncaring of the traffic building behind them.

I start picking my way through the gaps, slipping between friend groups and easing around shoulders. When the grass opens up, I take it, cutting across before the line disappears again. If the grass isn’t open, I glance over my shoulder, a quick check for cars, and step briefly onto the gutter instead.

“Lil-yaaaa!” A voice calls from somewhere in the crowd.

I spin, searching for it, then I feel fingers latch into my shoulder.

“If ya keep chasing after him like that,” she says amused, “ya’re gonna make it way more obvious than it already is.”

She nods her head forward, Carlos is barely two metres ahead of me.

“I’m not chasing after him.”

Natalie tilts her head, her blonde hair slips over one shoulder. Her smile says she doesn’t believe me for even a second.

Natalie and I are good friends, at least, I think we are. I’ve never figured out when someone stops being just a regular friend and becomes a good one.

“Anyway,” Natalie says, looping her arm through mine, “I was gonna wait for ya at the end of the street, but this works better.” She wags a finger. “I need to take more photos for my art project. So I’m thinking of heading to the beach tonight. Ya wanna come?”

“I don’t really feel like doing anything today.”

“That’s too bad, because I was relying on ya giving me a lift.”

“What’s in it for me?” I remove her grip and fold my arms. “You’re usually nicer when you need a lift.”

“I am being nice,” she gasps. “And,” she lowers her voice, “I might be able to help ya out.” She leans closer. “Ya know how I told ya that Mr Lama got really pissed at my class and decided that we would have assigned lab partners this term?”

I nod.

Natalie puts her hand under my chin and turns my head forward.

My stomach drops.

Carlos.

Of everyone, Carlos is her partner. Natalie lives in a completely different social orbit than I do. She is everything one would want out of a high school romance. If he likes her, this whole plan could fall apart before it even starts.

“Oh, but if it’s too much for ya, I’ll get someone else to do it.” Her lips mould into a mischievous pout as she tucks her hands behind her backpack and starts to skip away. I reach out on instinct, my arm stiff as it latches onto the top of her bag, stopping her dead in her tracks.

“So,” she says lightly, “I guess it’s settled then?”

I nod so fast my head almost falls off. With my hand still hooked on her bag, I watch Carlos laugh with his friends in the distance.

“Natalie!” One of her friends waves from across the street, there’s a whole group of them waiting.

I let go of her bag.

Natalie turns to them, then back to me.

“Keep ya phone on. I’ll text ya the details later.”

I watch as they rush up to her, and she’s pulled into the group, their laughter trailing behind them as they head toward the station.

I adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder and turn the other way, setting off on foot.

The screech of a train applying its brakes cuts through the music in my headphones. My street is a dead end that borders the train line, and the sound of passing trains is usually the only sound here.

As I get closer to my house, the sun flashes off my parents’ car. Its beady headlights stare out into the buzzing summer air. Painted in a midlife-crisis shade of silver, it’s not winning any awards.

I fumble with the keys, slide one into the lock, then push the front door up and then open.

The TV blares loud enough to spill out into the street. Whenever Dad listens to music, he’s kind enough to make sure the neighbours get to hear it too. I close the door as quietly as I can. Even if I can’t hear my own thoughts, he’s somehow able to hear a pin drop.

If I can just make it to my room, I can avoid whatever lecture he’s prepared for me.

The hallway isn’t very long, but it feels like it was designed with anti-sneaking measures in mind. It passes the kitchen on the right, my parents room on the left, then the living room on the right again. After that, I have to turn left into a short corridor that leads to the bathroom, and then my room.

I hear Dad coughing in the living room. I stop just out of sight of the living room doorway and grip the zippers on my bag. If they rattle, I’m screwed. As I scuttle closer, the low whir of a small fan reaches me. I tiptoe across the opening, and just as I’m nearly clear, Dad coughs again.

“Didn’t hear you come in.”

Wincing, I fall onto my heels, and the zippers clatter against each other.

The living room feels as lifeless as he does. The TV and two small lounges are the only furniture. The one beside him has his work jacket tossed over the arm.

“How was school?” he asks, eyes still on the TV.

“It was fine.” I unplug my headphones in case he turns around.

He leans forward to grab the plastic bottle by his foot. “Did you get your maths test back?”

“I haven’t had any maths tests this year.”

“Right.” The bottle cap scrapes as he twists it open. “When’s the next one?”

“I don’t know.”

Maths tests are all he ever asks about. I can’t remember the last time he cared about any other subject.

I turn toward the hallway.

“I saw that kid’s dad at the shops today.” He snaps his fingers, trying to jog his memory. “The kid you were always up against in karting.”

“Don’t remember.”

He keeps clicking his fingers. “Vassilis, that’s the one.” His voice perks up, I only hear it like that when he’s talking about other people’s kids. “His dad says he’s getting offers now. Lots of sponsorship money coming in. He’s already put down a deposit on a house in North Sydney.”

“That’s great.”

“If you’d stuck with karting,” he says, “you’d be just as successful.”

I don’t need to see his face to know the look he had on. It’s the same one from when I quit karting. When I said I didn’t want to be a lawyer. Or a doctor. Or an engineer. I hate that look.

“But,” he adds, screwing the lid back onto his bottle, “you knew better than me.”

He always has to remind me.

“I’m borrowing the car tonight.” I step deeper into the hallway.

His voice follows me. “Just make sure there’s enough petrol for me to get to work.”

My bedroom door clicks shut. The weight of my duffel finally slips from my shoulder and hits the floor. I put my back against the door and slide down until I’m curled against it.

I pull my phone from my pocket and flip it open. I plug my earphones in and rest my head against the door.

I wish the world would stop turning. Just for a moment.