Secrets in the Spotlight

Mask

As Serena and I step through the school gates, it feels like we've crossed into a place that's both thrilling and unsettling,

like standing on the edge of something big but not quite knowing whether to jump. There's an undercurrent of unease beneath the buzz of excitement, but the school itself? It's impressive, I have to admit.

The building looms in front of us, all sleek glass and sharp lines, a testament to modern design. At the very top, the red and gold lion logo stares down, positioned with such precision it almost feels alive.

The lion's fierce gaze dares anyone to be anything less than excellent, its bold colors vivid against the polished stone facade. This school doesn't just expect greatness—it demands it.

Beside me, Serena walks with her usual quiet confidence, her smile as wide as ever.

At just 11, she has this annoying calm about her, like nothing phases her, while my stomach twists into knots. She doesn't seem to notice my nerves—or maybe she does and just doesn't care. Instead, she tosses out a casual, "Your makeup looks weird," before glancing away like it's nothing.

I bite back a sigh, trying not to let it bother me.

I spent all summer working on this new version of myself—losing weight, learning how to highlight my features just right with makeup.

I'm here to make an impression, to finally stop fading into the background, and here she is, ruining it with one careless comment. But I don't have the energy to argue with her. Not now.

Still, I can't help the flicker of irritation at having to walk her to school in the first place.

I was hoping to start this day with confidence, on my own terms, not playing big sister duty. But that's the thing about Serena—she doesn't even realize when she's being a pain.

We approach the entrance, and I straighten my shoulders, pushing down the annoyance.

I glance at Serena, whose smile hasn't faded, and I force myself to breathe. Together, we step inside, even if I'm pretending I'm more ready for this than I really am.

I'm ready right?

As we step inside, the bustling energy of the school envelops us. I give Serena a quick, almost obligatory wave as she heads off to her own class, her smile still annoyingly bright.

Part of me wants to follow her—at least she's familiar in this sea of new faces—but I push that thought aside and turn to find my own way.

I can't be seen hanging around my little year 7 sister.

The hallways are a maze of chatter and footsteps, and I weave through the crowd, my heart pounding just a bit faster with each step.

Students rush past in clusters, their laughter and conversations blurring into a hum of background noise.

I spot a few glances my way, the curious kind that make me straighten up even more, reminding myself to keep that fake confidence front and center.

It doesn't take long to reach my form room.

I pause for a moment outside the door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open.

The room is already half full, students scattered around chatting or staring at their phones. It's like stepping onto a stage—one wrong move, and I could be the topic of whispered conversations for days.

I glance around, quickly assessing the situation, then pick a seat near the middle, not too close to the front to avoid being a target, but not so far back that I fade into obscurity.