Returning to school feels like stepping out of a dream and faceplanting into reality.
The bell's already ringing when I jog past the front gates, waving lazily at the security guard who's too busy sipping his coffee to care. I forgot how loud this place is—voices echoing in the hallway, lockers slamming, someone blasting music on a speaker they definitely weren't supposed to bring. Yeah. We're back.
Camila's waiting for me at the lockers, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. "You're late," she says, handing me a granola bar without even looking. "Again."
"I made breakfast," I say between breaths, "which is personal growth, thank you very much."
She rolls her eyes but smiles. "Did you burn the eggs?"
"Only slightly charred. Alex still ate them."
"Of course he did. He's basically in love."
I choke a little but say nothing. Camila smirks.
We walk down the hall, blending into the crowd of uniforms and backpacks and the distant screech of a teacher already yelling at someone for running. It's weird how quickly you fall back into the rhythm of it. Wake up, panic, survive.
First period is Literature. Mrs. Abby's already going on about Shakespeare's Twelfth Night as I slide into my seat. I actually like Lit. There's something kind of fun about diving into characters and their messy relationships and pretending I'm not just as messy in real life.
Camila passes me a note midway through the lesson. It just says:
You'd 100% be Viola. Drama, disguise, heartbreak. Nick-coded.
I nearly snort and earn a disapproving glare from Mrs. Abby.
At lunch, we take our usual spot under the acacia tree near the back of the school compound. It's shaded and quiet, and most people avoid it because of the occasional falling seed pod that may or may not have concussed a junior last year.
I scroll through my phone, half-listening as Camila chats with one of our classmates—Duke, a math whiz who always brings two lunches and never finishes either.
"So you really think we're gonna pass Physics?" Camila asks him.
"Define 'pass,'" Duke replies.
"Alive," I say. "I define it as alive."
Deji shrugs. "Then maybe. Barely."
We laugh. For a moment, it's easy. No complicated emotions, no teasing glances across a bedroom floor. Just three friends at lunch talking about exams, gossip, and how the new chemistry teacher is kind of hot but definitely evil.
In the afternoon, I head to the art room.
Not many people know I like to draw—just Camila and my old art teacher, Mr. Nate, who lets me use the space during free period. It's become kind of a safe zone for me, somewhere I don't have to think about anything except lines, shadows, and color. I've been sketching Alex lately—just little things. His profile. The back of his neck. His hands.
Today, I draw a pair of hands laced together. I tell myself it's just practice. But when I shade the little thumb brushing over knuckles, I know it's us.
"Still drawing love-sick hands?" Mr. Nate's voice breaks my concentration. He's leaning in the doorway, coffee cup in hand, a knowing smile on his face.
"I could be drawing horror scenes. You don't know."
"You draw like someone in love, Nick. I've seen it before."
I glance down at the sketch, then back up. "Is that a bad thing?"
He shakes his head. "Not at all. Just… remember to draw for you, too."
I nod. It's the kind of advice that doesn't land until hours later, when you're lying in bed and replaying everything in your head.
The day winds down with an exhausting cram session in the library. My group chat with Camila and Duke is buzzing with complaints about the upcoming math quiz, and somewhere between the equations and eye rolls, I realize how much I've missed this.
This part of me. The version of Nick who's a student, an artist, a sarcastic little menace with his friends. Not just Nick-with-Alex. Not just Nick-with-a-brother-problem.
Just… Nick.
By the time I'm home, the house is quiet. I know Alex is in his room. And I'll probably go in there in a bit. Cuddle. Talk. Maybe kiss if we're not too tired. But for now, I take a moment for myself—dump my bag on the floor, stretch out on my bed, and just breathe.
My life is messy, yeah. But it's also full. And weirdly enough… I kinda like it that way.