The corridors of the admin block felt colder than usual. Devon and Kylie walked side by side, not touching, but the space between them hummed with unspoken tension. Word had already spread: the principal had called them in. Everyone knew why.
The fire. The sprinklers. The protest.
Devon ran a hand down his face. "Bruv, we're about to get rinsed for this, you know that, right?"
Kylie smirked faintly. "Rinsed? We were literally rinsed already, Dev. Sprinklers, remember?"
He huffed out a laugh despite himself, but the weight came back quickly. His stomach churned as they stepped into the office.
Principal Harrow sat at the polished oak desk, flanked by two senior teachers. His glasses perched low on his nose, eyes sharp but not furious more calculating.
"Sit."
They obeyed.
"I'll save the lectures," Harrow said, voice clipped. "You know what happened last week. A protest spiralled. School property damaged. Fire in the cafeteria. Students dancing in the sprinklers like it was a music festival." His gaze flicked to Devon. "And, of course, the two of you right in the centre of it."
Kylie opened her mouth, but Harrow raised a hand.
"However…" His tone softened just a fraction. "This isn't as simple as blame. Students were protesting the dress code. They wanted their voices heard. And while I disagree with their method, I cannot deny the passion behind it. Nor the influence the two of you carry."
Devon blinked. "So… we're not getting suspended?"
A teacher cleared her throat. "Not if you take responsibility."
Harrow folded his hands. "Here's my proposal. This Friday, there will be an emergency assembly. I'll speak first. But then…" His eyes locked on Kylie, then Devon. "…you two will address the school. Together. Show leadership. Show unity. And most importantly help us find a compromise on this dress code issue. If the student body sees you working with staff rather than against them, we can restore order."
Kylie's pulse quickened. She glanced at Devon. He looked as stunned as she felt.
"You're asking us to… what?" Kylie said.
"To build a bridge," Harrow replied. "You rallied the students whether you meant to or not. Now use that influence for something constructive."
Devon exhaled sharply. "Safe, sir. Guess that means no detention then."
Harrow gave him a pointed look. "Don't push your luck."
By Friday, the buzz around campus was electric. Flyers had been taped to doors. Rumours swirled. Some students joked the assembly would be a courtroom drama. Others whispered about whether Kylie and Devon would finally split or stand tall together.
The main hall was packed wall to wall. Hundreds of students crammed into rows of seats, chatter ricocheting off the high ceiling. The media team had set up cameras on tripods at the back. Raya stood among them, headphones around her neck, gaze darting between the crowd and her lens crew.
On stage, Principal Harrow adjusted the microphone. His speech was short, measured acknowledging the chaos, the fire, the broken windows, but also recognising the students' passion for expression.
Then he stepped aside.
"All right," Harrow announced. "Devon. Kylie. The stage is yours."
The crowd erupted into whispers. Some clapped. Some booed. Some just leaned forward, eager for drama.
Devon and Kylie walked up together. He wore a plain black tee and joggers; she wore jeans and a loose blouse. No uniforms, no masks. Just themselves.
Kylie reached the mic first.
"I know a lot of you think we messed up," she said, scanning the hall. "And maybe we did. Things got out of hand last week. But you lot weren't just protesting for the sake of chaos. You were standing up for something. And that matters."
A ripple of cheers echoed.
She took a breath. "We all know the dress code's been strict. Too strict. It makes some of us feel boxed in, judged before we even open our mouths. That's not what this school should be about. Education isn't about whether you're wearing blazers or trainers it's about what you bring to the table."
Students clapped harder now.
Devon stepped forward, voice steady but edged with his natural swagger. "Look, man. Last week was peak. Flames, sprinklers, whole place moving mad. But don't get it twisted we're not here to tell you to wild out. We're here to say, if you wanna change something, do it proper. Debate. Organise. Make noise, yeah, but do it with sense."
He glanced at Kylie, then back at the sea of faces. "So here's the ting. We've been talking with Harrow. New agreement: uniforms stay, yeah, but more flexibility. Trainers allowed. Hoodies on non-formal days. Cultural fits respected. That's pattern. Man's not saying it's perfect, but it's a start."
A roar of approval surged through the hall. Stomps on the floor. Cheers echoing off the rafters.
Kylie smiled. "It's about freedom and respect. Both ways. And if we can show that together, then maybe just maybe we can build something bigger than arguments. Something that lasts."
The cheer this time shook the hall. Students rose to their feet, chanting, clapping, hollering.
From the back, Raya lowered her camera slowly. Her jaw was tight, her chest rising and falling. One of her crew leaned in. "You want us to keep rolling?"
Raya hesitated. Then, quietly: "Nah. Cut it. This moment's theirs."
Devon spotted it. His heart kicked against his ribs.
As the assembly wrapped up, he whispered to Kylie, "Back in a sec."
He slipped through the side door of the hall, eyes locking on Raya as she packed up outside.
"Oi, Raye!" he called.
She turned, expression guarded.
"You stopped filming," he said, catching up.
"Yeah," she replied flatly. "Didn't seem like the kind of moment you plaster online."
Devon shoved his hands in his pockets. "That was decent of you."
Raya gave a bitter laugh. "Decent? Don't make me laugh. I stopped 'cause it looked too perfect. You two, centre stage, the school eating out of your hands. You didn't need me exposing cracks."
He frowned. "So you still see me like that? Cracks everywhere?"
Raya's eyes softened, just a touch. "Dev, I don't hate you. I just… I know how much she wrecked you before. And I know how much you wrecked yourself."
He swallowed, throat tight. "I'm trying, Raye. Doesn't mean I've got it all sorted. But today it felt like we weren't fighting for us. We were fighting for everyone."
She held his gaze, then looked away. "Just don't lose yourself in her shadow again. That's all I'm saying."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Not hostile. Just heavy.
Devon nodded slowly. "Safe."
Back in the hall, Kylie was swarmed. Students clapped her shoulder, shouted her name, asked for selfies. For once, she didn't shrink from it.
When Devon returned, he found her laughing with Malik, Chloe, and even Petrina. The tension of the past months seemed to melt.
He caught Kylie's eye. She reached for his hand without hesitation.
And together, they faced the crowd one last time.
The students' voices rose in a chant, not divided, not broken, but together. Feet stomped in rhythm, palms smacked against walls, cheers turned into a single pulse of unity.
And in that moment, it wasn't just noise. It was a wave.
For the first time, the school felt less like scattered islands and more like something whole.
Devon squeezed Kylie's hand, her smile shining through the chaos.
They once felt the ocean they'd built; an ocean of togetherness between the entire school.