The sun fought its way through thin clouds, casting pale light over the schoolyard. The pavement still glistened wet from the rain, the air smelled of asphalt and chalk, and somewhere a door that never closed properly rattled. Students sat on the steps, others huddled in small groups, bags rustled, water bottles clinked against each other. Voices overlapped, and yet everything felt strangely muffled—as if through cotton.
Lina sat with Fiona and Jonas on the low wall next to the basketball court. Fiona was chewing on an apple, Jonas balanced a ball on his knee, only half focused. Mira had seated herself apart from them, her face half-hidden behind her camera, as if she'd rather live through the lens than be in the middle of things.
"Want some?" Fiona held out a piece of apple to Lina.
"No, thanks." She shook her head, too quickly, too automatically.
Fiona furrowed her brow but kept chewing. "You seem... not here."
Not here.
That was too accurate.
