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Chapter 1 - chapter 1: Sadie?

The morning I arrived at Eastwood High felt unreal. It was a scene I had replayed too many times in my head, and now I was finally forced to live it. I should have been calm. After all, I was the architect of this change. For the past two months, I had made my parent's lives miserable over one thing only. I wanted to transfer schools. I had begged for it, argued for it, and cried over it until they finally relented. I told them it was about wanting the full boarding school experience. I spoke of independence, midnight snacks in the dorm, and the cinematic adventure of a fresh start.

But as the tall, ornate iron gates loomed ahead, my excitement tangled itself tightly with a cold, visceral fear. Deep down, I knew the truth was messier than a simple adventure. My best friend was leaving our old school, and the thought of staying behind felt like being abandoned in a house that was no longer mine. Starting over in a place where no one knew my history seemed easier than staying and pretending that the hollow space beside me in the hallway did not exist. I was running away, though I called it moving forward.

"You have got this, Sadie," I whispered under my breath. My knuckles turned white as I tightened my grip on the straps of my backpack. "You have got this."

My stomach churned as we stepped through the heavy oak doors. Eastwood High was a labyrinth of polished stone and echoing voices. Long hallways stretched in different directions like the arms of a maze. For a moment, I felt small and insignificant against the backdrop of a school that had been breathing long before I arrived. The air smelled of floor wax and old paper. It was a scent I would soon associate with the best and worst days of my life.

My mum walked beside me. Her presence was a steady anchor in the rising tide of my anxiety. I did not realize I was clutching her hand like a child until she gave it a gentle, grounding squeeze." You'll be fine Sadie" she smiled. I clung to that small reassurance. I was afraid that if I let go too soon, I would simply unravel in front of everyone. I hated that I still needed that anchor, but today, I could not survive without it.

We found the homeroom after getting lost twice. Standing at the door was a man with kind eyes and a sweater vest that looked like it had seen many first days.

"You must be Sadie," he said, extending a hand. "I am Mr. Gabe. Welcome to Eastwood High."

Something about his tone made my shoulders drop an inch. He spoke like I was not just another enrollment number. But as he led me to the front of the classroom, the noise of thirty conversations died down instantly. Every head turned. I felt dozens of eyes settle on me. Their curiosity pressed in like a physical weight against my skin.

"Class, we have a new student joining us today. This is Sadie." My heart dropped into my stomach. "Sadie, why don't you tell us a little about yourself?"

The silence that followed was the kind that hums in your ears. I stood there, frozen. I had not prepared a speech. My mind scrambled, instead drifting back to the silent drive that morning. I remembered the way I had pressed my forehead against the car window, watching my old life fade into the rearview mirror. I realized then that I was standing in the center of a room full of strangers, yet I had never felt more invisible.

"Sadie?" Mr. Gabe prompted gently.

I flinched, my cheeks burning with a sudden heat. "Um... hi," I began. My voice was a mere shadow of itself. "My name is Sadie. I transferred from Greenwood High. I like reading... a lot. And I guess I am just hoping to make some new friends."

It was not the grand introduction I had dreamed of, but it was over. I practically bolted to an empty desk by the window. As I sat, sunlight streamed in, warming my skin. Outside, the trees swayed in the breeze. For a moment, the clear blue sky made me think that maybe, just maybe, I could actually belong here. I opened my notebook and stared at the blank page, wondering what version of myself I would write into existence at Eastwood High.

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