With a flick of my fingers, I sent the king tumbling off the board, his tiny carved crown spinning as he hit the wood with a satisfying clack. I let my hand rest on the queen, fingertips brushing over the top like she was the one who did all the work.
"Checkmate," I said with a smirk, meeting Paxton's stunned stare across the chessboard.
His jaw hung open like he'd just watched his pet goldfish do algebra. "Nuh-uh. You cheated."
He crossed his arms, the sour expression on his face almost worth more than what I was about to win.
I let out a soft laugh, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear and giving him my best "sucks to be you" smile.
"Nah, Paxton. You're just not good enough to beat me. Maybe next time, try thinking three moves ahead instead of one."
Around us, the table was surrounded, half the school chess club and a few curious Year 9s had gathered, whispering like we were on the final round of a televised championship. Even the drama kids had wandered over, probably hoping I'd knock the board over in a dramatic fit of rage. Disappointing for them, I guess.
But before anyone could shout or cheer, the sound of a throat clearing cut through the noise like a knife.
"Shhh!" Mrs. Mydia, the ancient and perpetually cranky school librarian, appeared at the end of the aisle, her reading glasses perched halfway down her nose and a book clutched like a weapon. "This is a library, not a football stadium."
The crowd instantly thinned. Students peeled off in every direction, pretending they had never seen a chessboard in their lives. Someone knocked into a shelf on their way out, sending a few paperbacks tumbling to the floor. I stifled a laugh.
Zachary, leaning on the back of Paxton's chair, rolled his eyes so hard I swear I could hear it. "Come on, man. This is such a waste of time. Who even watches chess for fun?"
I glanced up at him, the smug still firmly on my face. "Aw, poor Zach's bored? Guess you'd rather be bench-pressing your ego somewhere else."
"Whatever," he muttered, but I caught the twitch of a smile as he backed off.
I turned back to Paxton, wiggling my fingers at him expectantly. "You know the deal, champ."
With a loud groan like he was donating a kidney, Paxton reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out a crisp ten-dollar Australian note. He placed it in my open hand like it was physically painful for him to let go.
"Better luck next time," I said sweetly, folding it in half and slipping it into the inner pocket of my hoodie. "Or, maybe just stick to Connect Four."
He muttered something under his breath as he walked off, Zach trailing beside him, already teasing him as they disappeared down the hall.
I was still enjoying the sweet glow of victory when a sharp voice cut through the air behind me.
"Ms. Minos," Mrs. Mydia snapped, appearing like a ghost with a library card. "You are aware that we do not accept gambling on school grounds?"
I turned slowly, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of my lips as the rest of the spectators scattered like mice. Of course. She had to pick this moment to play cop.
"Oh come on, Mrs. M," I said with an exaggerated sigh. "It was just a friendly wager. Strictly educational. Teaches consequences, strategy, economic exchange, pretty sure I'm covering half the curriculum just by being here."
Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses, unimpressed.
I stood up, brushing invisible dust off my skirt, and gave her the most innocent look I could manage.
"Should I go to the office now or wait for the letter home?"
~~~
"Thea, you can't keep on disrespecting your teachers."
Dad's voice cut through the quiet kitchen, soft but edged with frustration. He sat across from me, elbows resting on the table, eyes steady like he was trying to read something beneath my expression.
I didn't look at him.
Instead, I slurped up a mouthful of overcooked two-minute noodles from the cracked ceramic bowl in front of me. The steam fogged up my glasses for a moment before fading. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, knowing it wasn't polite. Knowing he'd probably say something about it.
He didn't.
"They need to learn that I was doing something they couldn't," I muttered, shrugging one shoulder. I kept my eyes fixed on the table, on the tiny nicks and faint stains in the wood grain that I'd memorized over the years. I could trace every line without thinking. Anything to avoid meeting his gaze.
He sighed, a long, deep breath that filled the kitchen with tension and exhaustion.
Then I felt it: his hand reaching across the table, warm and calloused, closing gently around mine.
"Thea…" he said, voice lower now, careful like he was afraid I'd shatter if he pushed too hard.
"If you're acting out because of what happened... because of her... you know you can talk to me, right?"
The second he said it; I pulled my hand away like his touch burned.
I stared down at the tiled floor. My throat felt tight, but I forced the words out.
"I'm fine, Dad," I said flatly. "Really."
I stood up quickly, my chair scraping against the linoleum with an ugly screech.
"I'm gonna go to my room."
Before he could open his mouth again, before he could look at me with those eyes that always made it harder to lie, I turned and walked out of the kitchen.
The hallway stretched out ahead of me, dim and quiet, lit only by the golden dusk bleeding in through the frosted front door window. I walked slowly, my socks whispering against the floorboards.
My eyes wandered as I went. The old marks on the walls where we'd measured my height over the years. The photo frames with nothing in them anymore. The dusty air vent I used to tape my drawings to when I was six. Shadows stretched long down the corridor, the edges of things flickering as the sun began to fade.
Everything in this house felt paused, like it was waiting for something that wasn't coming back.
I reached my bedroom and slipped inside, pulling the door shut behind me with a soft click. The silence was immediate and heavy, like the walls were trying to hug me and suffocate me at the same time.
I leaned back against the door and let myself slide down slowly, my spine pressing into the cool wood, until I was sitting on the floor with my knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them. My head rested back, eyes closed, trying to breathe past the lump sitting in my chest.
The house creaked once and then went still again.
I didn't cry.
Not because I wasn't close, just because I was too tired to.
I just sat there in the silence, letting the quiet wrap around me like a blanket I didn't ask for.
~~~
Adrian was mid-rant... again.
He sat across from Aria and me at the outdoor lunch tables, arms animated as he talked about some new girl he met online. Apparently, she liked indie bands and had sent him a playlist titled "Softboy Soulmates."
They'd only started talking last week and he was already acting like they were going to get matching tattoos.
"I'm telling you, this girl gets me," he said, eyes wide with dramatic sincerity. "Like, I wrote this new verse last night, and I swear, if she heard it? She'd cry. Real tears."
"Dude, you gotta stop this," Aria said, slumping sideways with her chin in her hand. "Your songs are shit."
I let out a quiet laugh, trying to keep my noodles from falling out of the takeaway container I'd been half-heartedly picking at. Adrian clutched his chest like he'd been personally stabbed, eyes wide in theatrical betrayal.
"You are so mean to me," he gasped, beginning to fake sob into his hoodie sleeve. "You're gonna ruin my shot at love. Again!"
"Oh no," Aria deadpanned. "How will the music industry survive?"
The sound of soft metal clicking against concrete caught my ear. I turned just as Victor approached, slowly, deliberately, his cane tapping rhythmically as he made his way toward our table. His shoulders were slumped, the weight of something unseen pulling him down. Without a word, he dropped onto the bench beside me and immediately folded into himself, head buried in the crook of his arms.
The conversation died for a moment.
I leaned toward him, my voice softer. "Uh… you okay there, Vic?"
He mumbled something into his sleeves, barely audible. "Yeah… just tired…"
His body was still tense though, coiled like a spring even as he sat motionless.
"How were your holidays, Victor?" Adrian asked cheerfully, clearly missing every social cue in a three-meter radius. "We haven't seen you at all this week."
I shot him a look.
"Not the time, Adrian," I muttered through clenched teeth, nudging his shin under the table.
Victor didn't respond. He just stayed curled up like the world was too loud.
I let out a breath and slumped down beside him, resting my cheek on the cool table surface, turning my face toward his. His eyes were hidden, but I could feel the quiet sadness coming off him in waves.
"Hey," I said gently, nudging his arm with mine. "How about we get out of here?"
He didn't move.
"Seriously. First week of term doesn't matter. Nothing happens except awkward holiday talks and people pretending they know how to use their new planners. Let's just… ditch for the day. Go somewhere. Anywhere. I'll even let you pick."
I watched him shift slightly. There was a pause. Then he lifted his head just enough for our eyes to meet. His were red around the edges, like he hadn't slept... or had cried recently and didn't want to admit it.
"You'd… want to do that?" he asked quietly, voice scratchy.
"Of course," I said with a small smile. "I mean, I did just sit through Adrian's new love ballad. I've clearly earned a day off."
"Hey!" Adrian protested.
Victor huffed a faint laugh. Just a breath. But it was something. He pushed himself upright slowly and wiped his face with his sleeve, as if trying to erase whatever emotion had crept through.
"Sure," he finally said with a shrug. "Let's go."
And just like that, the plan formed. Not for anything big or flashy. Just a way to breathe again.
Somewhere out there, beyond the walls of school, beyond everything that had weighed him down, maybe things would feel a little lighter.
Even if just for a few hours.