The lights were too bright.
They always were.
Gold chandeliers hung above my head, camera flashes slicing through the air like lightning. Voices overlapped—Hope, Hope, Hope—until it stopped sounding like a word at all. My silver sequined dress felt too tight, the floor too slippery, the world too crowded.
I took one step back.
Then another.
The hem of my gown caught under my heel.
Everything toppled.
A waiter's tray slipped from his hands. Crystal champagne glasses shattered against marble, the sound sharp, like something breaking inside me too. Gasps echoed around the room. Cameras appeared out of nowhere.
"I'm just fifteen," I whispered under my breath, my voice barely audible between the shouts of the people.
And the clicks of the camera as my tears blurred the lights into streaks.
"I'm just fifteen. I don't want this."
Someone reached for me. Someone shouted my name. Someone else laughed nervously.
I ran.
Past bright red velvet ropes. Past hands, cameras, and voices that didn't care if I was shaking. My throat burned, my ears rang, and a loud alarm started ringing behind me—
~
I bolted upright in bed.
Breathing hard. Heart racing.
Sunlight spilled across my room.
"No," I whispered, pressing a hand to my chest. "It was a dream again."
The same one. Always the same.
I glanced at the clock.
Late.
Oh no. Late.
I scrambled out of bed, pulling on clothes while hopping on one foot, combing and styling my blonde hair — threads of gold catching the light as if they'd always been there. First day. New city. New school. Amazing start, Hope.
In the kitchen, I stopped short.
Avocado toast.
That was the plan. Healthy. Simple. Very Instagram worthy.
I propped my phone against a mug and hit play on a YouTube video.
"Okay," I muttered, grabbing an avocado. "How hard can this be?"
Very hard, apparently.
The avocado squished instead of sliced. The toast popped up burnt. Something green slid straight off the bread and onto the counter. I stared at the mess.
"I don't have time for this."
I grabbed my bag, skipped breakfast entirely, and rushed toward the door.
"Bye!" I called, already halfway out.
My parents smiled from the kitchen, waving as if this were any normal morning, like my life wasn't constantly one step away from chaos.
The drive to school blurred past—blue sky, flashes of sea, sunlight everywhere.
Azure Bay.
The town looked like it had been painted to impress.
Every rooftop matched—soft baby blue, almost pretending to blend into the sky. Houses lined up neatly, window boxes overflowing with pink flowers like they'd all agreed on the same aesthetic. Even the sea shimmered too perfectly, waves curling and falling as if rehearsed.
I stepped out of the cab, sneakers crunching against shell-dusted pavement.
The buzz started instantly.
Not gossip.
Awe.
"Is that…?"
"She's real."
"That's Hope Starling."
Phones were recording. Eyes widened instead. Smiles flickered—hesitant, amazed—like they weren't sure I existed outside screens. But I didn't want any of this.
Inside Azure Bay Academy, everything glowed—white walls, soft teal lockers, seashell wind chimes chiming faintly in the breeze. The smell of lemon wafted through the building as though the school wanted to smell good for my arrival.
A girl with purple hair braided loosely over one shoulder and sea glass earrings passed me in the hallway. She slowed, met my eyes, and smiled.
Not the practiced kind.
The real kind.
It startled me enough that I almost forgot to smile back.
Almost.
I stopped at the front office, adjusting the strap of my bag. The receptionist looked up—and froze.
"Oh," she said, blinking. Then she smiled, wide and warm. "Welcome. You must be Hope Starling."
"Yes," I said softly.
"We've been expecting you," she added, handing me a folder. Schedule. Map. Everything labeled. "If you need anything at all, just come back, okay?"
I nodded. "Thank you."
Her smile lingered even after I turned away.
Back in the halls, whispers floated behind me.
"She's actually here."
"She's so pretty."
"She looks…normal."
I walked slower than I needed to. Let them look. Let them wonder.
Confidence was pretending beautifully.
And I was excellent at pretending.
Before class, I slipped into the courtyard. It was quieter there. Water trickled softly from a fountain shaped like a seashell. Benches sat half in the sun, half in the shade. Beyond the fence, the sea stretched far and wide.
I sat.
For a moment, everything stilled.
Then the water shifted.
Just slightly.
A shimmer. A pulse. Like a breath being taken.
My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag.
I wasn't scared.
Just…aware.
Someone nearby caught my attention—a boy leaning against the railing, sketchbook balanced on his knee. His pencil moved quickly, confidently. For a second, he paused.
Looked up.
Not at me.
At the sea.
Then his pencil moved again.
The bell rang, sharp and sudden, breaking the moment.
Students flooded back into the building. I stood, heart thudding—not from nerves, but from something else.
Something deeper.
As I walked inside, I glanced back one last time.
The sea was calm again.
Like nothing had happened.
But I knew better.