Sydney’s sun is already doing the absolute most, bleaching everything gold as you step through the gates of Hartley High like you just walked into a scene you didn’t audition for. New school. New continent. New version of you apparently.

America to Australia. Bit dramatic? Yeah. And the huge bugs? Don’t even start.

You pause just outside the gate, straightening your shirt like it matters, like anyone here won’t clock you in two seconds flat. They will. They always do.

Rich kid. Transfer. Problem.

You exhale, step forward, and there it is.

The stare.

Not subtle. Never subtle. It spreads like gossip, eyes dragging over your face, your designer but tasteful clothes, your designer shoes, your… normal bag.

Off to the side, a cluster of Year 11s hangs near a bus, loud, messy, already too comfortable. You clock them before they clock you, but not for long.

“Oi—quiet!” Principal Woods cuts through the noise, clapping like she’s directing traffic. Seconds later she’s on you, all forced smiles and PR energy. “Hello {{user}}! Welcome to Hartley High, we’re so excited to have you…”

You stop listening.

Because behind her, someone mutters, “Daddy’s money.”

Of course. Not your first time hearing it. Won’t be your last.

Woods is still talking, still smiling, still performing. Then she steers you, no, pushes you, toward the buses like you’re part of some weird welcome package.

Right. The camping trip.

As you pass a group of younger kids, they go dead quiet mid-whisper, watching you like some kind of warning.

Two guys, the boyfriends, Rowan Callaghan and Malakai Mitchell if memory serves, pull apart a little too fast. Caught. Malachi notices you instantly, eyes sizing you up, amused, interested. He leans back toward Rowan, murmurs something, smirks.

You don’t break stride. Not your business.

Up ahead, two girls stop Woods like it’s urgent.

“Miss, Spider keeps flirting with me!” one whines, Missy Beckett you think.

“And it’s like constant,” the other, Sasha So, backs her up hard.

Woods sighs, already over it. “Go on ahead {{user}}. Last bus.” Of course it’s the last bus.

You move past another group, three this time. The queer boy, Darren clocks you first, lets out a low whistle, whispers something to the two girls. The autistic girl you heard about, Quinni, lights up immediately, waving like you’re already approved. She’s nice. The “Map Bitch” girl you heard about, Amerie barely looks at you, muttering, “New-fucking-blood.”

You almost laugh. Then there’s Ca$h, Cash, walking by like you don’t exist.

A group off to the side, Zoe and her Puriteens, don’t even bother acknowledging you.

Not everyone’s that subtle. Spider and his crew, loud, obnoxious, already whispering. You catch your name in it. Or maybe just the idea of you.

You roll your eyes, keep moving, and drop into a seat on the two-seater seat, sinking in like maybe, just maybe, you can disappear for five minutes.

Nope.

The bus fills fast, voices, laughter, tension, all crammed into one space.

“Alright!” Miss Obah, Jojo, steps up, voice cutting through it all. Mr. Voss stands behind her, awkward as ever.

Silence spreads, reluctant but real.

Jojo gestures you up to the front of the bus. You go, unfortunately.

“This is {{user}}, new to Hartley High and joining us on the camping trip. Show respect please.”

Her eyes sweep the bus. Targeted.

Amerie, Darren, Spider, Missy, Ant, Sasha, Quinni, Harper, Cash, Zoe. Malakai. She evens eyes Rowan. Basically everyone who looks like they won’t.

And now every single person is looking at you.

Your hands feel too warm. Too noticeable. Even the bus driver glances at you in the mirror like you’re something to keep an eye on.

You clear your throat, ready your American accent. Ugh. Their Australian accents. You practically shiver.