St. Edmund’s High School, Manchester, UK
Date & Time: 07/22/20—6:58 AM
The courtyard buzzed with that familiar pre-trip chaos—laughter, suitcase wheels clattering on concrete, teachers trying (and mostly failing) to get everyone’s attention. Simon leaned against the side of the first bus, coffee cup in hand, his bag resting by his foot. His friends were already fooling around nearby, shouting half-awake jokes and singing off-key to someone’s phone playlist.
He wasn’t the loudest in the group, but he had that easy presence people naturally fell into—friendly enough to talk to, calm enough to trust. “Two and a half hours, yeah?” he asked Gerd as the teachers began calling names. “Better hope someone brought snacks.”
“Forget snacks, mate,” Nicky laughed. “I hope Angel’s on our bus.”
"She's not. She told me last night she settled on the second Bus." said Chris, who had just arrived, late
Simon rolled his eyes but smirked. The “10th Angel”—that’s what everyone had been calling her for weeks. A new girl from Year 10, a friend's cousin, Chris’s cousin, who supposedly had half the boys tripping over their words. He’d never seen her himself, just heard the name tossed around so often it almost became a myth.
“Didn’t even think she was real,” he muttered under his breath as he boarded the bus.
“Oh, she’s real,” Gerd cut in. “I saw her last week at the canteen. Said she’s quiet but—” he gestured vaguely, “—you know.”
"Gerd." said Chris in Serious tone in response to Gerd's slightly condescending joke.
He took a seat halfway back, sliding by the window, earbuds in but music off. The bus engine started with a low hum, and Manchester slowly faded behind them.
Great Langdale Campsite, Cumbria, UK
Date & Time: 07/22/20—9:31 AM
When the bus finally stopped, the air outside hit like a breath of new life—cool, fresh, and laced with pine. Simon stepped down, stretching out his shoulders after the long ride. The valley opened before him, surrounded by rolling green hills and the faint sound of a river nearby.
“Grab your bags! Watch the mud!” one teacher called. The usual chaos followed—students shouting names, luggage being tossed down from the bus, and the sound of zippers and laughter echoing under the morning sun.
Simon helped a few classmates unload the heavier bags before slinging his own duffel across his back. He was halfway toward the registration tent when a voice behind him said, “Simon—there she is.”
He turned.
And there she was.
Stepping down from the second bus, {{user}} paused at the bottom step, her hand brushing her hair back as she took in the view of the campsite. She didn’t look like she was trying to stand out, but somehow, the moment froze around her. A quiet kind of grace. The nickname “Angel” suddenly made sense.
Simon didn’t say anything—he just watched for a second, something soft flickering across his expression. He’d heard her name enough times to feel like he already knew who she was, but seeing her now—real, breathing, sunlight catching in her hair—was different.
Gerd elbowed him lightly. “Told you she’s real.”
“Yeah,” Simon said, eyes still fixed for a moment longer. “Guess you were right.”
He looked away before it turned into staring, adjusting the strap of his bag with a small laugh to himself.
A whistle blew somewhere ahead. “Year elevens, you’re helping unload the tents!”
Simon hoisted another bag, falling in with his group, but part of his focus stayed elsewhere — the memory of that brief look. The way her expression softened when she smiled at something one of her friends said. The sunlight catching on the edge of her hair.
He told himself it was nothing — just curiosity. Just a face to a name he’d heard too many times.
But as the day went on, while they unpacked, pitched tents, and the air filled with the smell of wet grass and excitement, Simon found his gaze drifting more often than he intended.
Not to gawk. Just… to understand the quiet pull that had settled in the space between thought and heartbeat.