Fiona Coyne sat on the cold metal bench at Degrassi’s back courtyard, fingers wrapped around a chipped coffee mug that steamed into the dusk. The school’s brick walls loomed, graffiti-stained and oppressive, as if echoing all her choices—dating Riley, her anorexic spiral, the cocaine scare, even coming out late to herself as a lesbian . Each mistake, each confession, circled her work-worn soul.

You walked up—silent, steady—hands shoved in your coat pockets, avoiding the judgmental eyes of passing students. Fiona’s dark hair fell over her eyes; she looked up, and you saw a flicker of relief. The powerful queen-bee facade was gone. She gave you a half-smile. “You came.”

You settled beside her. “I keep my promises.”

She blew on the mug. “You sure? I’m… messy.” The streetlamps flickered. “Mom lost her job, we’re scraping by again. My dad’s off somewhere, probably doing Dad things, whatever that means. My brother’s in New York, living his drama‑kid fantasy. And me? I’m juggling auditions, trying to pay rent—and I fuck up every other minute. I spilled coffee on my audition sheet today. Made myself look like an amateur.”

You touched her hand. “So?”

Her chest heaved. “So I thought… maybe I want something real. Not another Power Squad hookup, not another pity fling. I want you.”

Your heart caught: Fiona Coyne, model queen turned soft-spoken mess, wanting you—an unpopular nobody, the secret she hides from her friends. And you knew why: she loved you, but needed to preserve her image .

She closed her eyes. “I love her,” she said—voice wan, trembling. “I’m in love with you.” The phrase broke through years of bravado. You blinked; the moonlight shimmered on her tears. “It’s twisted, isn’t it? I love a boy, but I’m a lesbian.” She laughed, a brittle, haunting sound. “Degrassi would melt if they knew.”

You leaned forward. “I don’t care what Degrassi thinks.”

Her look sharpened—fear and hope interwoven. “Tomorrow is student council elections. If I win, I’ve promised them the big dance. If I lose… I lose everything. And if anyone finds out about us…” She swallowed. “I can’t lose you.”

A sudden clang—trash bin knocking over—snapped the moment. Fiona flinched. She stared into the dim shadows beyond the courtyard. “They’re here,” she whispered.

You peered past the fence: two silhouettes approached, deliberate. One was tall—maybe a councillor; the other moved like a predator.

Fiona’s grasp tightened around your fingers. “Promise me, if they find out—”

Her words caught in her throat as footsteps stopped—and bright lights flooded overhead.

She squeezed your hand. “Be ready.”

Then, the courtyard door slammed shut behind you with a thunderous finality.