hi, i’m jim! i’m 20 and currently juggling uni life with my love for storytelling. i write skz x reader fics, mostly emotional chaos, soft dynamics, and the occasional unhinged trope when inspiration strikes. i’m usually here way too late at night, posting, editing, or screaming about stray kids (mostly seungmin). feel free to stop by my asks if you ever want to chat, request something, or just yell about your biases with me. glad to have you here ♡
Hello hello! Welcome to my little corner of Tumblr. Grab a drink and stay a while. Whether you're a new STAY or have been here since pre-debut, make yourself at home!
↳ ✧ 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 ✧
Name/Alias: Ji, Jim
Pronouns: she/her
Age: 20
Zodiac: Capricorn
↳ ✧ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 ✧
Ult Group: Stray Kids (since 2023)
Bias: Seungmin
Bias Wrecker: Felix
Favourite Era(s): 5-Star, DO IT
Favourite Songs: Hall of fame, Divine, Creed
↳ ✧ 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 ✧
I primarily write for Stray Kids.
Updates: Whenever I have time!
Inbox / Requests: OPEN
I am comfortable writing: Angst, fluff, etc. (check my guidelines for more!)
I will NOT write: Heavy gore, yandere. (check my guidelines for more!)
➺ summary: the brutal reality of harper's silent treatment forces a definitive choice at the morning walk to school, and you choose felix. sitting together in class and sharing a fairy floss zooper dooper solidifies the bond. handing over the pink permission slip for dance class seals the deal, and you finally learn his deeply guarded korean name.
➺ warnings: confrontation, loss of friendship
➺ author's note: sorry for the lack of posting! i literally have zero motivation rn 😭
Wednesday morning greeted you with a dull ache in your shoulders and the lingering, unmistakable scent of salt and coconut sunscreen woven into your hair.
When your eyes fluttered open, staring up at the familiar ceiling of your bedroom, you didn't feel the usual heavy dread of the impending school day. Instead, an uncontainable smile stretched across your face. You stretched your arms above your head, wincing slightly as the skin on your shoulders pulled taut. Despite your mother’s aggressive and repeated applications of SPF 50+ yesterday afternoon, the harsh Australian sun had managed to kiss your skin with a faint pink sunburn.
It was entirely worth it.
You kicked the tangled cotton sheets off your legs, your bare feet hitting the floorboards. You could still feel the phantom sensation of sand between your toes. You threw on your stiff school uniform, the fabric irritating your mildly sunburned shoulders, and practically skipped down the hallway toward the kitchen.
The house was filled with the usual morning sounds. The radio was playing softly on the kitchen counter, the kettle was just finishing its rumbling boil, and the smell of toasted bread hung in the air.
Your dad was sitting at the kitchen island, dressed in his work clothes, reading a news article on his tablet while nursing a steaming mug of coffee. Your mom was at the counter, vigorously spreading Vegemite and a thick layer of butter onto two slices of toast.
"Morning, beach bum," your dad teased without looking up from his screen as you hopped onto the stool next to him. "Your mother tells me you had quite the adventure yesterday afternoon."
"It was the best day ever," you declared passionately, grabbing the glass of cold Milo your mom pushed toward you. You took a long gulp of the chocolate malt drink, the cold liquid soothing your dry throat.
Your mom turned around, leaning her hip against the counter, a fond smile on her face. "She hasn't stopped smiling since she walked through the door last night. Tell your father about the seagulls, honey. I swear, I have never laughed so hard in my entire life."
Your dad raised an eyebrow, finally looking up from his tablet. "Seagulls? Did you get swooped?"
"Not me!" you giggled, the memory bubbling up in your chest and making you laugh all over again. You set your glass of Milo down on the marble counter. "Felix! It was Felix!"
"The quiet boy from next door?" your dad asked, looking mildly surprised. "The one who looked like he was about to faint when he was moving boxes?"
"Yes, but he's not like that at all!" you explained quickly, eager to defend your new best friend. You leaned forward on the counter, using your hands to animate the story. "Okay, so we get to the beach, right? And Olivia, his little sister, she's in Year 2 and she is absolutely crazy, she decides that her life's mission is to bury Felix in the sand. And because he's actually super nice, he just laid down and let us do it."
You recalled the feeling of the coarse sand, digging with the small plastic spades Olivia had brought. Felix had been lying flat on his back, his eyes squeezed shut against the glaring sun, laughing as you and his sister shoveled heavy piles of wet sand over his legs, his stomach and his chest.
"We buried him all the way up to his neck," you continued, your eyes wide with the thrill of the memory. "He literally looked like a disembodied head sitting on the beach. He couldn't move his arms or his legs or anything. He was completely trapped."
Your dad chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. "Sounds like a standard sibling beach trip so far."
"Wait, it gets better," your mom chimed in, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Tell him about the hat."
"Right!" you gasped for air between giggles. "So, the sun is really bright, and Felix's nose is getting all red because he has all these freckles. So Olivia takes his hat, it's this hideous, floppy, bright green bucket hat, and she plops it right on top of his head to protect his face."
"Okay, so we have a boy buried in the sand wearing a green bucket hat," your dad summarized, looking highly amused. "Where do the seagulls come in?"
"Well," you took another quick sip of your Milo. "We left him there for a minute because Olivia wanted to go fill her bucket with ocean water to make a moat around his head. And suddenly, this massive flock of seagulls lands near us. Like, twenty of them. You know how aggressive they get at the beach when they think someone has hot chips?"
"Absolute menaces," your dad agreed solemnly. "Worse than bin chickens."
"Exactly! And I don't know if they thought the green hat was a piece of lettuce, or if they honestly thought Felix was a stranded sea turtle, but they just zeroed in on him!" you threw your hands in the air, mimicking the birds. "They started squawking and dive-bombing his head! And Felix is screaming, but his voice is like, really high and squeaky, and he can't move because he's packed into the wet sand!"
Your dad burst into genuine laughter, nearly spilling his coffee.
"He was trying so hard to get out!" you laughed so hard your stomach muscles ached. "He was thrashing around, and the sand was exploding everywhere. He looked like a zombie crawling out of a grave, just flailing his lanky arms and legs, swatting at the birds. His hat flew off, and he just scrambled on his hands and knees all the way to the water to get away from them!"
"Poor kid," your dad chuckled, shaking his head. "First month in a new neighborhood and he gets attacked by the local wildlife. Did he cry?"
"No!" you grinned proudly. "Once he got into the water, he realized how stupid he looked and he just started laughing. He laughed so hard he fell backward into a wave. He's actually really funny, Dad. He just... he gets scared around big groups of people. But when it's just us, he's heaps of fun."
Your mom smiled warmly, sliding a plate of Vegemite toast across the counter toward you. "I'm really glad you went with them, sweetheart. It was lovely to see you both getting along so well. And Min is wonderful. They seem like a really lovely family. It's nice to have good neighbors again."
"Did she say anything about the dance studio?" you asked eagerly, taking a bite of your toast. The salty, savory flavor of the Vegemite was perfect.
"She did," your mom nodded, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "I gave her the address of your studio and told her about the Wednesday hip-hop classes. She said if Felix is still interested, she'll sign the permission slip for him. So you make sure you grab one from the front desk today, alright?"
"I will!" you promised, your heart soaring with excitement.
You finished your breakfast in record time, the energy buzzing through your veins like electricity. The heavy, oppressive guilt that had plagued you yesterday morning was entirely gone. Today, the world felt bright and full of possibilities.
You ran to the bathroom, aggressively brushed your teeth, and grabbed your heavy school backpack from your bedroom floor.
"Have a good day at work, Dad!" you called out, racing back down the hallway.
"Have a good day at school! Watch out for the seagulls!" he called back playfully.
"Do you have your hat? And your lunchbox?" your mom asked, meeting you at the front door.
"Got it, got it, got it!" you practically vibrated with impatience, shifting your weight from foot to foot. "I gotta go, Mom, I'll see you this arvo!"
You threw the front door open, stepping out into the already-sweltering morning air. The cicadas were just beginning to warm up, their collective hum starting to build in the eucalyptus trees.
You didn't look toward the road. Your eyes immediately darted to the right, peering over the wooden fence that separated your yard from the Lees'.
You expected to see a closed door. You expected to have to walk to the corner alone, wondering if you would see him in the classroom.
But as you stepped out onto your porch, your breath hitched in your throat.
Felix was waiting for you.
He was standing right in the middle of his front porch, bathed in the golden, harsh light of the Australian morning sun. But it wasn't just the fact that he was outside that made you freeze in your tracks; it was the way he was standing.
Yesterday morning, in the classroom, he had looked like a cornered animal—shoulders hunched up to his ears, spine curved, trying to make himself invisible within his oversized senior uniform.
Today, he looked like a completely different person.
He was standing tall, his posture relaxed and open. His heavy school backpack was slung casually over one shoulder instead of being clutched tightly to his chest like a shield. He was gently kicking a small pebble against the wooden post of his porch, humming a soft, rhythmic tune under his breath. When he heard the sound of your screen door slamming shut, his head snapped up.
The constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks shifted brilliantly as a massive, radiant, gap-toothed smile broke across his face.
It was like looking at the sun. In the span of a single afternoon, a few hours of building sandcastles and fighting off aggressive seagulls, he had completely blossomed. The terrified, mute boy who had shrunk away from Harper's cruel words was gone, replaced by the bubbly, kind, and incredibly bright kid underneath.
"Hey!" Felix called out. His voice was still soft and distinctly boyish, but it held a confidence that hadn't been there yesterday.
"Hey yourself!" you grinned back, practically jogging down your driveway to meet him at the property line.
He met you at the sidewalk, falling into step beside you instantly. There was no more awkward staggering, no more walking two paces behind. He walked shoulder-to-shoulder with you, close enough that your backpacks occasionally bumped against each other.
"Did you recover from your traumatic bird attack?" you teased immediately, bumping your shoulder gently against his arm.
Felix's ears immediately turned a violent shade of pink, but he didn't look away. Instead, he threw his head back and let out a bright, unrestrained laugh. It was a beautiful sound, ringing clear over the hum of the cicadas.
"It wasn't funny!" he protested, though his massive grin completely ruined his defense. "They were huge! I thought one of them was going to take my eye out. Olivia told my dad I looked like a screaming turtle."
"You kind of did," you admitted, giggling uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, I should have helped you, but I was laughing too hard. You were literally trapped."
"I am never wearing that green hat again," Felix declared solemnly, adjusting the straps of his school bag. "I'm throwing it in the bin. The bin chickens can have it."
You continued to chat easily as you walked down the sun-baked concrete of Miller Street. You talked about the sandcastles, about how good the cold sandwiches from the esky had tasted, and about the upcoming hip-hop class. Felix was incredibly animated when it was just the two of you. He used his hands when he talked, his dark eyes sparkling with excitement. He asked you a million questions about the dance teacher, the routines, and the music.
You were so deeply engrossed in explaining the layout of the dance studio to him that you almost forgot about the impending reality of the school day.
Almost.
As you rounded the familiar bend of the street, your eyes automatically sought out the dented, sun-faded red postbox. It was the exact spot you had met Harper every single morning since Year 3. It was your designated meeting place, the anchor of your daily routine.
Your sentence slowly died in your throat. You slowed your pace, your heavy black school shoes dragging slightly against the hot pavement.
The corner was completely empty.
There was no blonde ponytail reflecting the sun. There was no aggressive clinking of cheap plastic bracelets. There was no dramatic sigh complaining about the heat or the walk.
Harper wasn't there.
You stopped walking entirely, standing next to the red postbox. You checked your watch. 8:20 AM. You were right on time. In fact, you were usually the one running a few minutes late, and Harper would always be leaning against the red metal, tapping her foot impatiently.
Felix noticed your sudden halt and stopped a few steps ahead of you. He turned around, his bright smile faltering slightly as he saw the confused, sinking expression on your face.
"What's wrong?" he asked gently, taking a step back toward you.
"Harper isn't here," you murmured, staring at the empty patch of concrete.
"Maybe she's sick today?" Felix suggested, his voice laced with innocent hope. You knew he would probably prefer if Harper never came to school again.
You shook your head slowly, a cold, heavy knot of dread forming in your stomach despite the boiling summer heat. "No. She's never sick. And even if she was, she would have texted my mom's phone to tell me."
You knew exactly what this was. This was a calculated, deliberate move.
In the brutal, unspoken political arena of primary school, your morning walk was a public declaration of friendship. By abandoning your meeting spot, Harper was sending a very clear, very loud message. She was officially freezing you out. The fight you had yesterday afternoon wasn't just a brief argument; it was the end of the line. She was forcing you to choose between your social standing and the boy standing next to you.
You stood by the postbox for three agonizing minutes, staring down the street, hoping against hope that you would see her walking toward you, ready to complain about a bad hair day or a strict parent. But the street remained empty.
The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable.
Felix shifted his weight from foot to foot. He looked from the postbox to your face, his dark eyes wide and suddenly incredibly observant. The bright, bubbly boy from the beach retreated slightly, replaced by the anxious, perceptive kid who was terrified of causing trouble.
"She's not coming, is she?" Felix asked. His voice was quiet, stripped of all its earlier excitement.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. "No. I don't think so."
Felix looked down at his shoes, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack in a white-knuckled hold. "It's because of me. Because you walked with me yesterday."
"No, Felix, it's not—"
"It is," he interrupted softly, his boyish voice trembling slightly. The guilt radiating off his small frame was palpable. He looked up at you, his eyes swimming with a mixture of sadness and apology. "She told you not to talk to me. And now she's mad at you. I'm sorry. You... you can go find her at school. You don't have to walk in with me. I know the way."
He took a step away from you, as if preparing to walk the rest of the way alone to save you from further social ruin.
Something fierce and protective flared in your chest. The dread of losing Harper was suddenly eclipsed by a profound wave of anger. How dare she make him feel like a burden? How dare she make this sweet, funny, wonderful boy feel like he was something to be ashamed of?
"Stop it," you said firmly, stepping forward and grabbing the fabric of his sleeve to stop him from walking away.
Felix froze, looking at your hand on his arm, and then up at your face.
"I don't care if she's mad," you declared, your voice ringing with a newfound conviction. You let go of his sleeve and adjusted your own backpack. "If she's going to act like a baby because I made a new friend, then I don't want to walk with her anyway. She's being ridiculous. You are my friend, Felix. And I want to walk with you."
Felix stared at you. The anxiety in his eyes slowly melted away, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated awe. He looked at you like you were the bravest person he had ever met.
Slowly, the tension left his shoulders. The ghost of his bright smile returned, tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Okay," he whispered.
"Okay," you nodded, forcing a smile onto your own face. "Come on. If we don't hurry up, Mrs. Gable is going to make us run laps around the oval."
As you turned away from the empty postbox and continued the walk to school, you felt a strange sense of liberation. The invisible chain that had tethered you to Harper's approval had snapped. It was terrifying, yes, but as Felix bumped his shoulder against yours and started telling you another joke about his little sister, you knew you wouldn't trade this for all the popularity in the world.
The walk through the school gates was like stepping onto a battlefield.
Usually, you would navigate the chaotic sea of blue and white uniforms with Harper by your side, her fierce glare parting the crowds of younger students like Moses parting the Red Sea. You were protected by her aura. Today, walking beside Felix, you felt entirely exposed.
You kept your chin up, ignoring the curious glances from a few kids in your grade as you made your way through the breezeways toward Class 6B. Felix walked close to you, his shoulder brushing yours, offering a silent, steadying presence.
When you reached the classroom door, you took a deep breath of the stale, air-conditioned air and stepped inside.
The morning bell hadn't rung yet, so the room was filled with the loud chatter of students unpacking their bags. You immediately looked toward the back of the room, to your designated spot.
Harper was there. But she wasn't alone.
Sitting in your chair, her sequined pencil case spread out across your side of the desk, was Chloe from 6A. Harper and Chloe were leaning their heads together, giggling loudly over a piece of paper, their blonde ponytails practically intertwined. As soon as you walked into the room, Harper looked up. Her eyes locked onto yours, then flicked dismissively to Felix, before she purposefully turned her back to you and laughed even louder at whatever Chloe was saying.
The message was crystal clear. Your seat was gone. You had been replaced.
For a split second, the sting of rejection burned hot behind your eyes. It hurt. Despite everything, she had been your best friend for three years.
"Hey," a soft voice murmured right beside you.
You blinked, tearing your gaze away from the back of the room. Felix was looking at you, his dark eyes filled with deep, empathetic concern. He didn't ask if you were okay, he knew you weren't, but his presence was a quiet anchor in the stormy classroom.
You took a shaky breath, forcing the burn out of your eyes, and squared your shoulders. If Harper wanted to play this game, you were going to play it better.
"Come on," you whispered to Felix.
Instead of walking down the aisle toward the back, you stopped at the very front of the room. Felix's desk was in the second row, right by the window. The desk next to it was currently empty.
Without hesitating, you dropped your heavy backpack onto the floor next to the empty chair and sat down right beside him.
Felix's eyes widened in surprise as he slid into his own seat. He looked at you, then glanced nervously toward the back of the room where Harper was undoubtedly watching. "Are you sure? You don't have to..."
"I want to sit here," you interrupted firmly, unzipping your pencil case with a sharp, decisive noise. "The view is better from the front anyway. Plus, I bet Mrs. Gable won't yell at us as much if we sit closer to her desk."
Felix stared at you for a moment, his expression incredibly soft, before a massive, beaming smile broke across his face. He nodded enthusiastically, pulling his own notebooks out of his bag. "Okay. Cool."
When the bell finally rang and Mrs. Gable clapped her hands to start the lesson, you felt a surprising wave of peace wash over you. Sitting at the front of the room was different. You couldn't hide, but sitting next to Felix, you found you didn't really want to.
Mrs. Gable launched into a painfully boring history lesson about the First Fleet. The classroom was quiet, save for the scratching of pencils and the loud, rhythmic hum of the ceiling fans above.
About twenty minutes into the lesson, you heard a faint, deliberate tearing sound.
You kept your eyes glued to the whiteboard, pretending to take notes, but your peripheral vision caught Felix's hands moving under his desk. A few seconds later, a tiny, perfectly folded square of lined paper slid slowly across the crack separating your desks, coming to a halt right next to your elbow.
Your heart did a thrilling little leap. Note passing. It was the ultimate, risky thrill of primary school. If Mrs. Gable caught you, the note would be read aloud to the entire class.
You waited for Mrs. Gable to turn her back to write a date on the board, then quickly scooped the tiny square of paper into your hand and unfolded it under the cover of your textbook.
The handwriting was neat, slightly rounded, and written in blue gel pen.
Are you okay? Is Harper super mad because of me?
You looked over at Felix. He was staring intensely at his history book, pretending to read, but his ears were bright pink.
You quickly grabbed your favourite black pen, leaned over your book, and scribbled a reply on the bottom half of the paper.
I'm fine! She is just being a massive drama queen. I want to sit here. You're way more fun than her anyway. P.S. I kept my promise. Fairy floss Zooper Dooper is currently freezing in my lunchbox.
You carefully folded the paper back into a tiny square. When Mrs. Gable walked over to the windows to adjust the blinds, you flicked the note back across the gap.
You watched out of the corner of your eye as Felix caught it and unfolded it in his lap. As he read your words, you saw his shoulders drop with relief. He bit his lower lip, trying to suppress a huge, radiant smile, but it was impossible. The freckles on his cheeks danced as he beamed at the piece of paper.
He quickly wrote something else and slid it back.
Good. We have to share. I can't wait to try it.
You looked over at him, your eyes sparkling with amusement, and gave him a tiny, secretive thumbs-up. The rest of the morning block flew by in a flurry of passed notes, filled with terrible stick-figure drawings of seagulls and secret jokes about Mrs. Gable's sensible shoes.
When the 11:00 AM recess bell finally shrieked, you didn't even look toward the back of the room. You grabbed your hat and your lunchbox, and you and Felix practically bolted out the door together.
You didn't go to the massive Moreton Bay Fig tree. That was Harper's territory, and you had no desire to fight that battle today. Instead, you and Felix walked straight to the small, secluded cluster of wooden benches hidden underneath the wattle tree near the front gates.
It was your spot now.
You sat down on the wooden slats, the dappled sunlight filtering through the yellow blossoms overhead. The heat was already intense, baking the asphalt of the playground, but sitting in the shade with Felix made it bearable.
"Okay, let's see it," Felix said eagerly, leaning forward the second he sat down.
You grinned proudly, unzipping a small, insulated cooler bag from inside your lunchbox. With a dramatic flourish, you produced a frozen, bright pink Zooper Dooper tube. The plastic was covered in a thick layer of frosty condensation.
"My mom put ice packs in here so it wouldn't melt," you explained, holding up the icy tube.
"How do we eat it? Do you cut it?" Felix asked, looking at it with intense curiosity.
"Watch and learn," you teased.
You placed the middle of the plastic tube against the edge of the wooden bench and brought your hand down on either side with a sharp, practiced thwack. The frozen ice snapped perfectly in half.
Felix's eyes went wide. "Whoa. That was aggressive."
"It's the only way," you laughed, handing him the top half of the tube and keeping the bottom for yourself. "Now, remember, you have to push the ice up from the bottom, and be careful of the plastic edges, they will literally slice your lips open."
Felix took a cautious bite of the bright pink, fairy floss-flavored ice. His eyes immediately lit up, crinkling at the corners in pure delight. "Oh, that's heaps good. It tastes like actual sugar."
"Told you!" you cheered, taking a bite of your own. The cold, artificial sweetness was exactly what you needed in the sweltering heat.
"So," Felix said, his words slightly muffled around the mouthful of ice. "Do you have your dance class today?"
"Yep," you nodded eagerly. "Every Wednesday afternoon. From four-thirty to five-thirty. I'm going to grab the spare permission slip from the front desk before I leave today. Will your mom really let you come next week?"
"I asked her last night when we got home from the beach," Felix said, his voice buzzing with excitement. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "She said yes! She said if you give me the slip, my dad can drive us both there next Wednesday."
"That is going to be so awesome," you grinned, kicking your legs back and forth against the bench. "We're starting a new routine this week, so you won't even be behind. Do you listen to much hip-hop music?"
"A little bit," Felix nodded, pushing the last bit of his Zooper Dooper up through the plastic. "I really like the fast stuff. Like, the stuff with good beats you can jump to."
"Like LMFAO?" you asked, referencing the absolute kings of the 2012 primary school disco scene.
"Yes!" Felix's eyes lit up brighter than the sun. "Party Rock Anthem is my favorite! I know how to do the Melbourne Shuffle part. I practiced it in my bedroom for like, a week."
"No way, you have to show me!" you gasped. "I tried to learn it from a YouTube video but I just ended up kicking my own ankle and tripping over."
Felix let out that bright, beautiful, unrestrained laugh again. "I will! What else do you listen to? Do you like Justice Crew?"
"Obviously," you scoffed playfully. "Everyone likes Justice Crew. They're Australian! 'Friday to Sunday' is literally the best song ever written."
The entire twenty minutes of recess were spent huddled under the wattle tree, passionately debating the greatest pop and hip-hop songs of the era. Felix was incredibly knowledgeable about rhythm and beats. When he talked about music and dancing, all of his lingering shyness evaporated entirely. He was loud, he was expressive, and he was undeniably cool.
When the bell rang to end the break, neither of you wanted to go back inside.
"Next Wednesday," you promised, throwing your empty plastic tube into a nearby bin. "I'll give you the slip this arvo. Next Wednesday, we're dancing."
"I can't wait," Felix smiled, adjusting his wide-brimmed hat.
The rest of the school day passed in a warm, comfortable blur. The anxiety of Harper's rejection had completely faded, replaced by the thrilling realization that you had just secured the best friend you could possibly ask for.
When the 3:00 PM bell finally screamed, you and Felix packed your bags together at the front of the room. You walked out of the classroom side-by-side, entirely ignoring the venomous glare burning into the back of your head from the back row.
As you stepped out into the sweltering afternoon heat, ready for the walk home, Felix bumped his shoulder against yours.
"Thanks for sitting with me today," he mumbled softly, his boyish voice sweet and sincere.
"Thanks for letting me," you smiled back.
You had lost a friend today, but looking at the freckled boy walking happily beside you under the glaring Australian sun, you knew you had gained something so much better.
The pavement of Miller Street seemed to stretch out forever under the relentless afternoon sun, but for the first time in three years, you didn't mind the walk.
Usually, the trek home with Harper involved a litany of complaints—the heat was ruining her hair, her backpack was too heavy, her shoes were giving her blisters. Today, the walk was completely different. The air was filled with a comfortable, easy silence, broken only by the deafening drone of the cicadas hidden high in the eucalyptus branches and the occasional scuff of your black leather school shoes against the concrete.
You walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Felix. The tense, hunched posture that had plagued him on Monday was completely gone. He was still quiet, naturally observant and soft-spoken, but the nervous energy had evaporated. He walked with his head up, his dark eyes taking in the familiar suburban houses, occasionally kicking a stray gum nut off the footpath.
"You weren't kidding," Felix murmured, using the back of his hand to wipe a bead of sweat from his temple. "It actually feels like the road is melting."
"I told you," you laughed, pointing down at the dark, slightly sticky patches of asphalt where the sun hit the hardest. "If you step on the black parts for too long, your shoes will literally stick to the road. Welcome to a Sydney summer."
Felix chuckled, his boyish, slightly raspy voice light and happy. "I'll keep that in mind. No standing still on the road."
As you turned the final corner onto your street, the familiar brick facades of your adjoining houses came into view. The relief of the impending air-conditioning made you both naturally quicken your pace.
When you reached the wooden palings that separated your driveways, you both came to a halt. The afternoon sun was casting long, harsh shadows across the yellowing grass of the front lawns.
"Well," you smiled, adjusting the heavy straps of your school bag. "I've gotta go get ready for dance class. My mom usually drives me there at about four-fifteen."
Felix's eyes brightened instantly at the mention of the studio. The sheer enthusiasm he held for dancing was infectious. "Don't forget to ask for the paper," he reminded you, his voice buzzing with a sudden, eager energy. "The permission slip. So I can come next week."
"I won't forget," you promised, crossing your heart playfully with one finger. "I'll grab it from Barb at the front desk and bring it straight over to your house when I get back. Around quarter to six. Deal?"
"Deal," Felix beamed, the constellation of freckles across his nose shifting with his wide, gap-toothed smile. "Have heaps of fun today."
"I will. See ya, Felix!"
"See ya!"
You practically skipped up your driveway, the heavy burden of the school day entirely lifted from your shoulders. You pushed open your front door, immediately hit by the glorious, freezing blast of the central air-conditioning. You let out a long, dramatic groan of absolute relief, kicking your stiff black school shoes off your feet and leaving them haphazardly near the welcome mat.
"I'm home!" you yelled, your voice echoing down the hallway.
"In the kitchen!" your mother called back.
You padded down the hall in your socks, dropping your heavy backpack onto the floor with a loud thud. Your mom was standing at the kitchen island, pouring a tall glass of icy, bright green Cottee's lime cordial.
"How was the second day?" she asked, sliding the condensation-covered glass across the marble counter toward you. "Drink up, you look like a beetroot."
"It was actually amazing," you said, taking a long, greedy gulp of the sweet, icy cordial. The cold liquid instantly soothed your dry throat. You hopped up onto one of the barstools, resting your elbows on the cool stone counter. "I didn't sit with Harper today."
Your mom stopped wiping the counter, the tea towel pausing in her hands. She looked at you, a mixture of surprise and gentle concern softening her features. She knew exactly how powerful Harper was in the brutal ecosystem of Year 6, and she knew how anxious you had been about confronting her. "You didn't? Where did you sit?"
"Right at the front of the classroom," you announced proudly. "Next to Felix. Harper ignored me all day, and when I walked into the classroom this morning she was sitting in my chair with Chloe. So I just sat next to Felix instead. And it was the best thing I've done all year."
Your mother leaned against the counter, a warm, incredibly proud smile spreading across her face. "I am so proud of you, sweetheart. That takes a lot of bravery to step away from a friend who isn't treating you right. Did she say anything to you?"
"Nope. Not a word," you shrugged, surprised by how little it actually hurt now. "But Felix and I passed notes all through history class, and we shared the Zooper Dooper at recess under the wattle tree. He's actually so funny, Mom. He knows all about hip-hop music."
"Well, it sounds like you've made a wonderful new friend," she said softly, reaching over to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "And it's her loss. Now, if you're going to make it to Miss Clara's class on time, you need to go get changed. I want to leave in twenty minutes."
"Right! I need my bag!"
You slid off the stool and bolted for your bedroom. You threw your stifling, stiff school uniform onto your desk chair and quickly changed into your dance gear, a pair of loose, comfortable black trackies and a bright, oversized singlet. You grabbed your battered duffel bag from the closet, double-checking that your lightweight sneakers and a fresh water bottle were packed inside.
By the time four-fifteen rolled around, you and your mom were pulling out of the driveway in her silver sedan.
The drive to the dance studio took about fifteen minutes, winding through the neighbouring suburbs. You sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the familiar brick houses and sun-baked front lawns rolled by in a blur. The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, turning the harsh glare into a heavy, golden haze.
The dance studio was located in an old, repurposed warehouse complex tucked behind a bustling strip mall. It wasn't exactly prestigious, there were no sparkling chandeliers, fancy waiting rooms, or state-of-the-art sprung floors. It was just a massive, corrugated iron building with a faded sign that read Rhythm & Move Dance Academy above a set of heavy, dented double doors. But the moment you stepped inside, it felt like magic.
"I'll be back at five-thirty to pick you up!" your mom called out, keeping the car idling near the curb. "Have fun! And remember to stretch!"
"I will! Bye!"
You slung your duffel bag over your shoulder and pushed open the heavy front doors. You were immediately hit by the familiar, comforting wall of sensory overload.
The studio smelled overwhelmingly of cheap hairspray, floor wax, and the lingering, humid scent of dozens of sweating teenagers. From down the long, dimly lit hallway, the heavy, thumping bass of a pop song vibrated violently through the floorboards, rattling the framed photos of past dance troupes hanging crookedly on the walls.
You walked straight toward the front desk, a large, cluttered wooden counter completely covered in sign-in sheets, forgotten plastic water bottles, and scattered neon flyers for upcoming showcases.
Sitting behind the desk was Barb. Barb was an absolute institution at Rhythm & Move. She was a woman in her late fifties with aggressively teased auburn hair, reading glasses perched on the end of a long, beaded chain around her neck, and a permanent, brightly coloured acrylic manicure. She was furiously typing on a clunky, outdated desktop computer, a piece of mint chewing gum snapping rhythmically in her mouth.
"G'day, Barb," you smiled, dropping your duffel bag onto the squeaky linoleum floor.
Barb looked up over the rim of her reading glasses, her face instantly breaking into a wide, familiar grin. Her bracelets clattered loudly against the keyboard. "Well, if it isn't my favourite hip-hop star. G'day, sweetheart. How was school? You surviving this awful heat?"
"Barely," you laughed, leaning your elbows against the high counter. "I reckon the school oval is going to catch fire by Friday if it doesn't rain."
"You're not wrong, darl, it's an absolute scorcher out there today," Barb agreed, hitting the enter key with a loud, acrylic clack. "I've had the fans in the studios on full blast since noon. Now, don't forget to sign in. Miss Clara is already warming up Studio Two, so you'd better get your skates on."
You grabbed the cheap biro pen tied to the desk with a piece of string and quickly scribbled your name onto the damp sign-in sheet.
"Oh, wait!" you gasped, suddenly remembering your promise. You stood up on your tiptoes to peer over the high counter. "Before I go in, Barb, do you have any spare enrolment slips? The pink ones for new students?"
Barb raised a painted, perfectly arched eyebrow, leaning back in her squeaky office chair. "Ooh, bringing us a new recruit, are we? Anyone I know?"
"He's my new neighbour," you explained eagerly, the excitement bubbling back up in your chest. "He just moved here from the Blue Mountains. He's exactly my age, and he used to do street dance at his old school. He's heaps good. He wants to join the Wednesday class with me."
"Brilliant! We always need more boys in the hip-hop crew, they bring great energy to the routines," Barb beamed enthusiastically. She spun around in her chair and yanked open a notoriously sticky filing cabinet behind her desk. She rifled through a few folders before pulling out a crisp, bright pink piece of paper. She slid it across the wooden counter toward you. "Here you go, sweetheart. Tell his mum to fill out both sides, especially the emergency contacts, we've got to have those, and bring it back next week to the desk before class starts."
"Thank you, Barb! You're an absolute legend!"
You grabbed the pink slip, folding it carefully in half. You unzipped the small front pocket of your duffel bag and tucked it safely inside, making sure it wouldn't get crushed or stained by your water bottle.
"Have a good class, darl!" Barb called after you as you grabbed your bag and sprinted down the hallway.
You pushed open the heavy wooden door to Studio Two, the heavy bass of the music hitting you square in the chest like a physical weight.
The room was massive and completely unpretentious. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors that were already beginning to fog up slightly at the edges from the collective body heat in the room. The wooden floorboards were scuffed with black marks from thousands of sneakers. About fifteen other kids, mostly your age or a year older, were scattered around the room, dropping their bags against the back wall and doing half-hearted stretches.
"Alright, Year Sixes and Sevens, let's go! Into the center!" Miss Clara clapped her hands loudly, abruptly cutting the music from the stereo system in the corner. She was a fiercely energetic woman in her twenties, wearing baggy grey sweatpants and a bright neon pink tank top. "We have a brand new routine starting today, so I want maximum focus and maximum energy! Let's get these warm-ups done!"
You quickly swapped your sandals for your lightweight sneakers, threw your duffel bag against the wall alongside the others, and jogged into the middle of the floor to find your spot.
The next hour was an absolute blur of sweat, loud music, and intense physical exertion.
Miss Clara didn't take it easy on you just because there was a heatwave outside. She cranked the volume on the stereo, a high-energy mashup of Pitbull, Flo Rida, and LMFAO, and pushed the class relentlessly through the new choreography. Hip-hop was completely different from the stiff, structured rules of the classroom. It was loud, it was messy, and it required you to throw your entire body into every single movement.
You struggled through the new footwork, getting your sneakers tangled up in a complex slide-and-step combination, laughing breathlessly when you accidentally bumped shoulders with the girl next to you. You practiced popping your chest, dropping low to the floor, and finding the heavy down-beat rhythm of the music.
As you danced, staring at your flushed reflection in the fogged-up mirrors, your mind kept drifting back to Felix.
You pictured him standing in this exact room next Wednesday. You remembered what he had said to you under the shade of the wattle tree, that when he danced, he didn't feel quiet, or shy, or small. He felt loud. You tried to imagine the terrified boy who had hidden behind his father's leg suddenly hitting these aggressive hip-hop moves with perfect precision. It was almost impossible to fully picture, but the thought of it made a thrilling rush of adrenaline course through your veins. You could not wait to see it.
By the time five-thirty rolled around, you were absolutely exhausted. Your chest was heaving, and your singlet was clinging uncomfortably to your back.
"Great work today, everyone!" Miss Clara yelled over the final fading chords of the music, using a small white towel to wipe the sweat from her forehead. "Practice those eight-counts at home! I don't want to see any messy or lazy footwork next Wednesday! Grab your bags and get out of here, drink plenty of water!"
You collapsed onto the scuffed floorboards for a few seconds, staring up at the corrugated iron ceiling to catch your breath, before dragging yourself over to your duffel bag. Your face was flushed a brilliant red, and your legs felt like absolute jelly.
You unzipped the front pocket, letting out a huge sigh of relief when you saw the bright pink enrolment slip still sitting there, perfectly flat and completely unscathed.
You waved a tired goodbye to Miss Clara and Barb on your way out, pushing through the heavy double doors and stepping back out into the Australian evening.
The brutal edge of the heatwave had finally broken, leaving behind a thick, warm, and intensely humid evening. The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the Sydney sky in sweeping streaks of bruised purple, violent orange, and soft pink. The deafening roar of the cicadas was slowly transitioning into the quieter chirping of the evening crickets.
Your mom’s silver sedan was idling near the curb exactly where she had dropped you off.
You climbed into the passenger seat, letting out a long dramatic groan as your tired muscles sank into the cool leather upholstery.
"Good workout?" your mom laughed, putting the car into gear and pulling away from the curb.
"I am completely dead," you announced, dramatically throwing your arm over your eyes to block out the setting sun. "I don't think my legs work anymore. Miss Clara is actively trying to kill us."
"Well, you smell like a wet dog, so she definitely made you work for it," she teased, reaching over to turn the air-conditioning vents directly onto your flushed face. "Did you remember to ask Barb for the slip for Felix?"
You sat up slightly, patting the front pocket of your duffel bag. "Got it right here. Hey, Mum, can we go straight to his house when we get back? I want to give it to him before dinner."
"Sure thing," your mom smiled. "It'll be nice for you to have a buddy in that class. Especially someone who lives so close. Min and I can easily take turns doing the carpool run on Wednesday afternoons."
The drive back to your neighbourhood was peaceful. You watched the streetlights flicker on one by one as the golden hour faded into dusk. The suburban streets were quiet, smelling faintly of freshly cut grass and the occasional, mouth-watering waft of a backyard barbecue.
When your mom finally pulled the car into your driveway, you didn't even bother going inside your own house first.
You slung your duffel bag over your shoulder, unzipped the front pocket, grabbed the pink piece of paper, and hopped out of the car. "I'll be right back, Mom!"
You walked across the dry, yellowed grass of your front lawn, stepping over the low wooden property line, and marched straight up the Lee family's driveway.
Their house looked incredibly warm and inviting. The lights were on in the front living room, casting a soft glow through the drawn curtains. You could hear the muffled sound of a television playing a cartoon, and the incredible smell of toasted sesame oil and garlic wafted through the front flyscreen door.
You stepped up onto their front porch, suddenly feeling a tiny spike of nervousness flutter in your stomach. This was the first time you were actually knocking on their door by yourself.
You raised your hand and rapped your knuckles three times against the wooden frame of the screen door.
"I'll get it!" a small, high-pitched voice shrieked from inside.
A second later, the heavy wooden front door swung open, revealing Olivia. She was wearing a pair of wildly colourful pyjamas and holding a half-eaten carrot stick in one hand.
"Oh, hi!" she beamed, her eyes widening behind her messy bangs. "Are we going to the beach again? Because I can't find my pink goggles."
You laughed, shaking your head. "Not tonight, Liv. I'm too tired. Is Felix here?"
"Who is it, Olivia?" a woman's voice called out from further down the hallway.
Mrs. Lee, Min, appeared behind her daughter, wiping her hands on a floral kitchen apron. When she saw you standing on the porch, her face immediately broke into a warm welcoming smile. "Oh, hello sweetheart! Come in, come in, the bugs are terrible out there tonight."
"Hi, Mrs. Lee," you smiled back politely, staying planted on the porch. "It's okay, I'm super sweaty from dance class, I don't want to mess up your hallway. I just came to drop something off for Felix."
"Dance class!" Mrs. Lee's eyes lit up with immediate recognition. She turned her head toward the hallway, raising her voice. "Yongbok! Your friend is at the door!"
You blinked in surprise. Yongbok?
Before you could ask who that was, the sound of hurried sock-clad footsteps echoed loudly down the hardwood hallway.
Felix skidded around the corner, nearly crashing right into his mother's back. He was wearing an incredibly oversized faded grey t-shirt and loose sweatpants, his dark coppery-brown hair messy and sticking up in several different directions as if he had been lying on the floor.
When he saw you standing on the other side of the flyscreen door, his entire face illuminated.
"You're back!" he said, slightly out of breath. He gently pushed past his sister to stand right at the mesh screen.
"I told you I'd come over this arvo," you grinned, thoroughly enjoying the uncontainable excitement radiating off him. You reached through the unlatched screen door and held out the bright pink piece of paper. "I got it. Barb at the front desk said your mom just needs to fill out both sides, and you can bring it in next Wednesday before class starts."
Felix took the slip from your hand with a reverence usually reserved for handling delicate glass. He stared down at the bold Rhythm & Move Dance Academy logo printed across the top. His hands were actually trembling slightly.
He didn't just look happy; he looked completely, utterly overwhelmed with gratitude. It wasn't just a piece of paper to him. It was a ticket back to the one thing he felt truly confident doing, and it was undeniable proof that you had kept your promise to him. He finally had a friend he could rely on.
"I got it," he whispered, tracing the edge of the pink paper with his thumb.
Mrs. Lee leaned over his shoulder, looking at the slip with a knowing smile. "I'll fill it out tonight while you do your homework, Felix. It's so wonderful that you two can go together. Thank you so much for bringing this over, sweetheart."
"It's no worries at all, Mrs. Lee," you beamed.
Felix finally looked up from the paper, his dark eyes locking onto yours. The porch light above your head suddenly clicked on automatically, casting a golden glow over his face and highlighting the beautifull constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks. The boyish, gap-toothed smile that stretched across his face was unequivocally the most wonderful thing you had seen all day.
"Thank you," he said softly, his expressive eyes holding a universe of unspoken appreciation. "Really. Thank you."
"You're welcome," you smiled warmly. "You'd better start practicing your Melbourne Shuffle, though. Miss Clara doesn't mess around. If your footwork is sloppy, she'll make you do fifty pushups."
Felix's eyes widened in comical horror, but his massive grin didn't falter for a second. "I'll practice right now. I'll practice in the living room."
"Don't you dare break my good vases, Yongbok!" his mother scolded playfully, swatting him gently on the shoulder with her tea towel before disappearing back down the hallway to the kitchen. Olivia had also wandered off, distracted by the cartoon blaring from the living room, leaving just the two of you at the screen door.
You hesitated for a second, your curiosity finally getting the better of you.
"Hey, so..." you started, tilting your head slightly. "Who is Yongbok? Is that your middle name or something?"
Felix's massive grin instantly vanished. He winced, a full-body shudder rippling through his small frame, and his ears turned a violent shade of red. He looked down at his socked feet, suddenly looking incredibly embarrassed.
"It's... my Korean name," he mumbled, his boyish voice dropping to a mortified whisper.
"Yongbok?" you repeated, testing the syllables on your tongue. "I like it. It sounds cool."
"It's not cool," he groaned, bringing his free hand up to bury his flushed face in his palm. "It sounds like an old man's name in Korea. My grandpa gave it to me. I hate it so much. Please don't call me that at school."
You laughed softly at his dramatic reaction, finding it completely endearing. "Okay, okay, I won't tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me, Felix."
He peeked at you through his fingers, letting out a heavy sigh of relief. "Thanks. Seriously."
"I'll see you tomorrow," you smiled, taking a step back off the porch. The cool evening breeze washed over your sweaty skin, offering a sweet relief from the day's heat.
"See you tomorrow!" he called after you, his voice ringing clear into the evening air, the embarrassment already fading.
You walked back through your own front door, the smell of your mom cooking dinner hitting your nose. You were utterly exhausted, your leg muscles ached fiercely, and your sunburn was stinging slightly beneath your singlet. But as you dropped your duffel bag in the hallway and listened to the distant sound of the television next door, you felt completely invincible.
Harper Jones didn't matter. The brutal social hierarchy of Year 6 didn't matter. You had a best friend, and next Wednesday, you were finally going to see exactly how loud the quiet boy next door could be.
➺ summary: the brutal reality of harper's silent treatment forces a definitive choice at the morning walk to school, and you choose felix. sitting together in class and sharing a fairy floss zooper dooper solidifies the bond. handing over the pink permission slip for dance class seals the deal, and you finally learn his deeply guarded korean name.
➺ warnings: confrontation, loss of friendship
➺ author's note: sorry for the lack of posting! i literally have zero motivation rn 😭
Wednesday morning greeted you with a dull ache in your shoulders and the lingering, unmistakable scent of salt and coconut sunscreen woven into your hair.
When your eyes fluttered open, staring up at the familiar ceiling of your bedroom, you didn't feel the usual heavy dread of the impending school day. Instead, an uncontainable smile stretched across your face. You stretched your arms above your head, wincing slightly as the skin on your shoulders pulled taut. Despite your mother’s aggressive and repeated applications of SPF 50+ yesterday afternoon, the harsh Australian sun had managed to kiss your skin with a faint pink sunburn.
It was entirely worth it.
You kicked the tangled cotton sheets off your legs, your bare feet hitting the floorboards. You could still feel the phantom sensation of sand between your toes. You threw on your stiff school uniform, the fabric irritating your mildly sunburned shoulders, and practically skipped down the hallway toward the kitchen.
The house was filled with the usual morning sounds. The radio was playing softly on the kitchen counter, the kettle was just finishing its rumbling boil, and the smell of toasted bread hung in the air.
Your dad was sitting at the kitchen island, dressed in his work clothes, reading a news article on his tablet while nursing a steaming mug of coffee. Your mom was at the counter, vigorously spreading Vegemite and a thick layer of butter onto two slices of toast.
"Morning, beach bum," your dad teased without looking up from his screen as you hopped onto the stool next to him. "Your mother tells me you had quite the adventure yesterday afternoon."
"It was the best day ever," you declared passionately, grabbing the glass of cold Milo your mom pushed toward you. You took a long gulp of the chocolate malt drink, the cold liquid soothing your dry throat.
Your mom turned around, leaning her hip against the counter, a fond smile on her face. "She hasn't stopped smiling since she walked through the door last night. Tell your father about the seagulls, honey. I swear, I have never laughed so hard in my entire life."
Your dad raised an eyebrow, finally looking up from his tablet. "Seagulls? Did you get swooped?"
"Not me!" you giggled, the memory bubbling up in your chest and making you laugh all over again. You set your glass of Milo down on the marble counter. "Felix! It was Felix!"
"The quiet boy from next door?" your dad asked, looking mildly surprised. "The one who looked like he was about to faint when he was moving boxes?"
"Yes, but he's not like that at all!" you explained quickly, eager to defend your new best friend. You leaned forward on the counter, using your hands to animate the story. "Okay, so we get to the beach, right? And Olivia, his little sister, she's in Year 2 and she is absolutely crazy, she decides that her life's mission is to bury Felix in the sand. And because he's actually super nice, he just laid down and let us do it."
You recalled the feeling of the coarse sand, digging with the small plastic spades Olivia had brought. Felix had been lying flat on his back, his eyes squeezed shut against the glaring sun, laughing as you and his sister shoveled heavy piles of wet sand over his legs, his stomach and his chest.
"We buried him all the way up to his neck," you continued, your eyes wide with the thrill of the memory. "He literally looked like a disembodied head sitting on the beach. He couldn't move his arms or his legs or anything. He was completely trapped."
Your dad chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. "Sounds like a standard sibling beach trip so far."
"Wait, it gets better," your mom chimed in, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Tell him about the hat."
"Right!" you gasped for air between giggles. "So, the sun is really bright, and Felix's nose is getting all red because he has all these freckles. So Olivia takes his hat, it's this hideous, floppy, bright green bucket hat, and she plops it right on top of his head to protect his face."
"Okay, so we have a boy buried in the sand wearing a green bucket hat," your dad summarized, looking highly amused. "Where do the seagulls come in?"
"Well," you took another quick sip of your Milo. "We left him there for a minute because Olivia wanted to go fill her bucket with ocean water to make a moat around his head. And suddenly, this massive flock of seagulls lands near us. Like, twenty of them. You know how aggressive they get at the beach when they think someone has hot chips?"
"Absolute menaces," your dad agreed solemnly. "Worse than bin chickens."
"Exactly! And I don't know if they thought the green hat was a piece of lettuce, or if they honestly thought Felix was a stranded sea turtle, but they just zeroed in on him!" you threw your hands in the air, mimicking the birds. "They started squawking and dive-bombing his head! And Felix is screaming, but his voice is like, really high and squeaky, and he can't move because he's packed into the wet sand!"
Your dad burst into genuine laughter, nearly spilling his coffee.
"He was trying so hard to get out!" you laughed so hard your stomach muscles ached. "He was thrashing around, and the sand was exploding everywhere. He looked like a zombie crawling out of a grave, just flailing his lanky arms and legs, swatting at the birds. His hat flew off, and he just scrambled on his hands and knees all the way to the water to get away from them!"
"Poor kid," your dad chuckled, shaking his head. "First month in a new neighborhood and he gets attacked by the local wildlife. Did he cry?"
"No!" you grinned proudly. "Once he got into the water, he realized how stupid he looked and he just started laughing. He laughed so hard he fell backward into a wave. He's actually really funny, Dad. He just... he gets scared around big groups of people. But when it's just us, he's heaps of fun."
Your mom smiled warmly, sliding a plate of Vegemite toast across the counter toward you. "I'm really glad you went with them, sweetheart. It was lovely to see you both getting along so well. And Min is wonderful. They seem like a really lovely family. It's nice to have good neighbors again."
"Did she say anything about the dance studio?" you asked eagerly, taking a bite of your toast. The salty, savory flavor of the Vegemite was perfect.
"She did," your mom nodded, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "I gave her the address of your studio and told her about the Wednesday hip-hop classes. She said if Felix is still interested, she'll sign the permission slip for him. So you make sure you grab one from the front desk today, alright?"
"I will!" you promised, your heart soaring with excitement.
You finished your breakfast in record time, the energy buzzing through your veins like electricity. The heavy, oppressive guilt that had plagued you yesterday morning was entirely gone. Today, the world felt bright and full of possibilities.
You ran to the bathroom, aggressively brushed your teeth, and grabbed your heavy school backpack from your bedroom floor.
"Have a good day at work, Dad!" you called out, racing back down the hallway.
"Have a good day at school! Watch out for the seagulls!" he called back playfully.
"Do you have your hat? And your lunchbox?" your mom asked, meeting you at the front door.
"Got it, got it, got it!" you practically vibrated with impatience, shifting your weight from foot to foot. "I gotta go, Mom, I'll see you this arvo!"
You threw the front door open, stepping out into the already-sweltering morning air. The cicadas were just beginning to warm up, their collective hum starting to build in the eucalyptus trees.
You didn't look toward the road. Your eyes immediately darted to the right, peering over the wooden fence that separated your yard from the Lees'.
You expected to see a closed door. You expected to have to walk to the corner alone, wondering if you would see him in the classroom.
But as you stepped out onto your porch, your breath hitched in your throat.
Felix was waiting for you.
He was standing right in the middle of his front porch, bathed in the golden, harsh light of the Australian morning sun. But it wasn't just the fact that he was outside that made you freeze in your tracks; it was the way he was standing.
Yesterday morning, in the classroom, he had looked like a cornered animal—shoulders hunched up to his ears, spine curved, trying to make himself invisible within his oversized senior uniform.
Today, he looked like a completely different person.
He was standing tall, his posture relaxed and open. His heavy school backpack was slung casually over one shoulder instead of being clutched tightly to his chest like a shield. He was gently kicking a small pebble against the wooden post of his porch, humming a soft, rhythmic tune under his breath. When he heard the sound of your screen door slamming shut, his head snapped up.
The constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks shifted brilliantly as a massive, radiant, gap-toothed smile broke across his face.
It was like looking at the sun. In the span of a single afternoon, a few hours of building sandcastles and fighting off aggressive seagulls, he had completely blossomed. The terrified, mute boy who had shrunk away from Harper's cruel words was gone, replaced by the bubbly, kind, and incredibly bright kid underneath.
"Hey!" Felix called out. His voice was still soft and distinctly boyish, but it held a confidence that hadn't been there yesterday.
"Hey yourself!" you grinned back, practically jogging down your driveway to meet him at the property line.
He met you at the sidewalk, falling into step beside you instantly. There was no more awkward staggering, no more walking two paces behind. He walked shoulder-to-shoulder with you, close enough that your backpacks occasionally bumped against each other.
"Did you recover from your traumatic bird attack?" you teased immediately, bumping your shoulder gently against his arm.
Felix's ears immediately turned a violent shade of pink, but he didn't look away. Instead, he threw his head back and let out a bright, unrestrained laugh. It was a beautiful sound, ringing clear over the hum of the cicadas.
"It wasn't funny!" he protested, though his massive grin completely ruined his defense. "They were huge! I thought one of them was going to take my eye out. Olivia told my dad I looked like a screaming turtle."
"You kind of did," you admitted, giggling uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, I should have helped you, but I was laughing too hard. You were literally trapped."
"I am never wearing that green hat again," Felix declared solemnly, adjusting the straps of his school bag. "I'm throwing it in the bin. The bin chickens can have it."
You continued to chat easily as you walked down the sun-baked concrete of Miller Street. You talked about the sandcastles, about how good the cold sandwiches from the esky had tasted, and about the upcoming hip-hop class. Felix was incredibly animated when it was just the two of you. He used his hands when he talked, his dark eyes sparkling with excitement. He asked you a million questions about the dance teacher, the routines, and the music.
You were so deeply engrossed in explaining the layout of the dance studio to him that you almost forgot about the impending reality of the school day.
Almost.
As you rounded the familiar bend of the street, your eyes automatically sought out the dented, sun-faded red postbox. It was the exact spot you had met Harper every single morning since Year 3. It was your designated meeting place, the anchor of your daily routine.
Your sentence slowly died in your throat. You slowed your pace, your heavy black school shoes dragging slightly against the hot pavement.
The corner was completely empty.
There was no blonde ponytail reflecting the sun. There was no aggressive clinking of cheap plastic bracelets. There was no dramatic sigh complaining about the heat or the walk.
Harper wasn't there.
You stopped walking entirely, standing next to the red postbox. You checked your watch. 8:20 AM. You were right on time. In fact, you were usually the one running a few minutes late, and Harper would always be leaning against the red metal, tapping her foot impatiently.
Felix noticed your sudden halt and stopped a few steps ahead of you. He turned around, his bright smile faltering slightly as he saw the confused, sinking expression on your face.
"What's wrong?" he asked gently, taking a step back toward you.
"Harper isn't here," you murmured, staring at the empty patch of concrete.
"Maybe she's sick today?" Felix suggested, his voice laced with innocent hope. You knew he would probably prefer if Harper never came to school again.
You shook your head slowly, a cold, heavy knot of dread forming in your stomach despite the boiling summer heat. "No. She's never sick. And even if she was, she would have texted my mom's phone to tell me."
You knew exactly what this was. This was a calculated, deliberate move.
In the brutal, unspoken political arena of primary school, your morning walk was a public declaration of friendship. By abandoning your meeting spot, Harper was sending a very clear, very loud message. She was officially freezing you out. The fight you had yesterday afternoon wasn't just a brief argument; it was the end of the line. She was forcing you to choose between your social standing and the boy standing next to you.
You stood by the postbox for three agonizing minutes, staring down the street, hoping against hope that you would see her walking toward you, ready to complain about a bad hair day or a strict parent. But the street remained empty.
The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable.
Felix shifted his weight from foot to foot. He looked from the postbox to your face, his dark eyes wide and suddenly incredibly observant. The bright, bubbly boy from the beach retreated slightly, replaced by the anxious, perceptive kid who was terrified of causing trouble.
"She's not coming, is she?" Felix asked. His voice was quiet, stripped of all its earlier excitement.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. "No. I don't think so."
Felix looked down at his shoes, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack in a white-knuckled hold. "It's because of me. Because you walked with me yesterday."
"No, Felix, it's not—"
"It is," he interrupted softly, his boyish voice trembling slightly. The guilt radiating off his small frame was palpable. He looked up at you, his eyes swimming with a mixture of sadness and apology. "She told you not to talk to me. And now she's mad at you. I'm sorry. You... you can go find her at school. You don't have to walk in with me. I know the way."
He took a step away from you, as if preparing to walk the rest of the way alone to save you from further social ruin.
Something fierce and protective flared in your chest. The dread of losing Harper was suddenly eclipsed by a profound wave of anger. How dare she make him feel like a burden? How dare she make this sweet, funny, wonderful boy feel like he was something to be ashamed of?
"Stop it," you said firmly, stepping forward and grabbing the fabric of his sleeve to stop him from walking away.
Felix froze, looking at your hand on his arm, and then up at your face.
"I don't care if she's mad," you declared, your voice ringing with a newfound conviction. You let go of his sleeve and adjusted your own backpack. "If she's going to act like a baby because I made a new friend, then I don't want to walk with her anyway. She's being ridiculous. You are my friend, Felix. And I want to walk with you."
Felix stared at you. The anxiety in his eyes slowly melted away, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated awe. He looked at you like you were the bravest person he had ever met.
Slowly, the tension left his shoulders. The ghost of his bright smile returned, tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Okay," he whispered.
"Okay," you nodded, forcing a smile onto your own face. "Come on. If we don't hurry up, Mrs. Gable is going to make us run laps around the oval."
As you turned away from the empty postbox and continued the walk to school, you felt a strange sense of liberation. The invisible chain that had tethered you to Harper's approval had snapped. It was terrifying, yes, but as Felix bumped his shoulder against yours and started telling you another joke about his little sister, you knew you wouldn't trade this for all the popularity in the world.
The walk through the school gates was like stepping onto a battlefield.
Usually, you would navigate the chaotic sea of blue and white uniforms with Harper by your side, her fierce glare parting the crowds of younger students like Moses parting the Red Sea. You were protected by her aura. Today, walking beside Felix, you felt entirely exposed.
You kept your chin up, ignoring the curious glances from a few kids in your grade as you made your way through the breezeways toward Class 6B. Felix walked close to you, his shoulder brushing yours, offering a silent, steadying presence.
When you reached the classroom door, you took a deep breath of the stale, air-conditioned air and stepped inside.
The morning bell hadn't rung yet, so the room was filled with the loud chatter of students unpacking their bags. You immediately looked toward the back of the room, to your designated spot.
Harper was there. But she wasn't alone.
Sitting in your chair, her sequined pencil case spread out across your side of the desk, was Chloe from 6A. Harper and Chloe were leaning their heads together, giggling loudly over a piece of paper, their blonde ponytails practically intertwined. As soon as you walked into the room, Harper looked up. Her eyes locked onto yours, then flicked dismissively to Felix, before she purposefully turned her back to you and laughed even louder at whatever Chloe was saying.
The message was crystal clear. Your seat was gone. You had been replaced.
For a split second, the sting of rejection burned hot behind your eyes. It hurt. Despite everything, she had been your best friend for three years.
"Hey," a soft voice murmured right beside you.
You blinked, tearing your gaze away from the back of the room. Felix was looking at you, his dark eyes filled with deep, empathetic concern. He didn't ask if you were okay, he knew you weren't, but his presence was a quiet anchor in the stormy classroom.
You took a shaky breath, forcing the burn out of your eyes, and squared your shoulders. If Harper wanted to play this game, you were going to play it better.
"Come on," you whispered to Felix.
Instead of walking down the aisle toward the back, you stopped at the very front of the room. Felix's desk was in the second row, right by the window. The desk next to it was currently empty.
Without hesitating, you dropped your heavy backpack onto the floor next to the empty chair and sat down right beside him.
Felix's eyes widened in surprise as he slid into his own seat. He looked at you, then glanced nervously toward the back of the room where Harper was undoubtedly watching. "Are you sure? You don't have to..."
"I want to sit here," you interrupted firmly, unzipping your pencil case with a sharp, decisive noise. "The view is better from the front anyway. Plus, I bet Mrs. Gable won't yell at us as much if we sit closer to her desk."
Felix stared at you for a moment, his expression incredibly soft, before a massive, beaming smile broke across his face. He nodded enthusiastically, pulling his own notebooks out of his bag. "Okay. Cool."
When the bell finally rang and Mrs. Gable clapped her hands to start the lesson, you felt a surprising wave of peace wash over you. Sitting at the front of the room was different. You couldn't hide, but sitting next to Felix, you found you didn't really want to.
Mrs. Gable launched into a painfully boring history lesson about the First Fleet. The classroom was quiet, save for the scratching of pencils and the loud, rhythmic hum of the ceiling fans above.
About twenty minutes into the lesson, you heard a faint, deliberate tearing sound.
You kept your eyes glued to the whiteboard, pretending to take notes, but your peripheral vision caught Felix's hands moving under his desk. A few seconds later, a tiny, perfectly folded square of lined paper slid slowly across the crack separating your desks, coming to a halt right next to your elbow.
Your heart did a thrilling little leap. Note passing. It was the ultimate, risky thrill of primary school. If Mrs. Gable caught you, the note would be read aloud to the entire class.
You waited for Mrs. Gable to turn her back to write a date on the board, then quickly scooped the tiny square of paper into your hand and unfolded it under the cover of your textbook.
The handwriting was neat, slightly rounded, and written in blue gel pen.
Are you okay? Is Harper super mad because of me?
You looked over at Felix. He was staring intensely at his history book, pretending to read, but his ears were bright pink.
You quickly grabbed your favourite black pen, leaned over your book, and scribbled a reply on the bottom half of the paper.
I'm fine! She is just being a massive drama queen. I want to sit here. You're way more fun than her anyway. P.S. I kept my promise. Fairy floss Zooper Dooper is currently freezing in my lunchbox.
You carefully folded the paper back into a tiny square. When Mrs. Gable walked over to the windows to adjust the blinds, you flicked the note back across the gap.
You watched out of the corner of your eye as Felix caught it and unfolded it in his lap. As he read your words, you saw his shoulders drop with relief. He bit his lower lip, trying to suppress a huge, radiant smile, but it was impossible. The freckles on his cheeks danced as he beamed at the piece of paper.
He quickly wrote something else and slid it back.
Good. We have to share. I can't wait to try it.
You looked over at him, your eyes sparkling with amusement, and gave him a tiny, secretive thumbs-up. The rest of the morning block flew by in a flurry of passed notes, filled with terrible stick-figure drawings of seagulls and secret jokes about Mrs. Gable's sensible shoes.
When the 11:00 AM recess bell finally shrieked, you didn't even look toward the back of the room. You grabbed your hat and your lunchbox, and you and Felix practically bolted out the door together.
You didn't go to the massive Moreton Bay Fig tree. That was Harper's territory, and you had no desire to fight that battle today. Instead, you and Felix walked straight to the small, secluded cluster of wooden benches hidden underneath the wattle tree near the front gates.
It was your spot now.
You sat down on the wooden slats, the dappled sunlight filtering through the yellow blossoms overhead. The heat was already intense, baking the asphalt of the playground, but sitting in the shade with Felix made it bearable.
"Okay, let's see it," Felix said eagerly, leaning forward the second he sat down.
You grinned proudly, unzipping a small, insulated cooler bag from inside your lunchbox. With a dramatic flourish, you produced a frozen, bright pink Zooper Dooper tube. The plastic was covered in a thick layer of frosty condensation.
"My mom put ice packs in here so it wouldn't melt," you explained, holding up the icy tube.
"How do we eat it? Do you cut it?" Felix asked, looking at it with intense curiosity.
"Watch and learn," you teased.
You placed the middle of the plastic tube against the edge of the wooden bench and brought your hand down on either side with a sharp, practiced thwack. The frozen ice snapped perfectly in half.
Felix's eyes went wide. "Whoa. That was aggressive."
"It's the only way," you laughed, handing him the top half of the tube and keeping the bottom for yourself. "Now, remember, you have to push the ice up from the bottom, and be careful of the plastic edges, they will literally slice your lips open."
Felix took a cautious bite of the bright pink, fairy floss-flavored ice. His eyes immediately lit up, crinkling at the corners in pure delight. "Oh, that's heaps good. It tastes like actual sugar."
"Told you!" you cheered, taking a bite of your own. The cold, artificial sweetness was exactly what you needed in the sweltering heat.
"So," Felix said, his words slightly muffled around the mouthful of ice. "Do you have your dance class today?"
"Yep," you nodded eagerly. "Every Wednesday afternoon. From four-thirty to five-thirty. I'm going to grab the spare permission slip from the front desk before I leave today. Will your mom really let you come next week?"
"I asked her last night when we got home from the beach," Felix said, his voice buzzing with excitement. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "She said yes! She said if you give me the slip, my dad can drive us both there next Wednesday."
"That is going to be so awesome," you grinned, kicking your legs back and forth against the bench. "We're starting a new routine this week, so you won't even be behind. Do you listen to much hip-hop music?"
"A little bit," Felix nodded, pushing the last bit of his Zooper Dooper up through the plastic. "I really like the fast stuff. Like, the stuff with good beats you can jump to."
"Like LMFAO?" you asked, referencing the absolute kings of the 2012 primary school disco scene.
"Yes!" Felix's eyes lit up brighter than the sun. "Party Rock Anthem is my favorite! I know how to do the Melbourne Shuffle part. I practiced it in my bedroom for like, a week."
"No way, you have to show me!" you gasped. "I tried to learn it from a YouTube video but I just ended up kicking my own ankle and tripping over."
Felix let out that bright, beautiful, unrestrained laugh again. "I will! What else do you listen to? Do you like Justice Crew?"
"Obviously," you scoffed playfully. "Everyone likes Justice Crew. They're Australian! 'Friday to Sunday' is literally the best song ever written."
The entire twenty minutes of recess were spent huddled under the wattle tree, passionately debating the greatest pop and hip-hop songs of the era. Felix was incredibly knowledgeable about rhythm and beats. When he talked about music and dancing, all of his lingering shyness evaporated entirely. He was loud, he was expressive, and he was undeniably cool.
When the bell rang to end the break, neither of you wanted to go back inside.
"Next Wednesday," you promised, throwing your empty plastic tube into a nearby bin. "I'll give you the slip this arvo. Next Wednesday, we're dancing."
"I can't wait," Felix smiled, adjusting his wide-brimmed hat.
The rest of the school day passed in a warm, comfortable blur. The anxiety of Harper's rejection had completely faded, replaced by the thrilling realization that you had just secured the best friend you could possibly ask for.
When the 3:00 PM bell finally screamed, you and Felix packed your bags together at the front of the room. You walked out of the classroom side-by-side, entirely ignoring the venomous glare burning into the back of your head from the back row.
As you stepped out into the sweltering afternoon heat, ready for the walk home, Felix bumped his shoulder against yours.
"Thanks for sitting with me today," he mumbled softly, his boyish voice sweet and sincere.
"Thanks for letting me," you smiled back.
You had lost a friend today, but looking at the freckled boy walking happily beside you under the glaring Australian sun, you knew you had gained something so much better.
The pavement of Miller Street seemed to stretch out forever under the relentless afternoon sun, but for the first time in three years, you didn't mind the walk.
Usually, the trek home with Harper involved a litany of complaints—the heat was ruining her hair, her backpack was too heavy, her shoes were giving her blisters. Today, the walk was completely different. The air was filled with a comfortable, easy silence, broken only by the deafening drone of the cicadas hidden high in the eucalyptus branches and the occasional scuff of your black leather school shoes against the concrete.
You walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Felix. The tense, hunched posture that had plagued him on Monday was completely gone. He was still quiet, naturally observant and soft-spoken, but the nervous energy had evaporated. He walked with his head up, his dark eyes taking in the familiar suburban houses, occasionally kicking a stray gum nut off the footpath.
"You weren't kidding," Felix murmured, using the back of his hand to wipe a bead of sweat from his temple. "It actually feels like the road is melting."
"I told you," you laughed, pointing down at the dark, slightly sticky patches of asphalt where the sun hit the hardest. "If you step on the black parts for too long, your shoes will literally stick to the road. Welcome to a Sydney summer."
Felix chuckled, his boyish, slightly raspy voice light and happy. "I'll keep that in mind. No standing still on the road."
As you turned the final corner onto your street, the familiar brick facades of your adjoining houses came into view. The relief of the impending air-conditioning made you both naturally quicken your pace.
When you reached the wooden palings that separated your driveways, you both came to a halt. The afternoon sun was casting long, harsh shadows across the yellowing grass of the front lawns.
"Well," you smiled, adjusting the heavy straps of your school bag. "I've gotta go get ready for dance class. My mom usually drives me there at about four-fifteen."
Felix's eyes brightened instantly at the mention of the studio. The sheer enthusiasm he held for dancing was infectious. "Don't forget to ask for the paper," he reminded you, his voice buzzing with a sudden, eager energy. "The permission slip. So I can come next week."
"I won't forget," you promised, crossing your heart playfully with one finger. "I'll grab it from Barb at the front desk and bring it straight over to your house when I get back. Around quarter to six. Deal?"
"Deal," Felix beamed, the constellation of freckles across his nose shifting with his wide, gap-toothed smile. "Have heaps of fun today."
"I will. See ya, Felix!"
"See ya!"
You practically skipped up your driveway, the heavy burden of the school day entirely lifted from your shoulders. You pushed open your front door, immediately hit by the glorious, freezing blast of the central air-conditioning. You let out a long, dramatic groan of absolute relief, kicking your stiff black school shoes off your feet and leaving them haphazardly near the welcome mat.
"I'm home!" you yelled, your voice echoing down the hallway.
"In the kitchen!" your mother called back.
You padded down the hall in your socks, dropping your heavy backpack onto the floor with a loud thud. Your mom was standing at the kitchen island, pouring a tall glass of icy, bright green Cottee's lime cordial.
"How was the second day?" she asked, sliding the condensation-covered glass across the marble counter toward you. "Drink up, you look like a beetroot."
"It was actually amazing," you said, taking a long, greedy gulp of the sweet, icy cordial. The cold liquid instantly soothed your dry throat. You hopped up onto one of the barstools, resting your elbows on the cool stone counter. "I didn't sit with Harper today."
Your mom stopped wiping the counter, the tea towel pausing in her hands. She looked at you, a mixture of surprise and gentle concern softening her features. She knew exactly how powerful Harper was in the brutal ecosystem of Year 6, and she knew how anxious you had been about confronting her. "You didn't? Where did you sit?"
"Right at the front of the classroom," you announced proudly. "Next to Felix. Harper ignored me all day, and when I walked into the classroom this morning she was sitting in my chair with Chloe. So I just sat next to Felix instead. And it was the best thing I've done all year."
Your mother leaned against the counter, a warm, incredibly proud smile spreading across her face. "I am so proud of you, sweetheart. That takes a lot of bravery to step away from a friend who isn't treating you right. Did she say anything to you?"
"Nope. Not a word," you shrugged, surprised by how little it actually hurt now. "But Felix and I passed notes all through history class, and we shared the Zooper Dooper at recess under the wattle tree. He's actually so funny, Mom. He knows all about hip-hop music."
"Well, it sounds like you've made a wonderful new friend," she said softly, reaching over to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "And it's her loss. Now, if you're going to make it to Miss Clara's class on time, you need to go get changed. I want to leave in twenty minutes."
"Right! I need my bag!"
You slid off the stool and bolted for your bedroom. You threw your stifling, stiff school uniform onto your desk chair and quickly changed into your dance gear, a pair of loose, comfortable black trackies and a bright, oversized singlet. You grabbed your battered duffel bag from the closet, double-checking that your lightweight sneakers and a fresh water bottle were packed inside.
By the time four-fifteen rolled around, you and your mom were pulling out of the driveway in her silver sedan.
The drive to the dance studio took about fifteen minutes, winding through the neighbouring suburbs. You sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the familiar brick houses and sun-baked front lawns rolled by in a blur. The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, turning the harsh glare into a heavy, golden haze.
The dance studio was located in an old, repurposed warehouse complex tucked behind a bustling strip mall. It wasn't exactly prestigious, there were no sparkling chandeliers, fancy waiting rooms, or state-of-the-art sprung floors. It was just a massive, corrugated iron building with a faded sign that read Rhythm & Move Dance Academy above a set of heavy, dented double doors. But the moment you stepped inside, it felt like magic.
"I'll be back at five-thirty to pick you up!" your mom called out, keeping the car idling near the curb. "Have fun! And remember to stretch!"
"I will! Bye!"
You slung your duffel bag over your shoulder and pushed open the heavy front doors. You were immediately hit by the familiar, comforting wall of sensory overload.
The studio smelled overwhelmingly of cheap hairspray, floor wax, and the lingering, humid scent of dozens of sweating teenagers. From down the long, dimly lit hallway, the heavy, thumping bass of a pop song vibrated violently through the floorboards, rattling the framed photos of past dance troupes hanging crookedly on the walls.
You walked straight toward the front desk, a large, cluttered wooden counter completely covered in sign-in sheets, forgotten plastic water bottles, and scattered neon flyers for upcoming showcases.
Sitting behind the desk was Barb. Barb was an absolute institution at Rhythm & Move. She was a woman in her late fifties with aggressively teased auburn hair, reading glasses perched on the end of a long, beaded chain around her neck, and a permanent, brightly coloured acrylic manicure. She was furiously typing on a clunky, outdated desktop computer, a piece of mint chewing gum snapping rhythmically in her mouth.
"G'day, Barb," you smiled, dropping your duffel bag onto the squeaky linoleum floor.
Barb looked up over the rim of her reading glasses, her face instantly breaking into a wide, familiar grin. Her bracelets clattered loudly against the keyboard. "Well, if it isn't my favourite hip-hop star. G'day, sweetheart. How was school? You surviving this awful heat?"
"Barely," you laughed, leaning your elbows against the high counter. "I reckon the school oval is going to catch fire by Friday if it doesn't rain."
"You're not wrong, darl, it's an absolute scorcher out there today," Barb agreed, hitting the enter key with a loud, acrylic clack. "I've had the fans in the studios on full blast since noon. Now, don't forget to sign in. Miss Clara is already warming up Studio Two, so you'd better get your skates on."
You grabbed the cheap biro pen tied to the desk with a piece of string and quickly scribbled your name onto the damp sign-in sheet.
"Oh, wait!" you gasped, suddenly remembering your promise. You stood up on your tiptoes to peer over the high counter. "Before I go in, Barb, do you have any spare enrolment slips? The pink ones for new students?"
Barb raised a painted, perfectly arched eyebrow, leaning back in her squeaky office chair. "Ooh, bringing us a new recruit, are we? Anyone I know?"
"He's my new neighbour," you explained eagerly, the excitement bubbling back up in your chest. "He just moved here from the Blue Mountains. He's exactly my age, and he used to do street dance at his old school. He's heaps good. He wants to join the Wednesday class with me."
"Brilliant! We always need more boys in the hip-hop crew, they bring great energy to the routines," Barb beamed enthusiastically. She spun around in her chair and yanked open a notoriously sticky filing cabinet behind her desk. She rifled through a few folders before pulling out a crisp, bright pink piece of paper. She slid it across the wooden counter toward you. "Here you go, sweetheart. Tell his mum to fill out both sides, especially the emergency contacts, we've got to have those, and bring it back next week to the desk before class starts."
"Thank you, Barb! You're an absolute legend!"
You grabbed the pink slip, folding it carefully in half. You unzipped the small front pocket of your duffel bag and tucked it safely inside, making sure it wouldn't get crushed or stained by your water bottle.
"Have a good class, darl!" Barb called after you as you grabbed your bag and sprinted down the hallway.
You pushed open the heavy wooden door to Studio Two, the heavy bass of the music hitting you square in the chest like a physical weight.
The room was massive and completely unpretentious. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors that were already beginning to fog up slightly at the edges from the collective body heat in the room. The wooden floorboards were scuffed with black marks from thousands of sneakers. About fifteen other kids, mostly your age or a year older, were scattered around the room, dropping their bags against the back wall and doing half-hearted stretches.
"Alright, Year Sixes and Sevens, let's go! Into the center!" Miss Clara clapped her hands loudly, abruptly cutting the music from the stereo system in the corner. She was a fiercely energetic woman in her twenties, wearing baggy grey sweatpants and a bright neon pink tank top. "We have a brand new routine starting today, so I want maximum focus and maximum energy! Let's get these warm-ups done!"
You quickly swapped your sandals for your lightweight sneakers, threw your duffel bag against the wall alongside the others, and jogged into the middle of the floor to find your spot.
The next hour was an absolute blur of sweat, loud music, and intense physical exertion.
Miss Clara didn't take it easy on you just because there was a heatwave outside. She cranked the volume on the stereo, a high-energy mashup of Pitbull, Flo Rida, and LMFAO, and pushed the class relentlessly through the new choreography. Hip-hop was completely different from the stiff, structured rules of the classroom. It was loud, it was messy, and it required you to throw your entire body into every single movement.
You struggled through the new footwork, getting your sneakers tangled up in a complex slide-and-step combination, laughing breathlessly when you accidentally bumped shoulders with the girl next to you. You practiced popping your chest, dropping low to the floor, and finding the heavy down-beat rhythm of the music.
As you danced, staring at your flushed reflection in the fogged-up mirrors, your mind kept drifting back to Felix.
You pictured him standing in this exact room next Wednesday. You remembered what he had said to you under the shade of the wattle tree, that when he danced, he didn't feel quiet, or shy, or small. He felt loud. You tried to imagine the terrified boy who had hidden behind his father's leg suddenly hitting these aggressive hip-hop moves with perfect precision. It was almost impossible to fully picture, but the thought of it made a thrilling rush of adrenaline course through your veins. You could not wait to see it.
By the time five-thirty rolled around, you were absolutely exhausted. Your chest was heaving, and your singlet was clinging uncomfortably to your back.
"Great work today, everyone!" Miss Clara yelled over the final fading chords of the music, using a small white towel to wipe the sweat from her forehead. "Practice those eight-counts at home! I don't want to see any messy or lazy footwork next Wednesday! Grab your bags and get out of here, drink plenty of water!"
You collapsed onto the scuffed floorboards for a few seconds, staring up at the corrugated iron ceiling to catch your breath, before dragging yourself over to your duffel bag. Your face was flushed a brilliant red, and your legs felt like absolute jelly.
You unzipped the front pocket, letting out a huge sigh of relief when you saw the bright pink enrolment slip still sitting there, perfectly flat and completely unscathed.
You waved a tired goodbye to Miss Clara and Barb on your way out, pushing through the heavy double doors and stepping back out into the Australian evening.
The brutal edge of the heatwave had finally broken, leaving behind a thick, warm, and intensely humid evening. The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the Sydney sky in sweeping streaks of bruised purple, violent orange, and soft pink. The deafening roar of the cicadas was slowly transitioning into the quieter chirping of the evening crickets.
Your mom’s silver sedan was idling near the curb exactly where she had dropped you off.
You climbed into the passenger seat, letting out a long dramatic groan as your tired muscles sank into the cool leather upholstery.
"Good workout?" your mom laughed, putting the car into gear and pulling away from the curb.
"I am completely dead," you announced, dramatically throwing your arm over your eyes to block out the setting sun. "I don't think my legs work anymore. Miss Clara is actively trying to kill us."
"Well, you smell like a wet dog, so she definitely made you work for it," she teased, reaching over to turn the air-conditioning vents directly onto your flushed face. "Did you remember to ask Barb for the slip for Felix?"
You sat up slightly, patting the front pocket of your duffel bag. "Got it right here. Hey, Mum, can we go straight to his house when we get back? I want to give it to him before dinner."
"Sure thing," your mom smiled. "It'll be nice for you to have a buddy in that class. Especially someone who lives so close. Min and I can easily take turns doing the carpool run on Wednesday afternoons."
The drive back to your neighbourhood was peaceful. You watched the streetlights flicker on one by one as the golden hour faded into dusk. The suburban streets were quiet, smelling faintly of freshly cut grass and the occasional, mouth-watering waft of a backyard barbecue.
When your mom finally pulled the car into your driveway, you didn't even bother going inside your own house first.
You slung your duffel bag over your shoulder, unzipped the front pocket, grabbed the pink piece of paper, and hopped out of the car. "I'll be right back, Mom!"
You walked across the dry, yellowed grass of your front lawn, stepping over the low wooden property line, and marched straight up the Lee family's driveway.
Their house looked incredibly warm and inviting. The lights were on in the front living room, casting a soft glow through the drawn curtains. You could hear the muffled sound of a television playing a cartoon, and the incredible smell of toasted sesame oil and garlic wafted through the front flyscreen door.
You stepped up onto their front porch, suddenly feeling a tiny spike of nervousness flutter in your stomach. This was the first time you were actually knocking on their door by yourself.
You raised your hand and rapped your knuckles three times against the wooden frame of the screen door.
"I'll get it!" a small, high-pitched voice shrieked from inside.
A second later, the heavy wooden front door swung open, revealing Olivia. She was wearing a pair of wildly colourful pyjamas and holding a half-eaten carrot stick in one hand.
"Oh, hi!" she beamed, her eyes widening behind her messy bangs. "Are we going to the beach again? Because I can't find my pink goggles."
You laughed, shaking your head. "Not tonight, Liv. I'm too tired. Is Felix here?"
"Who is it, Olivia?" a woman's voice called out from further down the hallway.
Mrs. Lee, Min, appeared behind her daughter, wiping her hands on a floral kitchen apron. When she saw you standing on the porch, her face immediately broke into a warm welcoming smile. "Oh, hello sweetheart! Come in, come in, the bugs are terrible out there tonight."
"Hi, Mrs. Lee," you smiled back politely, staying planted on the porch. "It's okay, I'm super sweaty from dance class, I don't want to mess up your hallway. I just came to drop something off for Felix."
"Dance class!" Mrs. Lee's eyes lit up with immediate recognition. She turned her head toward the hallway, raising her voice. "Yongbok! Your friend is at the door!"
You blinked in surprise. Yongbok?
Before you could ask who that was, the sound of hurried sock-clad footsteps echoed loudly down the hardwood hallway.
Felix skidded around the corner, nearly crashing right into his mother's back. He was wearing an incredibly oversized faded grey t-shirt and loose sweatpants, his dark coppery-brown hair messy and sticking up in several different directions as if he had been lying on the floor.
When he saw you standing on the other side of the flyscreen door, his entire face illuminated.
"You're back!" he said, slightly out of breath. He gently pushed past his sister to stand right at the mesh screen.
"I told you I'd come over this arvo," you grinned, thoroughly enjoying the uncontainable excitement radiating off him. You reached through the unlatched screen door and held out the bright pink piece of paper. "I got it. Barb at the front desk said your mom just needs to fill out both sides, and you can bring it in next Wednesday before class starts."
Felix took the slip from your hand with a reverence usually reserved for handling delicate glass. He stared down at the bold Rhythm & Move Dance Academy logo printed across the top. His hands were actually trembling slightly.
He didn't just look happy; he looked completely, utterly overwhelmed with gratitude. It wasn't just a piece of paper to him. It was a ticket back to the one thing he felt truly confident doing, and it was undeniable proof that you had kept your promise to him. He finally had a friend he could rely on.
"I got it," he whispered, tracing the edge of the pink paper with his thumb.
Mrs. Lee leaned over his shoulder, looking at the slip with a knowing smile. "I'll fill it out tonight while you do your homework, Felix. It's so wonderful that you two can go together. Thank you so much for bringing this over, sweetheart."
"It's no worries at all, Mrs. Lee," you beamed.
Felix finally looked up from the paper, his dark eyes locking onto yours. The porch light above your head suddenly clicked on automatically, casting a golden glow over his face and highlighting the beautifull constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks. The boyish, gap-toothed smile that stretched across his face was unequivocally the most wonderful thing you had seen all day.
"Thank you," he said softly, his expressive eyes holding a universe of unspoken appreciation. "Really. Thank you."
"You're welcome," you smiled warmly. "You'd better start practicing your Melbourne Shuffle, though. Miss Clara doesn't mess around. If your footwork is sloppy, she'll make you do fifty pushups."
Felix's eyes widened in comical horror, but his massive grin didn't falter for a second. "I'll practice right now. I'll practice in the living room."
"Don't you dare break my good vases, Yongbok!" his mother scolded playfully, swatting him gently on the shoulder with her tea towel before disappearing back down the hallway to the kitchen. Olivia had also wandered off, distracted by the cartoon blaring from the living room, leaving just the two of you at the screen door.
You hesitated for a second, your curiosity finally getting the better of you.
"Hey, so..." you started, tilting your head slightly. "Who is Yongbok? Is that your middle name or something?"
Felix's massive grin instantly vanished. He winced, a full-body shudder rippling through his small frame, and his ears turned a violent shade of red. He looked down at his socked feet, suddenly looking incredibly embarrassed.
"It's... my Korean name," he mumbled, his boyish voice dropping to a mortified whisper.
"Yongbok?" you repeated, testing the syllables on your tongue. "I like it. It sounds cool."
"It's not cool," he groaned, bringing his free hand up to bury his flushed face in his palm. "It sounds like an old man's name in Korea. My grandpa gave it to me. I hate it so much. Please don't call me that at school."
You laughed softly at his dramatic reaction, finding it completely endearing. "Okay, okay, I won't tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me, Felix."
He peeked at you through his fingers, letting out a heavy sigh of relief. "Thanks. Seriously."
"I'll see you tomorrow," you smiled, taking a step back off the porch. The cool evening breeze washed over your sweaty skin, offering a sweet relief from the day's heat.
"See you tomorrow!" he called after you, his voice ringing clear into the evening air, the embarrassment already fading.
You walked back through your own front door, the smell of your mom cooking dinner hitting your nose. You were utterly exhausted, your leg muscles ached fiercely, and your sunburn was stinging slightly beneath your singlet. But as you dropped your duffel bag in the hallway and listened to the distant sound of the television next door, you felt completely invincible.
Harper Jones didn't matter. The brutal social hierarchy of Year 6 didn't matter. You had a best friend, and next Wednesday, you were finally going to see exactly how loud the quiet boy next door could be.
➺ summary: the brutal reality of harper's silent treatment forces a definitive choice at the morning walk to school, and you choose felix. sitting together in class and sharing a fairy floss zooper dooper solidifies the bond. handing over the pink permission slip for dance class seals the deal, and you finally learn his deeply guarded korean name.
➺ warnings: confrontation, loss of friendship
➺ author's note: sorry for the lack of posting! i literally have zero motivation rn 😭
Wednesday morning greeted you with a dull ache in your shoulders and the lingering, unmistakable scent of salt and coconut sunscreen woven into your hair.
When your eyes fluttered open, staring up at the familiar ceiling of your bedroom, you didn't feel the usual heavy dread of the impending school day. Instead, an uncontainable smile stretched across your face. You stretched your arms above your head, wincing slightly as the skin on your shoulders pulled taut. Despite your mother’s aggressive and repeated applications of SPF 50+ yesterday afternoon, the harsh Australian sun had managed to kiss your skin with a faint pink sunburn.
It was entirely worth it.
You kicked the tangled cotton sheets off your legs, your bare feet hitting the floorboards. You could still feel the phantom sensation of sand between your toes. You threw on your stiff school uniform, the fabric irritating your mildly sunburned shoulders, and practically skipped down the hallway toward the kitchen.
The house was filled with the usual morning sounds. The radio was playing softly on the kitchen counter, the kettle was just finishing its rumbling boil, and the smell of toasted bread hung in the air.
Your dad was sitting at the kitchen island, dressed in his work clothes, reading a news article on his tablet while nursing a steaming mug of coffee. Your mom was at the counter, vigorously spreading Vegemite and a thick layer of butter onto two slices of toast.
"Morning, beach bum," your dad teased without looking up from his screen as you hopped onto the stool next to him. "Your mother tells me you had quite the adventure yesterday afternoon."
"It was the best day ever," you declared passionately, grabbing the glass of cold Milo your mom pushed toward you. You took a long gulp of the chocolate malt drink, the cold liquid soothing your dry throat.
Your mom turned around, leaning her hip against the counter, a fond smile on her face. "She hasn't stopped smiling since she walked through the door last night. Tell your father about the seagulls, honey. I swear, I have never laughed so hard in my entire life."
Your dad raised an eyebrow, finally looking up from his tablet. "Seagulls? Did you get swooped?"
"Not me!" you giggled, the memory bubbling up in your chest and making you laugh all over again. You set your glass of Milo down on the marble counter. "Felix! It was Felix!"
"The quiet boy from next door?" your dad asked, looking mildly surprised. "The one who looked like he was about to faint when he was moving boxes?"
"Yes, but he's not like that at all!" you explained quickly, eager to defend your new best friend. You leaned forward on the counter, using your hands to animate the story. "Okay, so we get to the beach, right? And Olivia, his little sister, she's in Year 2 and she is absolutely crazy, she decides that her life's mission is to bury Felix in the sand. And because he's actually super nice, he just laid down and let us do it."
You recalled the feeling of the coarse sand, digging with the small plastic spades Olivia had brought. Felix had been lying flat on his back, his eyes squeezed shut against the glaring sun, laughing as you and his sister shoveled heavy piles of wet sand over his legs, his stomach and his chest.
"We buried him all the way up to his neck," you continued, your eyes wide with the thrill of the memory. "He literally looked like a disembodied head sitting on the beach. He couldn't move his arms or his legs or anything. He was completely trapped."
Your dad chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. "Sounds like a standard sibling beach trip so far."
"Wait, it gets better," your mom chimed in, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Tell him about the hat."
"Right!" you gasped for air between giggles. "So, the sun is really bright, and Felix's nose is getting all red because he has all these freckles. So Olivia takes his hat, it's this hideous, floppy, bright green bucket hat, and she plops it right on top of his head to protect his face."
"Okay, so we have a boy buried in the sand wearing a green bucket hat," your dad summarized, looking highly amused. "Where do the seagulls come in?"
"Well," you took another quick sip of your Milo. "We left him there for a minute because Olivia wanted to go fill her bucket with ocean water to make a moat around his head. And suddenly, this massive flock of seagulls lands near us. Like, twenty of them. You know how aggressive they get at the beach when they think someone has hot chips?"
"Absolute menaces," your dad agreed solemnly. "Worse than bin chickens."
"Exactly! And I don't know if they thought the green hat was a piece of lettuce, or if they honestly thought Felix was a stranded sea turtle, but they just zeroed in on him!" you threw your hands in the air, mimicking the birds. "They started squawking and dive-bombing his head! And Felix is screaming, but his voice is like, really high and squeaky, and he can't move because he's packed into the wet sand!"
Your dad burst into genuine laughter, nearly spilling his coffee.
"He was trying so hard to get out!" you laughed so hard your stomach muscles ached. "He was thrashing around, and the sand was exploding everywhere. He looked like a zombie crawling out of a grave, just flailing his lanky arms and legs, swatting at the birds. His hat flew off, and he just scrambled on his hands and knees all the way to the water to get away from them!"
"Poor kid," your dad chuckled, shaking his head. "First month in a new neighborhood and he gets attacked by the local wildlife. Did he cry?"
"No!" you grinned proudly. "Once he got into the water, he realized how stupid he looked and he just started laughing. He laughed so hard he fell backward into a wave. He's actually really funny, Dad. He just... he gets scared around big groups of people. But when it's just us, he's heaps of fun."
Your mom smiled warmly, sliding a plate of Vegemite toast across the counter toward you. "I'm really glad you went with them, sweetheart. It was lovely to see you both getting along so well. And Min is wonderful. They seem like a really lovely family. It's nice to have good neighbors again."
"Did she say anything about the dance studio?" you asked eagerly, taking a bite of your toast. The salty, savory flavor of the Vegemite was perfect.
"She did," your mom nodded, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "I gave her the address of your studio and told her about the Wednesday hip-hop classes. She said if Felix is still interested, she'll sign the permission slip for him. So you make sure you grab one from the front desk today, alright?"
"I will!" you promised, your heart soaring with excitement.
You finished your breakfast in record time, the energy buzzing through your veins like electricity. The heavy, oppressive guilt that had plagued you yesterday morning was entirely gone. Today, the world felt bright and full of possibilities.
You ran to the bathroom, aggressively brushed your teeth, and grabbed your heavy school backpack from your bedroom floor.
"Have a good day at work, Dad!" you called out, racing back down the hallway.
"Have a good day at school! Watch out for the seagulls!" he called back playfully.
"Do you have your hat? And your lunchbox?" your mom asked, meeting you at the front door.
"Got it, got it, got it!" you practically vibrated with impatience, shifting your weight from foot to foot. "I gotta go, Mom, I'll see you this arvo!"
You threw the front door open, stepping out into the already-sweltering morning air. The cicadas were just beginning to warm up, their collective hum starting to build in the eucalyptus trees.
You didn't look toward the road. Your eyes immediately darted to the right, peering over the wooden fence that separated your yard from the Lees'.
You expected to see a closed door. You expected to have to walk to the corner alone, wondering if you would see him in the classroom.
But as you stepped out onto your porch, your breath hitched in your throat.
Felix was waiting for you.
He was standing right in the middle of his front porch, bathed in the golden, harsh light of the Australian morning sun. But it wasn't just the fact that he was outside that made you freeze in your tracks; it was the way he was standing.
Yesterday morning, in the classroom, he had looked like a cornered animal—shoulders hunched up to his ears, spine curved, trying to make himself invisible within his oversized senior uniform.
Today, he looked like a completely different person.
He was standing tall, his posture relaxed and open. His heavy school backpack was slung casually over one shoulder instead of being clutched tightly to his chest like a shield. He was gently kicking a small pebble against the wooden post of his porch, humming a soft, rhythmic tune under his breath. When he heard the sound of your screen door slamming shut, his head snapped up.
The constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks shifted brilliantly as a massive, radiant, gap-toothed smile broke across his face.
It was like looking at the sun. In the span of a single afternoon, a few hours of building sandcastles and fighting off aggressive seagulls, he had completely blossomed. The terrified, mute boy who had shrunk away from Harper's cruel words was gone, replaced by the bubbly, kind, and incredibly bright kid underneath.
"Hey!" Felix called out. His voice was still soft and distinctly boyish, but it held a confidence that hadn't been there yesterday.
"Hey yourself!" you grinned back, practically jogging down your driveway to meet him at the property line.
He met you at the sidewalk, falling into step beside you instantly. There was no more awkward staggering, no more walking two paces behind. He walked shoulder-to-shoulder with you, close enough that your backpacks occasionally bumped against each other.
"Did you recover from your traumatic bird attack?" you teased immediately, bumping your shoulder gently against his arm.
Felix's ears immediately turned a violent shade of pink, but he didn't look away. Instead, he threw his head back and let out a bright, unrestrained laugh. It was a beautiful sound, ringing clear over the hum of the cicadas.
"It wasn't funny!" he protested, though his massive grin completely ruined his defense. "They were huge! I thought one of them was going to take my eye out. Olivia told my dad I looked like a screaming turtle."
"You kind of did," you admitted, giggling uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, I should have helped you, but I was laughing too hard. You were literally trapped."
"I am never wearing that green hat again," Felix declared solemnly, adjusting the straps of his school bag. "I'm throwing it in the bin. The bin chickens can have it."
You continued to chat easily as you walked down the sun-baked concrete of Miller Street. You talked about the sandcastles, about how good the cold sandwiches from the esky had tasted, and about the upcoming hip-hop class. Felix was incredibly animated when it was just the two of you. He used his hands when he talked, his dark eyes sparkling with excitement. He asked you a million questions about the dance teacher, the routines, and the music.
You were so deeply engrossed in explaining the layout of the dance studio to him that you almost forgot about the impending reality of the school day.
Almost.
As you rounded the familiar bend of the street, your eyes automatically sought out the dented, sun-faded red postbox. It was the exact spot you had met Harper every single morning since Year 3. It was your designated meeting place, the anchor of your daily routine.
Your sentence slowly died in your throat. You slowed your pace, your heavy black school shoes dragging slightly against the hot pavement.
The corner was completely empty.
There was no blonde ponytail reflecting the sun. There was no aggressive clinking of cheap plastic bracelets. There was no dramatic sigh complaining about the heat or the walk.
Harper wasn't there.
You stopped walking entirely, standing next to the red postbox. You checked your watch. 8:20 AM. You were right on time. In fact, you were usually the one running a few minutes late, and Harper would always be leaning against the red metal, tapping her foot impatiently.
Felix noticed your sudden halt and stopped a few steps ahead of you. He turned around, his bright smile faltering slightly as he saw the confused, sinking expression on your face.
"What's wrong?" he asked gently, taking a step back toward you.
"Harper isn't here," you murmured, staring at the empty patch of concrete.
"Maybe she's sick today?" Felix suggested, his voice laced with innocent hope. You knew he would probably prefer if Harper never came to school again.
You shook your head slowly, a cold, heavy knot of dread forming in your stomach despite the boiling summer heat. "No. She's never sick. And even if she was, she would have texted my mom's phone to tell me."
You knew exactly what this was. This was a calculated, deliberate move.
In the brutal, unspoken political arena of primary school, your morning walk was a public declaration of friendship. By abandoning your meeting spot, Harper was sending a very clear, very loud message. She was officially freezing you out. The fight you had yesterday afternoon wasn't just a brief argument; it was the end of the line. She was forcing you to choose between your social standing and the boy standing next to you.
You stood by the postbox for three agonizing minutes, staring down the street, hoping against hope that you would see her walking toward you, ready to complain about a bad hair day or a strict parent. But the street remained empty.
The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable.
Felix shifted his weight from foot to foot. He looked from the postbox to your face, his dark eyes wide and suddenly incredibly observant. The bright, bubbly boy from the beach retreated slightly, replaced by the anxious, perceptive kid who was terrified of causing trouble.
"She's not coming, is she?" Felix asked. His voice was quiet, stripped of all its earlier excitement.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. "No. I don't think so."
Felix looked down at his shoes, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack in a white-knuckled hold. "It's because of me. Because you walked with me yesterday."
"No, Felix, it's not—"
"It is," he interrupted softly, his boyish voice trembling slightly. The guilt radiating off his small frame was palpable. He looked up at you, his eyes swimming with a mixture of sadness and apology. "She told you not to talk to me. And now she's mad at you. I'm sorry. You... you can go find her at school. You don't have to walk in with me. I know the way."
He took a step away from you, as if preparing to walk the rest of the way alone to save you from further social ruin.
Something fierce and protective flared in your chest. The dread of losing Harper was suddenly eclipsed by a profound wave of anger. How dare she make him feel like a burden? How dare she make this sweet, funny, wonderful boy feel like he was something to be ashamed of?
"Stop it," you said firmly, stepping forward and grabbing the fabric of his sleeve to stop him from walking away.
Felix froze, looking at your hand on his arm, and then up at your face.
"I don't care if she's mad," you declared, your voice ringing with a newfound conviction. You let go of his sleeve and adjusted your own backpack. "If she's going to act like a baby because I made a new friend, then I don't want to walk with her anyway. She's being ridiculous. You are my friend, Felix. And I want to walk with you."
Felix stared at you. The anxiety in his eyes slowly melted away, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated awe. He looked at you like you were the bravest person he had ever met.
Slowly, the tension left his shoulders. The ghost of his bright smile returned, tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Okay," he whispered.
"Okay," you nodded, forcing a smile onto your own face. "Come on. If we don't hurry up, Mrs. Gable is going to make us run laps around the oval."
As you turned away from the empty postbox and continued the walk to school, you felt a strange sense of liberation. The invisible chain that had tethered you to Harper's approval had snapped. It was terrifying, yes, but as Felix bumped his shoulder against yours and started telling you another joke about his little sister, you knew you wouldn't trade this for all the popularity in the world.
The walk through the school gates was like stepping onto a battlefield.
Usually, you would navigate the chaotic sea of blue and white uniforms with Harper by your side, her fierce glare parting the crowds of younger students like Moses parting the Red Sea. You were protected by her aura. Today, walking beside Felix, you felt entirely exposed.
You kept your chin up, ignoring the curious glances from a few kids in your grade as you made your way through the breezeways toward Class 6B. Felix walked close to you, his shoulder brushing yours, offering a silent, steadying presence.
When you reached the classroom door, you took a deep breath of the stale, air-conditioned air and stepped inside.
The morning bell hadn't rung yet, so the room was filled with the loud chatter of students unpacking their bags. You immediately looked toward the back of the room, to your designated spot.
Harper was there. But she wasn't alone.
Sitting in your chair, her sequined pencil case spread out across your side of the desk, was Chloe from 6A. Harper and Chloe were leaning their heads together, giggling loudly over a piece of paper, their blonde ponytails practically intertwined. As soon as you walked into the room, Harper looked up. Her eyes locked onto yours, then flicked dismissively to Felix, before she purposefully turned her back to you and laughed even louder at whatever Chloe was saying.
The message was crystal clear. Your seat was gone. You had been replaced.
For a split second, the sting of rejection burned hot behind your eyes. It hurt. Despite everything, she had been your best friend for three years.
"Hey," a soft voice murmured right beside you.
You blinked, tearing your gaze away from the back of the room. Felix was looking at you, his dark eyes filled with deep, empathetic concern. He didn't ask if you were okay, he knew you weren't, but his presence was a quiet anchor in the stormy classroom.
You took a shaky breath, forcing the burn out of your eyes, and squared your shoulders. If Harper wanted to play this game, you were going to play it better.
"Come on," you whispered to Felix.
Instead of walking down the aisle toward the back, you stopped at the very front of the room. Felix's desk was in the second row, right by the window. The desk next to it was currently empty.
Without hesitating, you dropped your heavy backpack onto the floor next to the empty chair and sat down right beside him.
Felix's eyes widened in surprise as he slid into his own seat. He looked at you, then glanced nervously toward the back of the room where Harper was undoubtedly watching. "Are you sure? You don't have to..."
"I want to sit here," you interrupted firmly, unzipping your pencil case with a sharp, decisive noise. "The view is better from the front anyway. Plus, I bet Mrs. Gable won't yell at us as much if we sit closer to her desk."
Felix stared at you for a moment, his expression incredibly soft, before a massive, beaming smile broke across his face. He nodded enthusiastically, pulling his own notebooks out of his bag. "Okay. Cool."
When the bell finally rang and Mrs. Gable clapped her hands to start the lesson, you felt a surprising wave of peace wash over you. Sitting at the front of the room was different. You couldn't hide, but sitting next to Felix, you found you didn't really want to.
Mrs. Gable launched into a painfully boring history lesson about the First Fleet. The classroom was quiet, save for the scratching of pencils and the loud, rhythmic hum of the ceiling fans above.
About twenty minutes into the lesson, you heard a faint, deliberate tearing sound.
You kept your eyes glued to the whiteboard, pretending to take notes, but your peripheral vision caught Felix's hands moving under his desk. A few seconds later, a tiny, perfectly folded square of lined paper slid slowly across the crack separating your desks, coming to a halt right next to your elbow.
Your heart did a thrilling little leap. Note passing. It was the ultimate, risky thrill of primary school. If Mrs. Gable caught you, the note would be read aloud to the entire class.
You waited for Mrs. Gable to turn her back to write a date on the board, then quickly scooped the tiny square of paper into your hand and unfolded it under the cover of your textbook.
The handwriting was neat, slightly rounded, and written in blue gel pen.
Are you okay? Is Harper super mad because of me?
You looked over at Felix. He was staring intensely at his history book, pretending to read, but his ears were bright pink.
You quickly grabbed your favourite black pen, leaned over your book, and scribbled a reply on the bottom half of the paper.
I'm fine! She is just being a massive drama queen. I want to sit here. You're way more fun than her anyway. P.S. I kept my promise. Fairy floss Zooper Dooper is currently freezing in my lunchbox.
You carefully folded the paper back into a tiny square. When Mrs. Gable walked over to the windows to adjust the blinds, you flicked the note back across the gap.
You watched out of the corner of your eye as Felix caught it and unfolded it in his lap. As he read your words, you saw his shoulders drop with relief. He bit his lower lip, trying to suppress a huge, radiant smile, but it was impossible. The freckles on his cheeks danced as he beamed at the piece of paper.
He quickly wrote something else and slid it back.
Good. We have to share. I can't wait to try it.
You looked over at him, your eyes sparkling with amusement, and gave him a tiny, secretive thumbs-up. The rest of the morning block flew by in a flurry of passed notes, filled with terrible stick-figure drawings of seagulls and secret jokes about Mrs. Gable's sensible shoes.
When the 11:00 AM recess bell finally shrieked, you didn't even look toward the back of the room. You grabbed your hat and your lunchbox, and you and Felix practically bolted out the door together.
You didn't go to the massive Moreton Bay Fig tree. That was Harper's territory, and you had no desire to fight that battle today. Instead, you and Felix walked straight to the small, secluded cluster of wooden benches hidden underneath the wattle tree near the front gates.
It was your spot now.
You sat down on the wooden slats, the dappled sunlight filtering through the yellow blossoms overhead. The heat was already intense, baking the asphalt of the playground, but sitting in the shade with Felix made it bearable.
"Okay, let's see it," Felix said eagerly, leaning forward the second he sat down.
You grinned proudly, unzipping a small, insulated cooler bag from inside your lunchbox. With a dramatic flourish, you produced a frozen, bright pink Zooper Dooper tube. The plastic was covered in a thick layer of frosty condensation.
"My mom put ice packs in here so it wouldn't melt," you explained, holding up the icy tube.
"How do we eat it? Do you cut it?" Felix asked, looking at it with intense curiosity.
"Watch and learn," you teased.
You placed the middle of the plastic tube against the edge of the wooden bench and brought your hand down on either side with a sharp, practiced thwack. The frozen ice snapped perfectly in half.
Felix's eyes went wide. "Whoa. That was aggressive."
"It's the only way," you laughed, handing him the top half of the tube and keeping the bottom for yourself. "Now, remember, you have to push the ice up from the bottom, and be careful of the plastic edges, they will literally slice your lips open."
Felix took a cautious bite of the bright pink, fairy floss-flavored ice. His eyes immediately lit up, crinkling at the corners in pure delight. "Oh, that's heaps good. It tastes like actual sugar."
"Told you!" you cheered, taking a bite of your own. The cold, artificial sweetness was exactly what you needed in the sweltering heat.
"So," Felix said, his words slightly muffled around the mouthful of ice. "Do you have your dance class today?"
"Yep," you nodded eagerly. "Every Wednesday afternoon. From four-thirty to five-thirty. I'm going to grab the spare permission slip from the front desk before I leave today. Will your mom really let you come next week?"
"I asked her last night when we got home from the beach," Felix said, his voice buzzing with excitement. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "She said yes! She said if you give me the slip, my dad can drive us both there next Wednesday."
"That is going to be so awesome," you grinned, kicking your legs back and forth against the bench. "We're starting a new routine this week, so you won't even be behind. Do you listen to much hip-hop music?"
"A little bit," Felix nodded, pushing the last bit of his Zooper Dooper up through the plastic. "I really like the fast stuff. Like, the stuff with good beats you can jump to."
"Like LMFAO?" you asked, referencing the absolute kings of the 2012 primary school disco scene.
"Yes!" Felix's eyes lit up brighter than the sun. "Party Rock Anthem is my favorite! I know how to do the Melbourne Shuffle part. I practiced it in my bedroom for like, a week."
"No way, you have to show me!" you gasped. "I tried to learn it from a YouTube video but I just ended up kicking my own ankle and tripping over."
Felix let out that bright, beautiful, unrestrained laugh again. "I will! What else do you listen to? Do you like Justice Crew?"
"Obviously," you scoffed playfully. "Everyone likes Justice Crew. They're Australian! 'Friday to Sunday' is literally the best song ever written."
The entire twenty minutes of recess were spent huddled under the wattle tree, passionately debating the greatest pop and hip-hop songs of the era. Felix was incredibly knowledgeable about rhythm and beats. When he talked about music and dancing, all of his lingering shyness evaporated entirely. He was loud, he was expressive, and he was undeniably cool.
When the bell rang to end the break, neither of you wanted to go back inside.
"Next Wednesday," you promised, throwing your empty plastic tube into a nearby bin. "I'll give you the slip this arvo. Next Wednesday, we're dancing."
"I can't wait," Felix smiled, adjusting his wide-brimmed hat.
The rest of the school day passed in a warm, comfortable blur. The anxiety of Harper's rejection had completely faded, replaced by the thrilling realization that you had just secured the best friend you could possibly ask for.
When the 3:00 PM bell finally screamed, you and Felix packed your bags together at the front of the room. You walked out of the classroom side-by-side, entirely ignoring the venomous glare burning into the back of your head from the back row.
As you stepped out into the sweltering afternoon heat, ready for the walk home, Felix bumped his shoulder against yours.
"Thanks for sitting with me today," he mumbled softly, his boyish voice sweet and sincere.
"Thanks for letting me," you smiled back.
You had lost a friend today, but looking at the freckled boy walking happily beside you under the glaring Australian sun, you knew you had gained something so much better.
The pavement of Miller Street seemed to stretch out forever under the relentless afternoon sun, but for the first time in three years, you didn't mind the walk.
Usually, the trek home with Harper involved a litany of complaints—the heat was ruining her hair, her backpack was too heavy, her shoes were giving her blisters. Today, the walk was completely different. The air was filled with a comfortable, easy silence, broken only by the deafening drone of the cicadas hidden high in the eucalyptus branches and the occasional scuff of your black leather school shoes against the concrete.
You walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Felix. The tense, hunched posture that had plagued him on Monday was completely gone. He was still quiet, naturally observant and soft-spoken, but the nervous energy had evaporated. He walked with his head up, his dark eyes taking in the familiar suburban houses, occasionally kicking a stray gum nut off the footpath.
"You weren't kidding," Felix murmured, using the back of his hand to wipe a bead of sweat from his temple. "It actually feels like the road is melting."
"I told you," you laughed, pointing down at the dark, slightly sticky patches of asphalt where the sun hit the hardest. "If you step on the black parts for too long, your shoes will literally stick to the road. Welcome to a Sydney summer."
Felix chuckled, his boyish, slightly raspy voice light and happy. "I'll keep that in mind. No standing still on the road."
As you turned the final corner onto your street, the familiar brick facades of your adjoining houses came into view. The relief of the impending air-conditioning made you both naturally quicken your pace.
When you reached the wooden palings that separated your driveways, you both came to a halt. The afternoon sun was casting long, harsh shadows across the yellowing grass of the front lawns.
"Well," you smiled, adjusting the heavy straps of your school bag. "I've gotta go get ready for dance class. My mom usually drives me there at about four-fifteen."
Felix's eyes brightened instantly at the mention of the studio. The sheer enthusiasm he held for dancing was infectious. "Don't forget to ask for the paper," he reminded you, his voice buzzing with a sudden, eager energy. "The permission slip. So I can come next week."
"I won't forget," you promised, crossing your heart playfully with one finger. "I'll grab it from Barb at the front desk and bring it straight over to your house when I get back. Around quarter to six. Deal?"
"Deal," Felix beamed, the constellation of freckles across his nose shifting with his wide, gap-toothed smile. "Have heaps of fun today."
"I will. See ya, Felix!"
"See ya!"
You practically skipped up your driveway, the heavy burden of the school day entirely lifted from your shoulders. You pushed open your front door, immediately hit by the glorious, freezing blast of the central air-conditioning. You let out a long, dramatic groan of absolute relief, kicking your stiff black school shoes off your feet and leaving them haphazardly near the welcome mat.
"I'm home!" you yelled, your voice echoing down the hallway.
"In the kitchen!" your mother called back.
You padded down the hall in your socks, dropping your heavy backpack onto the floor with a loud thud. Your mom was standing at the kitchen island, pouring a tall glass of icy, bright green Cottee's lime cordial.
"How was the second day?" she asked, sliding the condensation-covered glass across the marble counter toward you. "Drink up, you look like a beetroot."
"It was actually amazing," you said, taking a long, greedy gulp of the sweet, icy cordial. The cold liquid instantly soothed your dry throat. You hopped up onto one of the barstools, resting your elbows on the cool stone counter. "I didn't sit with Harper today."
Your mom stopped wiping the counter, the tea towel pausing in her hands. She looked at you, a mixture of surprise and gentle concern softening her features. She knew exactly how powerful Harper was in the brutal ecosystem of Year 6, and she knew how anxious you had been about confronting her. "You didn't? Where did you sit?"
"Right at the front of the classroom," you announced proudly. "Next to Felix. Harper ignored me all day, and when I walked into the classroom this morning she was sitting in my chair with Chloe. So I just sat next to Felix instead. And it was the best thing I've done all year."
Your mother leaned against the counter, a warm, incredibly proud smile spreading across her face. "I am so proud of you, sweetheart. That takes a lot of bravery to step away from a friend who isn't treating you right. Did she say anything to you?"
"Nope. Not a word," you shrugged, surprised by how little it actually hurt now. "But Felix and I passed notes all through history class, and we shared the Zooper Dooper at recess under the wattle tree. He's actually so funny, Mom. He knows all about hip-hop music."
"Well, it sounds like you've made a wonderful new friend," she said softly, reaching over to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "And it's her loss. Now, if you're going to make it to Miss Clara's class on time, you need to go get changed. I want to leave in twenty minutes."
"Right! I need my bag!"
You slid off the stool and bolted for your bedroom. You threw your stifling, stiff school uniform onto your desk chair and quickly changed into your dance gear, a pair of loose, comfortable black trackies and a bright, oversized singlet. You grabbed your battered duffel bag from the closet, double-checking that your lightweight sneakers and a fresh water bottle were packed inside.
By the time four-fifteen rolled around, you and your mom were pulling out of the driveway in her silver sedan.
The drive to the dance studio took about fifteen minutes, winding through the neighbouring suburbs. You sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the familiar brick houses and sun-baked front lawns rolled by in a blur. The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, turning the harsh glare into a heavy, golden haze.
The dance studio was located in an old, repurposed warehouse complex tucked behind a bustling strip mall. It wasn't exactly prestigious, there were no sparkling chandeliers, fancy waiting rooms, or state-of-the-art sprung floors. It was just a massive, corrugated iron building with a faded sign that read Rhythm & Move Dance Academy above a set of heavy, dented double doors. But the moment you stepped inside, it felt like magic.
"I'll be back at five-thirty to pick you up!" your mom called out, keeping the car idling near the curb. "Have fun! And remember to stretch!"
"I will! Bye!"
You slung your duffel bag over your shoulder and pushed open the heavy front doors. You were immediately hit by the familiar, comforting wall of sensory overload.
The studio smelled overwhelmingly of cheap hairspray, floor wax, and the lingering, humid scent of dozens of sweating teenagers. From down the long, dimly lit hallway, the heavy, thumping bass of a pop song vibrated violently through the floorboards, rattling the framed photos of past dance troupes hanging crookedly on the walls.
You walked straight toward the front desk, a large, cluttered wooden counter completely covered in sign-in sheets, forgotten plastic water bottles, and scattered neon flyers for upcoming showcases.
Sitting behind the desk was Barb. Barb was an absolute institution at Rhythm & Move. She was a woman in her late fifties with aggressively teased auburn hair, reading glasses perched on the end of a long, beaded chain around her neck, and a permanent, brightly coloured acrylic manicure. She was furiously typing on a clunky, outdated desktop computer, a piece of mint chewing gum snapping rhythmically in her mouth.
"G'day, Barb," you smiled, dropping your duffel bag onto the squeaky linoleum floor.
Barb looked up over the rim of her reading glasses, her face instantly breaking into a wide, familiar grin. Her bracelets clattered loudly against the keyboard. "Well, if it isn't my favourite hip-hop star. G'day, sweetheart. How was school? You surviving this awful heat?"
"Barely," you laughed, leaning your elbows against the high counter. "I reckon the school oval is going to catch fire by Friday if it doesn't rain."
"You're not wrong, darl, it's an absolute scorcher out there today," Barb agreed, hitting the enter key with a loud, acrylic clack. "I've had the fans in the studios on full blast since noon. Now, don't forget to sign in. Miss Clara is already warming up Studio Two, so you'd better get your skates on."
You grabbed the cheap biro pen tied to the desk with a piece of string and quickly scribbled your name onto the damp sign-in sheet.
"Oh, wait!" you gasped, suddenly remembering your promise. You stood up on your tiptoes to peer over the high counter. "Before I go in, Barb, do you have any spare enrolment slips? The pink ones for new students?"
Barb raised a painted, perfectly arched eyebrow, leaning back in her squeaky office chair. "Ooh, bringing us a new recruit, are we? Anyone I know?"
"He's my new neighbour," you explained eagerly, the excitement bubbling back up in your chest. "He just moved here from the Blue Mountains. He's exactly my age, and he used to do street dance at his old school. He's heaps good. He wants to join the Wednesday class with me."
"Brilliant! We always need more boys in the hip-hop crew, they bring great energy to the routines," Barb beamed enthusiastically. She spun around in her chair and yanked open a notoriously sticky filing cabinet behind her desk. She rifled through a few folders before pulling out a crisp, bright pink piece of paper. She slid it across the wooden counter toward you. "Here you go, sweetheart. Tell his mum to fill out both sides, especially the emergency contacts, we've got to have those, and bring it back next week to the desk before class starts."
"Thank you, Barb! You're an absolute legend!"
You grabbed the pink slip, folding it carefully in half. You unzipped the small front pocket of your duffel bag and tucked it safely inside, making sure it wouldn't get crushed or stained by your water bottle.
"Have a good class, darl!" Barb called after you as you grabbed your bag and sprinted down the hallway.
You pushed open the heavy wooden door to Studio Two, the heavy bass of the music hitting you square in the chest like a physical weight.
The room was massive and completely unpretentious. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors that were already beginning to fog up slightly at the edges from the collective body heat in the room. The wooden floorboards were scuffed with black marks from thousands of sneakers. About fifteen other kids, mostly your age or a year older, were scattered around the room, dropping their bags against the back wall and doing half-hearted stretches.
"Alright, Year Sixes and Sevens, let's go! Into the center!" Miss Clara clapped her hands loudly, abruptly cutting the music from the stereo system in the corner. She was a fiercely energetic woman in her twenties, wearing baggy grey sweatpants and a bright neon pink tank top. "We have a brand new routine starting today, so I want maximum focus and maximum energy! Let's get these warm-ups done!"
You quickly swapped your sandals for your lightweight sneakers, threw your duffel bag against the wall alongside the others, and jogged into the middle of the floor to find your spot.
The next hour was an absolute blur of sweat, loud music, and intense physical exertion.
Miss Clara didn't take it easy on you just because there was a heatwave outside. She cranked the volume on the stereo, a high-energy mashup of Pitbull, Flo Rida, and LMFAO, and pushed the class relentlessly through the new choreography. Hip-hop was completely different from the stiff, structured rules of the classroom. It was loud, it was messy, and it required you to throw your entire body into every single movement.
You struggled through the new footwork, getting your sneakers tangled up in a complex slide-and-step combination, laughing breathlessly when you accidentally bumped shoulders with the girl next to you. You practiced popping your chest, dropping low to the floor, and finding the heavy down-beat rhythm of the music.
As you danced, staring at your flushed reflection in the fogged-up mirrors, your mind kept drifting back to Felix.
You pictured him standing in this exact room next Wednesday. You remembered what he had said to you under the shade of the wattle tree, that when he danced, he didn't feel quiet, or shy, or small. He felt loud. You tried to imagine the terrified boy who had hidden behind his father's leg suddenly hitting these aggressive hip-hop moves with perfect precision. It was almost impossible to fully picture, but the thought of it made a thrilling rush of adrenaline course through your veins. You could not wait to see it.
By the time five-thirty rolled around, you were absolutely exhausted. Your chest was heaving, and your singlet was clinging uncomfortably to your back.
"Great work today, everyone!" Miss Clara yelled over the final fading chords of the music, using a small white towel to wipe the sweat from her forehead. "Practice those eight-counts at home! I don't want to see any messy or lazy footwork next Wednesday! Grab your bags and get out of here, drink plenty of water!"
You collapsed onto the scuffed floorboards for a few seconds, staring up at the corrugated iron ceiling to catch your breath, before dragging yourself over to your duffel bag. Your face was flushed a brilliant red, and your legs felt like absolute jelly.
You unzipped the front pocket, letting out a huge sigh of relief when you saw the bright pink enrolment slip still sitting there, perfectly flat and completely unscathed.
You waved a tired goodbye to Miss Clara and Barb on your way out, pushing through the heavy double doors and stepping back out into the Australian evening.
The brutal edge of the heatwave had finally broken, leaving behind a thick, warm, and intensely humid evening. The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the Sydney sky in sweeping streaks of bruised purple, violent orange, and soft pink. The deafening roar of the cicadas was slowly transitioning into the quieter chirping of the evening crickets.
Your mom’s silver sedan was idling near the curb exactly where she had dropped you off.
You climbed into the passenger seat, letting out a long dramatic groan as your tired muscles sank into the cool leather upholstery.
"Good workout?" your mom laughed, putting the car into gear and pulling away from the curb.
"I am completely dead," you announced, dramatically throwing your arm over your eyes to block out the setting sun. "I don't think my legs work anymore. Miss Clara is actively trying to kill us."
"Well, you smell like a wet dog, so she definitely made you work for it," she teased, reaching over to turn the air-conditioning vents directly onto your flushed face. "Did you remember to ask Barb for the slip for Felix?"
You sat up slightly, patting the front pocket of your duffel bag. "Got it right here. Hey, Mum, can we go straight to his house when we get back? I want to give it to him before dinner."
"Sure thing," your mom smiled. "It'll be nice for you to have a buddy in that class. Especially someone who lives so close. Min and I can easily take turns doing the carpool run on Wednesday afternoons."
The drive back to your neighbourhood was peaceful. You watched the streetlights flicker on one by one as the golden hour faded into dusk. The suburban streets were quiet, smelling faintly of freshly cut grass and the occasional, mouth-watering waft of a backyard barbecue.
When your mom finally pulled the car into your driveway, you didn't even bother going inside your own house first.
You slung your duffel bag over your shoulder, unzipped the front pocket, grabbed the pink piece of paper, and hopped out of the car. "I'll be right back, Mom!"
You walked across the dry, yellowed grass of your front lawn, stepping over the low wooden property line, and marched straight up the Lee family's driveway.
Their house looked incredibly warm and inviting. The lights were on in the front living room, casting a soft glow through the drawn curtains. You could hear the muffled sound of a television playing a cartoon, and the incredible smell of toasted sesame oil and garlic wafted through the front flyscreen door.
You stepped up onto their front porch, suddenly feeling a tiny spike of nervousness flutter in your stomach. This was the first time you were actually knocking on their door by yourself.
You raised your hand and rapped your knuckles three times against the wooden frame of the screen door.
"I'll get it!" a small, high-pitched voice shrieked from inside.
A second later, the heavy wooden front door swung open, revealing Olivia. She was wearing a pair of wildly colourful pyjamas and holding a half-eaten carrot stick in one hand.
"Oh, hi!" she beamed, her eyes widening behind her messy bangs. "Are we going to the beach again? Because I can't find my pink goggles."
You laughed, shaking your head. "Not tonight, Liv. I'm too tired. Is Felix here?"
"Who is it, Olivia?" a woman's voice called out from further down the hallway.
Mrs. Lee, Min, appeared behind her daughter, wiping her hands on a floral kitchen apron. When she saw you standing on the porch, her face immediately broke into a warm welcoming smile. "Oh, hello sweetheart! Come in, come in, the bugs are terrible out there tonight."
"Hi, Mrs. Lee," you smiled back politely, staying planted on the porch. "It's okay, I'm super sweaty from dance class, I don't want to mess up your hallway. I just came to drop something off for Felix."
"Dance class!" Mrs. Lee's eyes lit up with immediate recognition. She turned her head toward the hallway, raising her voice. "Yongbok! Your friend is at the door!"
You blinked in surprise. Yongbok?
Before you could ask who that was, the sound of hurried sock-clad footsteps echoed loudly down the hardwood hallway.
Felix skidded around the corner, nearly crashing right into his mother's back. He was wearing an incredibly oversized faded grey t-shirt and loose sweatpants, his dark coppery-brown hair messy and sticking up in several different directions as if he had been lying on the floor.
When he saw you standing on the other side of the flyscreen door, his entire face illuminated.
"You're back!" he said, slightly out of breath. He gently pushed past his sister to stand right at the mesh screen.
"I told you I'd come over this arvo," you grinned, thoroughly enjoying the uncontainable excitement radiating off him. You reached through the unlatched screen door and held out the bright pink piece of paper. "I got it. Barb at the front desk said your mom just needs to fill out both sides, and you can bring it in next Wednesday before class starts."
Felix took the slip from your hand with a reverence usually reserved for handling delicate glass. He stared down at the bold Rhythm & Move Dance Academy logo printed across the top. His hands were actually trembling slightly.
He didn't just look happy; he looked completely, utterly overwhelmed with gratitude. It wasn't just a piece of paper to him. It was a ticket back to the one thing he felt truly confident doing, and it was undeniable proof that you had kept your promise to him. He finally had a friend he could rely on.
"I got it," he whispered, tracing the edge of the pink paper with his thumb.
Mrs. Lee leaned over his shoulder, looking at the slip with a knowing smile. "I'll fill it out tonight while you do your homework, Felix. It's so wonderful that you two can go together. Thank you so much for bringing this over, sweetheart."
"It's no worries at all, Mrs. Lee," you beamed.
Felix finally looked up from the paper, his dark eyes locking onto yours. The porch light above your head suddenly clicked on automatically, casting a golden glow over his face and highlighting the beautifull constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks. The boyish, gap-toothed smile that stretched across his face was unequivocally the most wonderful thing you had seen all day.
"Thank you," he said softly, his expressive eyes holding a universe of unspoken appreciation. "Really. Thank you."
"You're welcome," you smiled warmly. "You'd better start practicing your Melbourne Shuffle, though. Miss Clara doesn't mess around. If your footwork is sloppy, she'll make you do fifty pushups."
Felix's eyes widened in comical horror, but his massive grin didn't falter for a second. "I'll practice right now. I'll practice in the living room."
"Don't you dare break my good vases, Yongbok!" his mother scolded playfully, swatting him gently on the shoulder with her tea towel before disappearing back down the hallway to the kitchen. Olivia had also wandered off, distracted by the cartoon blaring from the living room, leaving just the two of you at the screen door.
You hesitated for a second, your curiosity finally getting the better of you.
"Hey, so..." you started, tilting your head slightly. "Who is Yongbok? Is that your middle name or something?"
Felix's massive grin instantly vanished. He winced, a full-body shudder rippling through his small frame, and his ears turned a violent shade of red. He looked down at his socked feet, suddenly looking incredibly embarrassed.
"It's... my Korean name," he mumbled, his boyish voice dropping to a mortified whisper.
"Yongbok?" you repeated, testing the syllables on your tongue. "I like it. It sounds cool."
"It's not cool," he groaned, bringing his free hand up to bury his flushed face in his palm. "It sounds like an old man's name in Korea. My grandpa gave it to me. I hate it so much. Please don't call me that at school."
You laughed softly at his dramatic reaction, finding it completely endearing. "Okay, okay, I won't tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me, Felix."
He peeked at you through his fingers, letting out a heavy sigh of relief. "Thanks. Seriously."
"I'll see you tomorrow," you smiled, taking a step back off the porch. The cool evening breeze washed over your sweaty skin, offering a sweet relief from the day's heat.
"See you tomorrow!" he called after you, his voice ringing clear into the evening air, the embarrassment already fading.
You walked back through your own front door, the smell of your mom cooking dinner hitting your nose. You were utterly exhausted, your leg muscles ached fiercely, and your sunburn was stinging slightly beneath your singlet. But as you dropped your duffel bag in the hallway and listened to the distant sound of the television next door, you felt completely invincible.
Harper Jones didn't matter. The brutal social hierarchy of Year 6 didn't matter. You had a best friend, and next Wednesday, you were finally going to see exactly how loud the quiet boy next door could be.
➺ summary: you finally stand up to harper's behavior, choosing to ditch her and find felix hiding alone at recess. bonding over snacks and a shared love for hip-hop breaks the ice, turning the lonely new kid into a fast friend.
The second day of Year 6 started much like the first, completely bathed in the suffocating, unrelenting heat of the Australian summer.
When your alarm clock blared its annoying electronic tune, you didn't groan or roll over like you usually did. Instead, you were already awake, staring up at the slowly rotating blades of the ceiling fan. You had slept terribly. Every time you had closed your eyes, your brain had unhelpfully replayed the image of the freckled boy next door, his face flushed red with humiliation as he clutched his lunchbox and practically ran away from the Moreton Bay Fig tree.
The guilt was a heavy thing sitting right at the bottom of your stomach. It felt like you had swallowed a handful of gravel.
You dragged yourself out of bed, your bare feet hitting the warm floorboards. You went through the motions of your morning routine on autopilot. You brushed your teeth, tied your hair back into a tight ponytail, and slathered on the mandatory layer of SPF 50+ sunscreen, the thick, coconut-scented lotion doing nothing to settle your churning stomach. You pulled on your stiff senior uniform, the white button-down shirt already feeling restrictive.
In the kitchen, your mother was humming along to the morning radio, pouring milk over a bowl of Weet-Bix.
"Morning, sweetheart," she chirped, sliding the bowl across the kitchen island toward you. "Sleep well? Ready for day two?"
"Yeah," you mumbled, picking up your spoon. You didn't feel hungry in the slightest, the gravel in your stomach leaving no room for breakfast, but you forced yourself to eat three bites of the soggy cereal just to appease her.
You kept glancing at the clock on the microwave. The glowing green numbers ticked closer and closer to 8:15 AM. You quickly rinsed your bowl in the sink, grabbed your heavy backpack, and practically bolted out the front door.
"Have a good day! Don't forget your hat!" your mother called out after you.
"Got it! Bye, Mom!"
You stood on your front porch for a long moment, the morning sun already aggressive enough to make you squint. You looked over at the Lee house. The silver station wagon was still parked in the driveway, and the front door was firmly shut. You took a few steps down your driveway, hovering near the wooden palings of the fence that separated your properties. You waited. You kicked a stray pebble across the concrete, listening to the cicadas, which were already winding up for their deafening daily concert.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. You checked your watch. If you didn't leave now, you were going to be late, and Harper was probably already throwing a fit at your usual meeting spot.
With a heavy sigh, you adjusted the straps of your backpack and began the walk to school alone.
You had hoped to catch him. You had hoped that maybe, if you walked out of your house at the exact same time, you could walk with him. You could prove to him that yesterday afternoon wasn't a fluke, that you genuinely wanted to be his friend, and that you weren't going to let Harper dictate who you talked to. But the pavement was empty. The walk felt twice as long without the nervous energy of wondering if you should speak to the boy walking two paces behind you.
When you reached the corner of Miller Street, right next to the dented, sun-faded red postbox, Harper was waiting.
She looked immaculate, as always. Her blonde hair was perfect, her uniform was crisp, and her wrists were loaded with the familiar, noisy stack of colorful bracelets. She was tapping her black leather school shoe against the curb impatiently.
"Finally," Harper groaned as you approached, throwing her hands up in the air. The bracelets clattered together like wind chimes in a storm. "I was literally about to leave you. I am sweating heaps. Why are you so late?"
"I'm not that late," you said defensively, falling into step beside her as you both headed toward the main road. "I was just... looking for something."
"Well, whatever," Harper huffed, instantly launching into her usual morning gossip. "So, you know Sarah Adams? She brought a flip phone to school yesterday. Like, an actual phone. I think she thinks she's suddenly a teenager just because we're in Year 6. It's so embarrassing."
You let her talk for a solid block, the rhythmic slapping of your shoes against the pavement keeping time with her chatter. But the gravel in your stomach was grinding. You couldn't just let yesterday go. You had promised Felix –well, you had promised yourself, really– that you would say something. You were the only person in the school who even knew his name, and if you didn't stand up for him, no one would.
"Harper," you interrupted suddenly. Your voice came out a little louder, a little sharper than you intended.
Harper stopped mid-sentence, looking at you with a mix of surprise and annoyance. "What?"
You took a deep breath of the hot, eucalyptus-scented air. "You need to apologize to Felix."
"Who?" Harper scrunched up her nose, her perfectly plucked eyebrows knitting together in confusion.
"Felix. The new boy. The one you yelled at under the tree yesterday," you clarified, your heart beginning to pound against your ribs. Confronting Harper was dangerous territory. She was the queen bee of your little social circle, and crossing her usually meant you'd be subjected to days of passive-aggressive silent treatment. But you pushed through the fear. "You were incredibly mean to him. He was just trying to say hi, and you completely humiliated him."
Harper stopped walking. She planted her feet on the hot concrete and crossed her arms over her chest, her expression instantly hardening. The playful, gossipy demeanor vanished, replaced by the fierce, territorial glare she usually reserved for girls in rival cliques.
"Are you serious right now?" Harper asked, her voice dropping an octave. "You're still on this? I told you, I did us a favor. He was being a weirdo."
"He wasn't being a weirdo, he was being shy!" you argued back, stopping to face her. "He just moved here. He doesn't know anyone. Imagine how you would feel if you walked up to someone on your first day and they looked at you like you were garbage. You owe him an apology, Harper. I mean it."
Harper let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. "I don't owe him anything. And I am not apologizing to some random kid who can't even speak in a full sentence. If you want to go hold his hand and be the patron saint of the losers, be my guest. But don't expect me to tank my social life for it."
"It's not about tanking your social life, it's about being a decent person!" you shot back, your hands balling into fists at your sides.
"Whatever," Harper rolled her eyes, clearly done with the conversation. She turned around and started walking again, her pace much faster than before. "I'm not talking about this anymore. It's stupid."
You stood there for a second, fuming, before jogging slightly to catch up with her. The rest of the walk to the school gates was thick with a tense silence. The Australian summer was boiling around you, but the space between you and your best friend was absolutely freezing.
When you finally reached the school, the playground was already a chaotic mess of screaming kids, bouncing handballs, and teachers blowing whistles. You navigated through the breezeways, the air smelling strongly of sunscreen and floor wax. You and Harper didn't say a single word to each other as you walked down the corridor toward Class 6B.
Harper pushed the classroom door open, her bracelets jangling as she marched straight toward your desks at the back of the room, completely ignoring you.
You followed her inside, your eyes automatically scanning the room.
And there he was.
Felix must have arrived at school incredibly early, while you were still waiting by your fence. He was already sitting in his seat in the second row. His heavy backpack was tucked neatly under his chair. His back was rigidly straight, his shoulders tense, and his head was bowed low. He had a blank notebook open on his desk, and he was staring down at it, a pencil grasped tightly in his hand, though he didn't seem to be drawing anything.
He looked like he was bracing himself for impact. He looked like he was just trying to survive.
You paused in the aisle, your heart aching. You wanted to walk over to him. You wanted to tap him on the shoulder, say good morning, and tell him that you had yelled at Harper on the way here. You wanted to see those freckles crinkle with a smile.
But from the back of the room, Harper dropped her sequined pencil case onto her desk with a loud, aggressive thud, the sound ringing out like a warning shot in the quiet classroom.
You flinched. The fear of social exile grabbed you by the collar again. Cowardice won out over bravery. You lowered your eyes, walked past Felix without saying a word, and took your seat next to Harper just as the morning bell began to scream.
The morning session felt like it lasted for a century.
Mrs. Gable had decided that the second day of Year 6 was the perfect time to launch straight into a heavy numeracy block. The whiteboard was quickly covered in complex fractions and long division problems. The ceiling fans in the classroom spun lazily, doing absolutely nothing to cut through the sweltering heat that was slowly baking the room.
You usually liked math, but today, you couldn't focus on a single number. You just kept staring at the back of Felix's head.
He was so quiet. He didn't drop his pencil, he didn't ask to go to the toilet, he didn't even shift his weight in his plastic blue chair. Whenever Mrs. Gable asked a question to the class, he seemed to shrink even further into his oversized uniform, terrified that she might call on him. The tension radiating off his small frame was palpable. It made your chest tight.
Next to you, Harper was aggressively writing notes, occasionally sighing loudly to let you know she was still mad at you. The fight you had on the way to school was hanging over both of your heads.
When the 11:00 AM recess bell finally rang, the relief in the classroom was instantaneous.
"Alright, hats on, everyone! Enjoy your break!" Mrs. Gable called out, wiping the whiteboard clean.
The usual stampede ensued. You grabbed your school hat and your plastic lunchbox, following Harper out the door. The unspoken rule of your fight was that you were still best friends, which meant you still had to sit together.
You marched down the concrete stairs and out onto the blindingly bright asphalt. The heat radiating off the ground was intense, shimmering in the air like a mirage. You practically sprinted toward the massive Moreton Bay Fig tree, eager to escape the sun.
Harper claimed her spot on the thickest root, dropping her bag with a huff. She immediately opened her lunchbox, which today contained a perfectly cut chicken sandwich, and launched into a story about something her older sister had done over the weekend, acting as if the argument from the morning had never happened.
You sat opposite her, nodding along automatically, your eyes scanning the playground.
The Year 5s were dominating the handball courts, their rubber bouncy balls smacking loudly against the pavement. A massive game of tiggy was tearing across the grass oval. A huge line was forming outside the tuckshop, kids clutching loose coins to buy frozen juice cups and meat pies.
But you couldn't see Felix.
You scanned the crowds near the breezeways, you checked the shaded areas near the bubblers, you even squinted toward the far fence line where the jacaranda trees grew. Nothing. He was nowhere to be seen. He hadn't followed you out of the classroom, and he certainly hadn't come anywhere near the fig tree.
Panic, sudden and sharp, flared in your chest. What if he was hiding in the toilets? What if he was so scared of Harper, and so disappointed in your silence this morning, that he was just hiding away from the entire school?
You looked down at your lunchbox. You hadn't even opened it. The thought of sitting here in the cool shade, pretending everything was fine while Felix was hiding in fear, made you feel physically sick.
You had to find him.
"Hey," you interrupted Harper mid-sentence, your voice a little breathless. You stood up quickly, brushing the dirt off your pleated uniform skirt.
Harper paused, a piece of chicken sandwich halfway to her mouth. "What?"
"I, um... I have to go," you stammered, your brain racing to formulate a believable lie. "I left my math workbook on my desk and Mrs. Gable said we have to finish the worksheet for homework. If I don't grab it now, she locks the classroom."
Harper rolled her eyes, letting out a long, exasperated sigh. "You are so disorganized today. Hurry up, you're missing the story."
"I'll be right back," you promised, already turning away.
You power-walked across the asphalt, weaving through the chaotic games of handball and dodgeball. As soon as you were out of Harper's line of sight, you bypassed the classroom block entirely and headed straight for the oval.
The sun beat down relentlessly against your school hat. You felt the sweat gathering at the nape of your neck, your heavy black shoes sinking slightly into the dry, yellowed grass of the field. You walked the entire perimeter of the oval, your eyes darting everywhere.
Where are you? you thought frantically.
You checked the shaded areas near the library. Empty. You checked the metal benches near the water bubblers. Nothing but a group of Year 3 boys splashing each other.
Finally, you turned a corner near the front gates of the school. This area was usually out of bounds during playtime, as it was too close to the main road, but there was a small cluster of wooden benches tucked underneath a dense wattle tree, completely hidden from the main playground.
You slowed your steps. Sitting on the furthest bench, completely secluded by the hanging yellow blossoms of the wattle tree, was Felix.
He was entirely alone. His wide-brimmed hat was sitting on the bench next to him. His knees were pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around his legs. His lunchbox sat unopened beside him. He looked so incredibly small, isolated from the noise and chaos of the school, just waiting out the clock until he could go home.
Your heart broke all over again.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and stepped out of the blinding sun and into the dappled shade of the wattle tree. Your shoes crunched softly against the fallen leaves.
Felix's head snapped up instantly. When he saw you, his dark eyes widened in sheer panic. His entire body tensed, and for a horrible second, you thought he was going to bolt. He looked past you, scanning the area over your shoulder, clearly terrified that Harper was looming right behind you, ready to deliver another cruel comment.
"It's just me," you said quickly, your voice soft and reassuring. "I'm alone. I promise."
Felix stared at you, his chest rising and falling quickly. He didn't say anything, but the wild, cornered-animal look in his eyes dimmed just a fraction. He slowly lowered his knees from his chest, planting his feet firmly on the ground.
You walked over to the bench. Every step felt incredibly heavy. You stopped a few feet away, pointing to the empty space on the wooden slats next to his lunchbox.
"Can I... can I sit down?" you asked, feeling suddenly very shy yourself.
Felix looked at the empty space, then up at you. His expression was completely unreadable. He seemed to be battling with himself, weighing the risk of you being cruel against the overwhelming loneliness of sitting by himself.
After a long moment of silence, he gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and sat down carefully, making sure to leave a polite amount of space between you. You unzipped your lunchbox, the loud tearing noise of the zipper sounding like a gunshot in the shaded area.
The silence stretched on. It was heavy with the unsaid tension of yesterday and the awkwardness of today. You could hear the distant screams of kids playing on the oval, and the ever-present hum of the cicadas above you.
You looked over at him. He was staring intensely at his black school shoes, his hands nervously picking at a loose thread on his uniform shorts. His freckles stood out starkly against his honey-colored skin, dusted across his nose and cheeks in that mesmerizing pattern.
You had to say something. You had to break the ice, or he was going to spend the rest of the year hiding under a tree.
"So," you started, your voice slightly too loud, causing him to flinch slightly. You quickly lowered your volume. "You haven't opened your lunchbox. Aren't you hungry?"
Felix kept his eyes firmly glued to his shoes. He shook his head slowly. "No."
His voice was quiet, soft, and distinctly boyish. It lacked the deep, rumbling resonance of an older boy, instead holding the high, slightly raspy cadence of an eleven-year-old who was entirely unsure of himself.
"You should eat something," you pressed gently, digging into your own lunchbox. "It's heaps hot today. You'll feel sick if you don't eat."
You pulled out a small, plastic-wrapped snack. "Look. My mum packed me a roll-up. Do you wantt half?"
You held out the sticky, strawberry-flavored fruit leather toward him. It was a peace offering. A sugary olive branch.
Felix finally looked up. He looked at the roll-up, then his dark eyes flicked up to meet yours. For the first time since you met him, he didn't immediately look away. He searched your face, his gaze intense and incredibly vulnerable, looking for any trace of a trick, any hidden cruelty.
Slowly, his hand reached out. His fingers brushed against yours, his skin was surprisingly warm as he took the snack.
"Thanks," he mumbled softly.
You smiled, a genuine smile, and took a bite of your own lunch. The ice wasn't completely broken, but the first major crack had just formed.
Sitting with Felix under the wattle tree was wildly different from sitting with Harper under the fig tree.
With Harper, the air was always filled with noise. It was a constant barrage of gossip, complaints about the heat, and dramatic reenactments of whatever happened on the weekend. The silence was never allowed to settle.
With Felix, the silence was everything. But surprisingly, as the minutes ticked by and he slowly chewed on the strawberry roll-up you had given him, the silence started to lose its suffocating edge. It became less awkward and more... peaceful. The dappled sunlight filtered through the yellow blossoms above, casting moving shadows across his dark brown hair.
You desperately wanted to talk to him, to know more about the boy who lived next door, but you were terrified of spooking him again. You realized quickly that if you wanted a conversation, you were going to have to do all the heavy lifting. You had to talk enough for the both of you, until he felt safe enough to join in.
"It's so hot today," you blurted out, cringing internally at how painfully cliché it sounded. "I wish the tuckshop wasn't so crowded. I'd kill for a Zooper Dooper right now."
Felix paused mid-chew. He looked at you, a confused crease appearing between his eyebrows. "A what?"
You gasped, your eyes widening in genuine, absolute horror. You dropped your half-eaten sandwich back into your lunchbox. "A Zooper Dooper? Are you serious? You don't know what a Zooper Dooper is?"
Felix shrank back slightly, his eyes darting down as if he had just given the wrong answer on a math test. "No... I don't think so."
"Felix, it's literally the best thing about summer in Australia," you explained passionately, leaning forward slightly. The excitement in your voice seemed to ease his nerves, and he looked back up at you, his dark eyes wide and attentive. "It's this long plastic tube of flavored ice. You freeze them and then you have to snap them in half, and they always cut the corners of your mouth, but they're so good. The fairy floss flavor is elite, but cola is pretty heaps good too."
A tiny, barely-there smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It was the first time you had ever seen him look remotely amused. "Fairy floss ice?"
"It's amazing," you promised solemnly. "I'll make my mom buy a pack and I'll bring you one tomorrow. You have to try it. It's basically a primary school requirement."
He ducked his head, hiding his face behind the brim of his hat, but you could see the apples of his cheeks pushing up. He was definitely smiling.
Encouraged by this massive victory, you kept talking. You realized that as long as you weren't asking him probing questions, he was perfectly happy to listen. He was a phenomenal listener.
You rambled about whatever came to your mind. You told him about your absolute obsession with sea animals.
"I went to the aquarium in Darling Harbour over the holidays," you told him, gesturing wildly with your hands to emphasize the size of the tanks. "They have these dugongs, right? They're basically sea cows. They just float around eating lettuce all day. It's the best life ever. I think I want to be a marine biologist when I grow up. Or maybe just a dugong."
Felix let out a soft, breathy sound. It took you a second to realize it was a laugh. It was a small, quiet chuckle, but it felt like you had just won the lottery.
"What about you?" you asked gently, deciding to test the waters. "What do you like? Besides video games, because your sister Olivia already snitched on you for that."
Felix's eyes widened slightly, a blush dusting across his freckles at the mention of his little sister. "She talks too much."
"She definitely does," you laughed. "So, what else? What do you do for fun?"
He hesitated. The nervous energy returned for a fleeting second. His hands went back to picking at the loose thread on his shorts. He looked down, his thick eyelashes casting long shadows on his cheeks. "I... I like music. And..." He stopped, swallowing hard as if the words were trapped in his throat.
"And what?" you prompted softly, leaning closer. You made sure your voice was as open and non-judgmental as possible.
Felix took a deep breath. He looked up at you through his eyelashes, his dark eyes searching yours one last time before he confessed. "I like dancing."
You blinked, genuinely surprised. "Dancing? Like, ballet?"
"No, no," he said quickly, his hands flying up as if to physically wave the thought away. The panic in his boyish voice was almost comical. "Not ballet. Like... hip-hop. Street dance. Just... moving, I guess."
"That's so cool!" you exclaimed, and you meant it. The boys at your school usually only cared about rugby or cricket. Dancing was something entirely new. "Are you good at it?"
The blush on his face deepened until his ears were bright red. He shrugged, looking incredibly embarrassed but secretly pleased by your reaction. "I don't know. I guess. I used to go to a studio near my old school. I went three times a week."
"No way," you grinned, feeling a sudden spark of connection. "I dance too! Well, I try to. I do hip-hop at this studio a few suburbs over. It's in this old warehouse, and the floor smells like cheap wax and sweat, but it's heaps of fun."
When you looked at him, the change in his demeanor was breathtaking.
The terrified, hunch-shouldered boy was entirely gone. As you talked about the dance studio, about the feeling of the music vibrating through the floorboards, he looked up at you with wide, mesmerized eyes. It was like someone had suddenly flipped a switch inside him.
The guarded, defensive look was replaced by pure, unadulterated wonder. His dark brown eyes caught the dappled sunlight filtering through the wattle tree, making them shine brilliantly. He looked at you as if you were the only person in the entire world, hanging onto every single word you said. It literally looked like he had stars in his eyes.
"You dance?" he asked, his voice filled with a quiet, breathless excitement.
"Yeah," you nodded, smiling back at him.
"I... I really miss it," Felix confessed, his voice dropping to a soft whisper. He looked down at his hands, his fingers tapping out a silent, erratic rhythm against his kneecaps. "My parents said they would look for a new studio around here, but... I don't know anywhere. I want to start again. I love it. When I dance, I don't feel..." He trailed off, struggling to find the right words. He gestured vaguely to himself, to his oversized uniform and his hunched posture. "I don't feel like this. I feel loud."
Your heart swelled. For the first time, you were seeing the real Felix beneath the crippling shyness. You were seeing the passion, the quiet confidence that he was desperately hiding away.
"You should come to my studio," you blurted out without even thinking.
Felix's head snapped up, the stars in his eyes flaring brighter. "Really?"
"Yeah, absolutely," you nodded enthusiastically. "I have my hip-hop class on Wednesdays. It's mostly beginners, but the teacher is awesome. You should ask your mom. We could... we could go together, if you want. Since we live next door and all."
Felix stared at you. The constellation of freckles across his face shifted as a massive, radiant smile broke across his face. It transformed him completely. He didn't look like the terrified new kid anymore; he looked like a bright, beautiful boy who had just found a lifeline.
"I'll ask her," he said, his boyish voice trembling slightly with excitement. "I promise."
Before you could say anything else, the electronic shriek of the school bell cut through the air, signaling the end of recess.
The spell under the wattle tree was broken. You both jumped slightly at the noise. The distant screams of the playground immediately shifted into the groans of students being forced back to class.
You stood up, brushing the dirt off your skirt, and grabbed your lunchbox. Felix did the same, picking up his wide-brimmed hat and placing it carefully on his head.
"We should go back," you said, suddenly remembering that you had to face Harper again. The anxiety flared back up, but as you looked at Felix, it didn't feel as crippling as before.
Felix gave a small nod. He took a step out from under the shade of the tree, into the blinding Australian sun. He didn't hunch his shoulders as much. He didn't look quite as terrified of the world.
He looked back at you, the ghost of that radiant smile still lingering on his lips.
"Hey," he said softly. "Thank you. For the roll-up. And... for sitting with me."
"Anytime," you smiled, meaning it with every fiber of your being. "Come on, let's go before Mrs. Gable locks us out."
As you walked back toward the classroom block, side-by-side this time, you realized that Harper's rules didn't matter anymore. You had just made a friend, and he was the most interesting person you had ever met.
Walking back to the classroom block with Felix felt entirely different than the walk you had taken earlier that morning. The oppressive guilt that had been sitting in your stomach all day had finally dissolved, replaced by a fluttering sense of accomplishment. You had done it. You had reached out, and he hadn't run away.
Felix walked beside you, not two paces behind, but right next to you. He still kept his head ducked slightly to avoid the blinding sun, but his shoulders weren't drawn up to his ears anymore. The defensive tension had melted out of his small frame.
As you both rounded the corner and stepped into the shaded breezeway outside Class 6B, the final warning bell shrieked overhead.
"Just in time," you breathed a sigh of relief, pulling your wide-brimmed hat off your sweaty forehead.
Felix mirrored your action, taking off his hat and running a hand through his dark, coppery-brown hair to flatten it down. He gave you another small, shy smile– a secret, shared look that made you feel incredibly proud, before he turned and slipped through the classroom door, heading straight for his desk at the front of the room.
You took a deep breath, the smell of floor wax and stale air conditioning hitting your nose, and walked in after him.
The moment you stepped through the doorway, your eyes locked onto the back of the room. Harper was already sitting at her desk. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her posture rigid, and her blue eyes were narrowed into a fierce glare. She had watched Felix walk in, and then she had watched you walk in directly behind him. She was smart enough to connect the dots.
Your stomach did a nervous little flip. The grace period was over.
You walked down the aisle, your black leather shoes squeaking faintly on the linoleum, and slid into the plastic blue chair next to hers. You didn't even have time to unzip your pencil case before she leaned over, her voice a sharp whisper.
"Where were you?" she demanded, her bracelets clinking as she gripped the edge of your desk. "I waited by the bubblers for, like, ten minutes. You never came back to the tree."
You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly feeling incredibly dry. You could lie. It would be so easy to say you got held up by Mrs. Gable, or that you couldn't find your math workbook and had to search the library. It would save you from her wrath.
But then you looked toward the front of the room. Felix was sitting quietly, taking his notebook out of his bag. He was the nicest, most interesting person you had talked to all year, and he had looked so incredibly lonely sitting under that wattle tree.
"I didn't go to the classroom," you confessed, keeping your voice low so the surrounding kids wouldn't hear. You squared your shoulders, forcing yourself to look Harper directly in the eye. "I went to find Felix."
Harper stared at you. For a second, her expression was completely blank, as if her brain simply couldn't compute the words you had just spoken. Then, an ugly look of betrayal twisted her features.
"Are you serious?" she hissed, her voice rising slightly before she caught herself. She leaned in closer, her eyes flashing. "You ditched me? On the second day of Year 6, you left me sitting alone under the tree for... for him?"
"You weren't alone, Harper, Sarah and Chloe were right there," you argued, your heart beginning to pound a frantic rhythm against your ribs. "And I didn't ditch you. I just went to check on him. He was sitting completely by himself."
"I don't care!" Harper snapped. "You lied to me! And for what? For some weird kid who can't even talk? Oh my god, you're leaving me for a boy. You're actually ditching your best friend for a boy you don't even know."
"I'm not leaving you for a boy!" you whisper-yelled back, your cheeks flushing a hot red. "That's stupid. I'm just trying to be nice. He lives right next door to me, Harper. And he's actually really cool once you get to know him."
Harper scoffed, a sound dripping with concentrated middle-school condescension. She looked you up and down, as if she suddenly didn't recognize the person sitting next to her. "He's a loser. If you start hanging around him, everyone is going to think you're a loser too. I am trying to protect you."
"I don't need protecting," you said firmly, surprising yourself with the steady tone of your own voice. The fear of losing her friendship was still there, buzzing in the back of your mind, but it was being rapidly overshadowed by a sudden fierce protectiveness over Felix. "He's my friend now, Harper. Whether you like it or not. And if I'm going to stay your friend, you have to be nice to him. I mean it. No more glaring, no more calling him a creep."
Harper's jaw dropped. You had never, not once in the three years you had known her, given her an ultimatum. You had always been the agreeable sidekick.
Before she could formulate a devastating comeback, Mrs. Gable clapped her hands loudly at the front of the room.
"Alright, Year 6, settle down!" the teacher called out, her voice cutting through the lingering playground chatter. "Math workbooks out, please. Let's get through these fractions so we can move on to reading time."
Harper snapped her mouth shut, her face a mask of absolute fury. She spun around in her chair, turning her back to you as much as physically possible, and aggressively flipped open her math workbook. She didn't speak to you for the rest of the afternoon. She didn't ask to borrow a gel pen, she didn't complain about the heat, she just radiated a cold silence.
It was terrifying, but as you looked toward the front of the room and saw the back of Felix's head, you knew you had made the right choice.
When the 3:00 PM bell finally screamed through the school, signaling the end of the day, Harper practically bolted. She shoved her books into her sequined bag and stormed out of the classroom without a single backwards glance, making sure everyone knew you were officially on the outs.
You packed your bag much slower, letting the classroom empty out. By the time you swung your heavy backpack over your shoulders, there were only a few kids left.
Felix was standing by his desk. He was waiting.
He didn't say anything, but as you walked down the aisle, he fell into step beside you. The two of you walked out of the school gates together, leaving the chaotic, noisy playground behind and stepping out onto the sun-baked concrete of Miller Street.
The heat of the late afternoon was brutal. The sun was beginning its slow descent, but it was still aggressively bright, baking the asphalt until it literally shimmered.
"Reckon we could fry an egg on the footpath today," you muttered, using the back of your hand to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead.
Felix let out that soft, breathy laugh that you were quickly deciding was your new favorite sound. "My dad said the same thing this morning. He hates the heat. He says he misses the cold."
"Where did you move from?" you asked, adjusting the heavy straps of your backpack.
"The Blue Mountains," Felix answered quietly, his dark eyes fixed on the pavement ahead. "It's heaps cooler up there. We had a big backyard, and it actually rained a lot. Here, it just feels like... like being inside an oven."
"Yeah, Sydney summers are brutal," you agreed. "But wait until winter. We don't get snow or anything, but it gets super rainy and cold, and the houses here aren't built for it. You'll be freezing."
Felix looked over at you, a genuine smile crinkling his freckles. "I'll hold you to that."
The walk home felt incredibly short compared to yesterday. Without the crushing awkwardness, the blocks flew by. You talked mostly about the dance studio, answering his rapid-fire questions about the teacher, the music they played, and how big the practice rooms were. You promised him you would grab a spare permission slip from the front desk on Wednesday so his parents could sign him up.
By the time you reached the adjoining driveways of your houses, you were both sweating through your school uniforms, but you were smiling.
You stopped at the wooden fence that separated your front yards. The cicadas were screaming their afternoon song, loud and rhythmic.
"Well," you said, suddenly feeling a tiny bit shy again as it was time to say goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
Felix nodded eagerly, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack. "Yeah. Tomorrow. And... don't forget the Zooper Dooper."
You laughed loudly. "I won't! Fairy floss flavor, I promise. See ya, Felix."
"Bye," he smiled.
You walked up your driveway, feeling lighter than air. You unlocked the front door and stepped into the glorious freezing oasis of your air-conditioned house.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a sticky summer haze. You managed to finish your math worksheet while sitting at the kitchen island, eating a plate of sliced watermelon your mom had put in front of you. You told her about the fight with Harper. Your mom was sympathetic, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and telling you that true friends wouldn't make you choose, and that she was proud of you for standing up for the new boy.
By 5:00 PM, the extreme edge of the heatwave had begun to soften, transitioning into a thick, humid evening. You had changed out of your suffocating school uniform and into a comfortable pair of denim shorts and a loose singlet, currently sprawled out on the living room rug, mindlessly watching cartoons.
Then, the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it!" you yelled, scrambling off the rug.
You ran down the hallway, your bare feet slapping against the floorboards, and pulled the front door open.
Standing on your front porch, bathed in the golden, late-afternoon sunlight, was Felix.
He had completely transformed. The stiff, oversized school uniform was gone. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of dark blue boardies. Without the wide-brimmed school hat hiding his face, you could fully appreciate the wild, messy spray of freckles across his nose. He looked incredibly nervous again, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his board shorts.
Standing right next to him, literally vibrating with excess energy, was his younger sister, Olivia. She was already wearing a bright pink rashie and a pair of goggles pushed up onto her forehead, clutching a plastic yellow bucket in her hands.
"Hi!" Olivia shrieked the second the door opened, not giving her brother a chance to speak. "Are you coming? Please say you're coming, Rachel is being boring and Felix won't build a sandcastle with me!"
You blinked, completely bewildered. You looked from the tiny, energetic girl up to Felix. "Coming where?"
Felix's ears turned a vibrant shade of red. He pulled one hand out of his pocket to scratch the back of his neck nervously. "Um. Hi. Sorry to bother you." His boyish voice was quiet, almost entirely drowned out by the cicadas. "My mum and dad... they're taking us down to the beach for the arvo. Just to get out of the house. It's too hot inside. And, um..."
He swallowed hard, clearly forcing himself to be brave. He looked up, his dark eyes meeting yours.
"I asked them if we could invite you," he finished quietly. "If you wanted to come. Only if you're not busy."
Your mouth fell open slightly. He had asked his parents to invite you. The boy who was so painfully shy he could barely speak to anyone on the playground had walked up to your front door, rang the bell, and invited you to the beach.
"The beach?" you repeated, a massive grin breaking across your face.
"Yeah!" Olivia yelled, swinging her yellow bucket. "Mum packed an esky with cold drinks and sandwiches. Please come! You can help me bury Felix in the sand!"
"Hey," Felix protested softly, looking down at his sister with a fond, exasperated sigh. "Don't threaten her, Liv, she might say no."
"I would love to come," you said instantly, cutting off any possibility of him doubting your answer. "That sounds heaps fun. Let me just ask my mom!"
You spun around, leaving the door wide open, and sprinted down the hallway toward the kitchen. "Mum! Mum!"
Your mother appeared from the laundry room, holding a basket of folded towels. "What is it? Who's at the door?"
"It's Felix and Olivia from next door!" you practically vibrated with excitement. "Their parents are taking them to the beach for the afternoon, and they want to know if I can go with them! Can I? Please, please, please? I've already finished my math homework!"
Your mother raised her eyebrows in surprise, looking down the hallway toward the open front door where the two Lee siblings were standing awkwardly on the porch. A warm, knowing smile spread across her face.
"Of course you can, sweetheart," she said softly. "Go grab your swimmers and a towel. I'll go out and say hello to their parents."
"Thank you!" you cheered, already bolting for your bedroom.
You had never changed so fast in your entire life. You practically ripped your clothes off, wrestling your way into your favorite swimsuit. You threw your denim shorts and singlet back on over the top, grabbed a beach towel from your closet, and slathered an extra, messy layer of sunscreen over your face. You grabbed your sunnies off your bedside table and sprinted back to the front door.
Your mother was standing on the porch, chatting amiably with Mr. and Mrs. Lee, who were waiting at the end of the driveway next to their silver station wagon. The trunk was open, revealing a large blue esky and a couple of folded beach chairs.
Felix was still standing on the porch, watching you as you rushed out, completely out of breath, a brightly colored towel slung over your shoulder.
"Ready?" he asked, a huge, genuine smile lighting up his entire face, making his freckles dance.
"Ready," you beamed back.
As you followed him down the driveway and climbed into the back seat of the hot station wagon, squished between Felix and a very loud Olivia, you realized that the sweltering heat of the Australian summer suddenly didn't feel so bad anymore. In fact, looking at the boy sitting next to you, you thought this might turn out to be the best year of your entire life.
➺ summary: the brutal reality of harper's silent treatment forces a definitive choice at the morning walk to school, and you choose felix. sitting together in class and sharing a fairy floss zooper dooper solidifies the bond. handing over the pink permission slip for dance class seals the deal, and you finally learn his deeply guarded korean name.
➺ warnings: confrontation, loss of friendship
➺ author's note: sorry for the lack of posting! i literally have zero motivation rn 😭
Wednesday morning greeted you with a dull ache in your shoulders and the lingering, unmistakable scent of salt and coconut sunscreen woven into your hair.
When your eyes fluttered open, staring up at the familiar ceiling of your bedroom, you didn't feel the usual heavy dread of the impending school day. Instead, an uncontainable smile stretched across your face. You stretched your arms above your head, wincing slightly as the skin on your shoulders pulled taut. Despite your mother’s aggressive and repeated applications of SPF 50+ yesterday afternoon, the harsh Australian sun had managed to kiss your skin with a faint pink sunburn.
It was entirely worth it.
You kicked the tangled cotton sheets off your legs, your bare feet hitting the floorboards. You could still feel the phantom sensation of sand between your toes. You threw on your stiff school uniform, the fabric irritating your mildly sunburned shoulders, and practically skipped down the hallway toward the kitchen.
The house was filled with the usual morning sounds. The radio was playing softly on the kitchen counter, the kettle was just finishing its rumbling boil, and the smell of toasted bread hung in the air.
Your dad was sitting at the kitchen island, dressed in his work clothes, reading a news article on his tablet while nursing a steaming mug of coffee. Your mom was at the counter, vigorously spreading Vegemite and a thick layer of butter onto two slices of toast.
"Morning, beach bum," your dad teased without looking up from his screen as you hopped onto the stool next to him. "Your mother tells me you had quite the adventure yesterday afternoon."
"It was the best day ever," you declared passionately, grabbing the glass of cold Milo your mom pushed toward you. You took a long gulp of the chocolate malt drink, the cold liquid soothing your dry throat.
Your mom turned around, leaning her hip against the counter, a fond smile on her face. "She hasn't stopped smiling since she walked through the door last night. Tell your father about the seagulls, honey. I swear, I have never laughed so hard in my entire life."
Your dad raised an eyebrow, finally looking up from his tablet. "Seagulls? Did you get swooped?"
"Not me!" you giggled, the memory bubbling up in your chest and making you laugh all over again. You set your glass of Milo down on the marble counter. "Felix! It was Felix!"
"The quiet boy from next door?" your dad asked, looking mildly surprised. "The one who looked like he was about to faint when he was moving boxes?"
"Yes, but he's not like that at all!" you explained quickly, eager to defend your new best friend. You leaned forward on the counter, using your hands to animate the story. "Okay, so we get to the beach, right? And Olivia, his little sister, she's in Year 2 and she is absolutely crazy, she decides that her life's mission is to bury Felix in the sand. And because he's actually super nice, he just laid down and let us do it."
You recalled the feeling of the coarse sand, digging with the small plastic spades Olivia had brought. Felix had been lying flat on his back, his eyes squeezed shut against the glaring sun, laughing as you and his sister shoveled heavy piles of wet sand over his legs, his stomach and his chest.
"We buried him all the way up to his neck," you continued, your eyes wide with the thrill of the memory. "He literally looked like a disembodied head sitting on the beach. He couldn't move his arms or his legs or anything. He was completely trapped."
Your dad chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. "Sounds like a standard sibling beach trip so far."
"Wait, it gets better," your mom chimed in, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Tell him about the hat."
"Right!" you gasped for air between giggles. "So, the sun is really bright, and Felix's nose is getting all red because he has all these freckles. So Olivia takes his hat, it's this hideous, floppy, bright green bucket hat, and she plops it right on top of his head to protect his face."
"Okay, so we have a boy buried in the sand wearing a green bucket hat," your dad summarized, looking highly amused. "Where do the seagulls come in?"
"Well," you took another quick sip of your Milo. "We left him there for a minute because Olivia wanted to go fill her bucket with ocean water to make a moat around his head. And suddenly, this massive flock of seagulls lands near us. Like, twenty of them. You know how aggressive they get at the beach when they think someone has hot chips?"
"Absolute menaces," your dad agreed solemnly. "Worse than bin chickens."
"Exactly! And I don't know if they thought the green hat was a piece of lettuce, or if they honestly thought Felix was a stranded sea turtle, but they just zeroed in on him!" you threw your hands in the air, mimicking the birds. "They started squawking and dive-bombing his head! And Felix is screaming, but his voice is like, really high and squeaky, and he can't move because he's packed into the wet sand!"
Your dad burst into genuine laughter, nearly spilling his coffee.
"He was trying so hard to get out!" you laughed so hard your stomach muscles ached. "He was thrashing around, and the sand was exploding everywhere. He looked like a zombie crawling out of a grave, just flailing his lanky arms and legs, swatting at the birds. His hat flew off, and he just scrambled on his hands and knees all the way to the water to get away from them!"
"Poor kid," your dad chuckled, shaking his head. "First month in a new neighborhood and he gets attacked by the local wildlife. Did he cry?"
"No!" you grinned proudly. "Once he got into the water, he realized how stupid he looked and he just started laughing. He laughed so hard he fell backward into a wave. He's actually really funny, Dad. He just... he gets scared around big groups of people. But when it's just us, he's heaps of fun."
Your mom smiled warmly, sliding a plate of Vegemite toast across the counter toward you. "I'm really glad you went with them, sweetheart. It was lovely to see you both getting along so well. And Min is wonderful. They seem like a really lovely family. It's nice to have good neighbors again."
"Did she say anything about the dance studio?" you asked eagerly, taking a bite of your toast. The salty, savory flavor of the Vegemite was perfect.
"She did," your mom nodded, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "I gave her the address of your studio and told her about the Wednesday hip-hop classes. She said if Felix is still interested, she'll sign the permission slip for him. So you make sure you grab one from the front desk today, alright?"
"I will!" you promised, your heart soaring with excitement.
You finished your breakfast in record time, the energy buzzing through your veins like electricity. The heavy, oppressive guilt that had plagued you yesterday morning was entirely gone. Today, the world felt bright and full of possibilities.
You ran to the bathroom, aggressively brushed your teeth, and grabbed your heavy school backpack from your bedroom floor.
"Have a good day at work, Dad!" you called out, racing back down the hallway.
"Have a good day at school! Watch out for the seagulls!" he called back playfully.
"Do you have your hat? And your lunchbox?" your mom asked, meeting you at the front door.
"Got it, got it, got it!" you practically vibrated with impatience, shifting your weight from foot to foot. "I gotta go, Mom, I'll see you this arvo!"
You threw the front door open, stepping out into the already-sweltering morning air. The cicadas were just beginning to warm up, their collective hum starting to build in the eucalyptus trees.
You didn't look toward the road. Your eyes immediately darted to the right, peering over the wooden fence that separated your yard from the Lees'.
You expected to see a closed door. You expected to have to walk to the corner alone, wondering if you would see him in the classroom.
But as you stepped out onto your porch, your breath hitched in your throat.
Felix was waiting for you.
He was standing right in the middle of his front porch, bathed in the golden, harsh light of the Australian morning sun. But it wasn't just the fact that he was outside that made you freeze in your tracks; it was the way he was standing.
Yesterday morning, in the classroom, he had looked like a cornered animal—shoulders hunched up to his ears, spine curved, trying to make himself invisible within his oversized senior uniform.
Today, he looked like a completely different person.
He was standing tall, his posture relaxed and open. His heavy school backpack was slung casually over one shoulder instead of being clutched tightly to his chest like a shield. He was gently kicking a small pebble against the wooden post of his porch, humming a soft, rhythmic tune under his breath. When he heard the sound of your screen door slamming shut, his head snapped up.
The constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks shifted brilliantly as a massive, radiant, gap-toothed smile broke across his face.
It was like looking at the sun. In the span of a single afternoon, a few hours of building sandcastles and fighting off aggressive seagulls, he had completely blossomed. The terrified, mute boy who had shrunk away from Harper's cruel words was gone, replaced by the bubbly, kind, and incredibly bright kid underneath.
"Hey!" Felix called out. His voice was still soft and distinctly boyish, but it held a confidence that hadn't been there yesterday.
"Hey yourself!" you grinned back, practically jogging down your driveway to meet him at the property line.
He met you at the sidewalk, falling into step beside you instantly. There was no more awkward staggering, no more walking two paces behind. He walked shoulder-to-shoulder with you, close enough that your backpacks occasionally bumped against each other.
"Did you recover from your traumatic bird attack?" you teased immediately, bumping your shoulder gently against his arm.
Felix's ears immediately turned a violent shade of pink, but he didn't look away. Instead, he threw his head back and let out a bright, unrestrained laugh. It was a beautiful sound, ringing clear over the hum of the cicadas.
"It wasn't funny!" he protested, though his massive grin completely ruined his defense. "They were huge! I thought one of them was going to take my eye out. Olivia told my dad I looked like a screaming turtle."
"You kind of did," you admitted, giggling uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, I should have helped you, but I was laughing too hard. You were literally trapped."
"I am never wearing that green hat again," Felix declared solemnly, adjusting the straps of his school bag. "I'm throwing it in the bin. The bin chickens can have it."
You continued to chat easily as you walked down the sun-baked concrete of Miller Street. You talked about the sandcastles, about how good the cold sandwiches from the esky had tasted, and about the upcoming hip-hop class. Felix was incredibly animated when it was just the two of you. He used his hands when he talked, his dark eyes sparkling with excitement. He asked you a million questions about the dance teacher, the routines, and the music.
You were so deeply engrossed in explaining the layout of the dance studio to him that you almost forgot about the impending reality of the school day.
Almost.
As you rounded the familiar bend of the street, your eyes automatically sought out the dented, sun-faded red postbox. It was the exact spot you had met Harper every single morning since Year 3. It was your designated meeting place, the anchor of your daily routine.
Your sentence slowly died in your throat. You slowed your pace, your heavy black school shoes dragging slightly against the hot pavement.
The corner was completely empty.
There was no blonde ponytail reflecting the sun. There was no aggressive clinking of cheap plastic bracelets. There was no dramatic sigh complaining about the heat or the walk.
Harper wasn't there.
You stopped walking entirely, standing next to the red postbox. You checked your watch. 8:20 AM. You were right on time. In fact, you were usually the one running a few minutes late, and Harper would always be leaning against the red metal, tapping her foot impatiently.
Felix noticed your sudden halt and stopped a few steps ahead of you. He turned around, his bright smile faltering slightly as he saw the confused, sinking expression on your face.
"What's wrong?" he asked gently, taking a step back toward you.
"Harper isn't here," you murmured, staring at the empty patch of concrete.
"Maybe she's sick today?" Felix suggested, his voice laced with innocent hope. You knew he would probably prefer if Harper never came to school again.
You shook your head slowly, a cold, heavy knot of dread forming in your stomach despite the boiling summer heat. "No. She's never sick. And even if she was, she would have texted my mom's phone to tell me."
You knew exactly what this was. This was a calculated, deliberate move.
In the brutal, unspoken political arena of primary school, your morning walk was a public declaration of friendship. By abandoning your meeting spot, Harper was sending a very clear, very loud message. She was officially freezing you out. The fight you had yesterday afternoon wasn't just a brief argument; it was the end of the line. She was forcing you to choose between your social standing and the boy standing next to you.
You stood by the postbox for three agonizing minutes, staring down the street, hoping against hope that you would see her walking toward you, ready to complain about a bad hair day or a strict parent. But the street remained empty.
The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable.
Felix shifted his weight from foot to foot. He looked from the postbox to your face, his dark eyes wide and suddenly incredibly observant. The bright, bubbly boy from the beach retreated slightly, replaced by the anxious, perceptive kid who was terrified of causing trouble.
"She's not coming, is she?" Felix asked. His voice was quiet, stripped of all its earlier excitement.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. "No. I don't think so."
Felix looked down at his shoes, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack in a white-knuckled hold. "It's because of me. Because you walked with me yesterday."
"No, Felix, it's not—"
"It is," he interrupted softly, his boyish voice trembling slightly. The guilt radiating off his small frame was palpable. He looked up at you, his eyes swimming with a mixture of sadness and apology. "She told you not to talk to me. And now she's mad at you. I'm sorry. You... you can go find her at school. You don't have to walk in with me. I know the way."
He took a step away from you, as if preparing to walk the rest of the way alone to save you from further social ruin.
Something fierce and protective flared in your chest. The dread of losing Harper was suddenly eclipsed by a profound wave of anger. How dare she make him feel like a burden? How dare she make this sweet, funny, wonderful boy feel like he was something to be ashamed of?
"Stop it," you said firmly, stepping forward and grabbing the fabric of his sleeve to stop him from walking away.
Felix froze, looking at your hand on his arm, and then up at your face.
"I don't care if she's mad," you declared, your voice ringing with a newfound conviction. You let go of his sleeve and adjusted your own backpack. "If she's going to act like a baby because I made a new friend, then I don't want to walk with her anyway. She's being ridiculous. You are my friend, Felix. And I want to walk with you."
Felix stared at you. The anxiety in his eyes slowly melted away, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated awe. He looked at you like you were the bravest person he had ever met.
Slowly, the tension left his shoulders. The ghost of his bright smile returned, tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Okay," he whispered.
"Okay," you nodded, forcing a smile onto your own face. "Come on. If we don't hurry up, Mrs. Gable is going to make us run laps around the oval."
As you turned away from the empty postbox and continued the walk to school, you felt a strange sense of liberation. The invisible chain that had tethered you to Harper's approval had snapped. It was terrifying, yes, but as Felix bumped his shoulder against yours and started telling you another joke about his little sister, you knew you wouldn't trade this for all the popularity in the world.
The walk through the school gates was like stepping onto a battlefield.
Usually, you would navigate the chaotic sea of blue and white uniforms with Harper by your side, her fierce glare parting the crowds of younger students like Moses parting the Red Sea. You were protected by her aura. Today, walking beside Felix, you felt entirely exposed.
You kept your chin up, ignoring the curious glances from a few kids in your grade as you made your way through the breezeways toward Class 6B. Felix walked close to you, his shoulder brushing yours, offering a silent, steadying presence.
When you reached the classroom door, you took a deep breath of the stale, air-conditioned air and stepped inside.
The morning bell hadn't rung yet, so the room was filled with the loud chatter of students unpacking their bags. You immediately looked toward the back of the room, to your designated spot.
Harper was there. But she wasn't alone.
Sitting in your chair, her sequined pencil case spread out across your side of the desk, was Chloe from 6A. Harper and Chloe were leaning their heads together, giggling loudly over a piece of paper, their blonde ponytails practically intertwined. As soon as you walked into the room, Harper looked up. Her eyes locked onto yours, then flicked dismissively to Felix, before she purposefully turned her back to you and laughed even louder at whatever Chloe was saying.
The message was crystal clear. Your seat was gone. You had been replaced.
For a split second, the sting of rejection burned hot behind your eyes. It hurt. Despite everything, she had been your best friend for three years.
"Hey," a soft voice murmured right beside you.
You blinked, tearing your gaze away from the back of the room. Felix was looking at you, his dark eyes filled with deep, empathetic concern. He didn't ask if you were okay, he knew you weren't, but his presence was a quiet anchor in the stormy classroom.
You took a shaky breath, forcing the burn out of your eyes, and squared your shoulders. If Harper wanted to play this game, you were going to play it better.
"Come on," you whispered to Felix.
Instead of walking down the aisle toward the back, you stopped at the very front of the room. Felix's desk was in the second row, right by the window. The desk next to it was currently empty.
Without hesitating, you dropped your heavy backpack onto the floor next to the empty chair and sat down right beside him.
Felix's eyes widened in surprise as he slid into his own seat. He looked at you, then glanced nervously toward the back of the room where Harper was undoubtedly watching. "Are you sure? You don't have to..."
"I want to sit here," you interrupted firmly, unzipping your pencil case with a sharp, decisive noise. "The view is better from the front anyway. Plus, I bet Mrs. Gable won't yell at us as much if we sit closer to her desk."
Felix stared at you for a moment, his expression incredibly soft, before a massive, beaming smile broke across his face. He nodded enthusiastically, pulling his own notebooks out of his bag. "Okay. Cool."
When the bell finally rang and Mrs. Gable clapped her hands to start the lesson, you felt a surprising wave of peace wash over you. Sitting at the front of the room was different. You couldn't hide, but sitting next to Felix, you found you didn't really want to.
Mrs. Gable launched into a painfully boring history lesson about the First Fleet. The classroom was quiet, save for the scratching of pencils and the loud, rhythmic hum of the ceiling fans above.
About twenty minutes into the lesson, you heard a faint, deliberate tearing sound.
You kept your eyes glued to the whiteboard, pretending to take notes, but your peripheral vision caught Felix's hands moving under his desk. A few seconds later, a tiny, perfectly folded square of lined paper slid slowly across the crack separating your desks, coming to a halt right next to your elbow.
Your heart did a thrilling little leap. Note passing. It was the ultimate, risky thrill of primary school. If Mrs. Gable caught you, the note would be read aloud to the entire class.
You waited for Mrs. Gable to turn her back to write a date on the board, then quickly scooped the tiny square of paper into your hand and unfolded it under the cover of your textbook.
The handwriting was neat, slightly rounded, and written in blue gel pen.
Are you okay? Is Harper super mad because of me?
You looked over at Felix. He was staring intensely at his history book, pretending to read, but his ears were bright pink.
You quickly grabbed your favourite black pen, leaned over your book, and scribbled a reply on the bottom half of the paper.
I'm fine! She is just being a massive drama queen. I want to sit here. You're way more fun than her anyway. P.S. I kept my promise. Fairy floss Zooper Dooper is currently freezing in my lunchbox.
You carefully folded the paper back into a tiny square. When Mrs. Gable walked over to the windows to adjust the blinds, you flicked the note back across the gap.
You watched out of the corner of your eye as Felix caught it and unfolded it in his lap. As he read your words, you saw his shoulders drop with relief. He bit his lower lip, trying to suppress a huge, radiant smile, but it was impossible. The freckles on his cheeks danced as he beamed at the piece of paper.
He quickly wrote something else and slid it back.
Good. We have to share. I can't wait to try it.
You looked over at him, your eyes sparkling with amusement, and gave him a tiny, secretive thumbs-up. The rest of the morning block flew by in a flurry of passed notes, filled with terrible stick-figure drawings of seagulls and secret jokes about Mrs. Gable's sensible shoes.
When the 11:00 AM recess bell finally shrieked, you didn't even look toward the back of the room. You grabbed your hat and your lunchbox, and you and Felix practically bolted out the door together.
You didn't go to the massive Moreton Bay Fig tree. That was Harper's territory, and you had no desire to fight that battle today. Instead, you and Felix walked straight to the small, secluded cluster of wooden benches hidden underneath the wattle tree near the front gates.
It was your spot now.
You sat down on the wooden slats, the dappled sunlight filtering through the yellow blossoms overhead. The heat was already intense, baking the asphalt of the playground, but sitting in the shade with Felix made it bearable.
"Okay, let's see it," Felix said eagerly, leaning forward the second he sat down.
You grinned proudly, unzipping a small, insulated cooler bag from inside your lunchbox. With a dramatic flourish, you produced a frozen, bright pink Zooper Dooper tube. The plastic was covered in a thick layer of frosty condensation.
"My mom put ice packs in here so it wouldn't melt," you explained, holding up the icy tube.
"How do we eat it? Do you cut it?" Felix asked, looking at it with intense curiosity.
"Watch and learn," you teased.
You placed the middle of the plastic tube against the edge of the wooden bench and brought your hand down on either side with a sharp, practiced thwack. The frozen ice snapped perfectly in half.
Felix's eyes went wide. "Whoa. That was aggressive."
"It's the only way," you laughed, handing him the top half of the tube and keeping the bottom for yourself. "Now, remember, you have to push the ice up from the bottom, and be careful of the plastic edges, they will literally slice your lips open."
Felix took a cautious bite of the bright pink, fairy floss-flavored ice. His eyes immediately lit up, crinkling at the corners in pure delight. "Oh, that's heaps good. It tastes like actual sugar."
"Told you!" you cheered, taking a bite of your own. The cold, artificial sweetness was exactly what you needed in the sweltering heat.
"So," Felix said, his words slightly muffled around the mouthful of ice. "Do you have your dance class today?"
"Yep," you nodded eagerly. "Every Wednesday afternoon. From four-thirty to five-thirty. I'm going to grab the spare permission slip from the front desk before I leave today. Will your mom really let you come next week?"
"I asked her last night when we got home from the beach," Felix said, his voice buzzing with excitement. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "She said yes! She said if you give me the slip, my dad can drive us both there next Wednesday."
"That is going to be so awesome," you grinned, kicking your legs back and forth against the bench. "We're starting a new routine this week, so you won't even be behind. Do you listen to much hip-hop music?"
"A little bit," Felix nodded, pushing the last bit of his Zooper Dooper up through the plastic. "I really like the fast stuff. Like, the stuff with good beats you can jump to."
"Like LMFAO?" you asked, referencing the absolute kings of the 2012 primary school disco scene.
"Yes!" Felix's eyes lit up brighter than the sun. "Party Rock Anthem is my favorite! I know how to do the Melbourne Shuffle part. I practiced it in my bedroom for like, a week."
"No way, you have to show me!" you gasped. "I tried to learn it from a YouTube video but I just ended up kicking my own ankle and tripping over."
Felix let out that bright, beautiful, unrestrained laugh again. "I will! What else do you listen to? Do you like Justice Crew?"
"Obviously," you scoffed playfully. "Everyone likes Justice Crew. They're Australian! 'Friday to Sunday' is literally the best song ever written."
The entire twenty minutes of recess were spent huddled under the wattle tree, passionately debating the greatest pop and hip-hop songs of the era. Felix was incredibly knowledgeable about rhythm and beats. When he talked about music and dancing, all of his lingering shyness evaporated entirely. He was loud, he was expressive, and he was undeniably cool.
When the bell rang to end the break, neither of you wanted to go back inside.
"Next Wednesday," you promised, throwing your empty plastic tube into a nearby bin. "I'll give you the slip this arvo. Next Wednesday, we're dancing."
"I can't wait," Felix smiled, adjusting his wide-brimmed hat.
The rest of the school day passed in a warm, comfortable blur. The anxiety of Harper's rejection had completely faded, replaced by the thrilling realization that you had just secured the best friend you could possibly ask for.
When the 3:00 PM bell finally screamed, you and Felix packed your bags together at the front of the room. You walked out of the classroom side-by-side, entirely ignoring the venomous glare burning into the back of your head from the back row.
As you stepped out into the sweltering afternoon heat, ready for the walk home, Felix bumped his shoulder against yours.
"Thanks for sitting with me today," he mumbled softly, his boyish voice sweet and sincere.
"Thanks for letting me," you smiled back.
You had lost a friend today, but looking at the freckled boy walking happily beside you under the glaring Australian sun, you knew you had gained something so much better.
The pavement of Miller Street seemed to stretch out forever under the relentless afternoon sun, but for the first time in three years, you didn't mind the walk.
Usually, the trek home with Harper involved a litany of complaints—the heat was ruining her hair, her backpack was too heavy, her shoes were giving her blisters. Today, the walk was completely different. The air was filled with a comfortable, easy silence, broken only by the deafening drone of the cicadas hidden high in the eucalyptus branches and the occasional scuff of your black leather school shoes against the concrete.
You walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Felix. The tense, hunched posture that had plagued him on Monday was completely gone. He was still quiet, naturally observant and soft-spoken, but the nervous energy had evaporated. He walked with his head up, his dark eyes taking in the familiar suburban houses, occasionally kicking a stray gum nut off the footpath.
"You weren't kidding," Felix murmured, using the back of his hand to wipe a bead of sweat from his temple. "It actually feels like the road is melting."
"I told you," you laughed, pointing down at the dark, slightly sticky patches of asphalt where the sun hit the hardest. "If you step on the black parts for too long, your shoes will literally stick to the road. Welcome to a Sydney summer."
Felix chuckled, his boyish, slightly raspy voice light and happy. "I'll keep that in mind. No standing still on the road."
As you turned the final corner onto your street, the familiar brick facades of your adjoining houses came into view. The relief of the impending air-conditioning made you both naturally quicken your pace.
When you reached the wooden palings that separated your driveways, you both came to a halt. The afternoon sun was casting long, harsh shadows across the yellowing grass of the front lawns.
"Well," you smiled, adjusting the heavy straps of your school bag. "I've gotta go get ready for dance class. My mom usually drives me there at about four-fifteen."
Felix's eyes brightened instantly at the mention of the studio. The sheer enthusiasm he held for dancing was infectious. "Don't forget to ask for the paper," he reminded you, his voice buzzing with a sudden, eager energy. "The permission slip. So I can come next week."
"I won't forget," you promised, crossing your heart playfully with one finger. "I'll grab it from Barb at the front desk and bring it straight over to your house when I get back. Around quarter to six. Deal?"
"Deal," Felix beamed, the constellation of freckles across his nose shifting with his wide, gap-toothed smile. "Have heaps of fun today."
"I will. See ya, Felix!"
"See ya!"
You practically skipped up your driveway, the heavy burden of the school day entirely lifted from your shoulders. You pushed open your front door, immediately hit by the glorious, freezing blast of the central air-conditioning. You let out a long, dramatic groan of absolute relief, kicking your stiff black school shoes off your feet and leaving them haphazardly near the welcome mat.
"I'm home!" you yelled, your voice echoing down the hallway.
"In the kitchen!" your mother called back.
You padded down the hall in your socks, dropping your heavy backpack onto the floor with a loud thud. Your mom was standing at the kitchen island, pouring a tall glass of icy, bright green Cottee's lime cordial.
"How was the second day?" she asked, sliding the condensation-covered glass across the marble counter toward you. "Drink up, you look like a beetroot."
"It was actually amazing," you said, taking a long, greedy gulp of the sweet, icy cordial. The cold liquid instantly soothed your dry throat. You hopped up onto one of the barstools, resting your elbows on the cool stone counter. "I didn't sit with Harper today."
Your mom stopped wiping the counter, the tea towel pausing in her hands. She looked at you, a mixture of surprise and gentle concern softening her features. She knew exactly how powerful Harper was in the brutal ecosystem of Year 6, and she knew how anxious you had been about confronting her. "You didn't? Where did you sit?"
"Right at the front of the classroom," you announced proudly. "Next to Felix. Harper ignored me all day, and when I walked into the classroom this morning she was sitting in my chair with Chloe. So I just sat next to Felix instead. And it was the best thing I've done all year."
Your mother leaned against the counter, a warm, incredibly proud smile spreading across her face. "I am so proud of you, sweetheart. That takes a lot of bravery to step away from a friend who isn't treating you right. Did she say anything to you?"
"Nope. Not a word," you shrugged, surprised by how little it actually hurt now. "But Felix and I passed notes all through history class, and we shared the Zooper Dooper at recess under the wattle tree. He's actually so funny, Mom. He knows all about hip-hop music."
"Well, it sounds like you've made a wonderful new friend," she said softly, reaching over to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "And it's her loss. Now, if you're going to make it to Miss Clara's class on time, you need to go get changed. I want to leave in twenty minutes."
"Right! I need my bag!"
You slid off the stool and bolted for your bedroom. You threw your stifling, stiff school uniform onto your desk chair and quickly changed into your dance gear, a pair of loose, comfortable black trackies and a bright, oversized singlet. You grabbed your battered duffel bag from the closet, double-checking that your lightweight sneakers and a fresh water bottle were packed inside.
By the time four-fifteen rolled around, you and your mom were pulling out of the driveway in her silver sedan.
The drive to the dance studio took about fifteen minutes, winding through the neighbouring suburbs. You sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the familiar brick houses and sun-baked front lawns rolled by in a blur. The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, turning the harsh glare into a heavy, golden haze.
The dance studio was located in an old, repurposed warehouse complex tucked behind a bustling strip mall. It wasn't exactly prestigious, there were no sparkling chandeliers, fancy waiting rooms, or state-of-the-art sprung floors. It was just a massive, corrugated iron building with a faded sign that read Rhythm & Move Dance Academy above a set of heavy, dented double doors. But the moment you stepped inside, it felt like magic.
"I'll be back at five-thirty to pick you up!" your mom called out, keeping the car idling near the curb. "Have fun! And remember to stretch!"
"I will! Bye!"
You slung your duffel bag over your shoulder and pushed open the heavy front doors. You were immediately hit by the familiar, comforting wall of sensory overload.
The studio smelled overwhelmingly of cheap hairspray, floor wax, and the lingering, humid scent of dozens of sweating teenagers. From down the long, dimly lit hallway, the heavy, thumping bass of a pop song vibrated violently through the floorboards, rattling the framed photos of past dance troupes hanging crookedly on the walls.
You walked straight toward the front desk, a large, cluttered wooden counter completely covered in sign-in sheets, forgotten plastic water bottles, and scattered neon flyers for upcoming showcases.
Sitting behind the desk was Barb. Barb was an absolute institution at Rhythm & Move. She was a woman in her late fifties with aggressively teased auburn hair, reading glasses perched on the end of a long, beaded chain around her neck, and a permanent, brightly coloured acrylic manicure. She was furiously typing on a clunky, outdated desktop computer, a piece of mint chewing gum snapping rhythmically in her mouth.
"G'day, Barb," you smiled, dropping your duffel bag onto the squeaky linoleum floor.
Barb looked up over the rim of her reading glasses, her face instantly breaking into a wide, familiar grin. Her bracelets clattered loudly against the keyboard. "Well, if it isn't my favourite hip-hop star. G'day, sweetheart. How was school? You surviving this awful heat?"
"Barely," you laughed, leaning your elbows against the high counter. "I reckon the school oval is going to catch fire by Friday if it doesn't rain."
"You're not wrong, darl, it's an absolute scorcher out there today," Barb agreed, hitting the enter key with a loud, acrylic clack. "I've had the fans in the studios on full blast since noon. Now, don't forget to sign in. Miss Clara is already warming up Studio Two, so you'd better get your skates on."
You grabbed the cheap biro pen tied to the desk with a piece of string and quickly scribbled your name onto the damp sign-in sheet.
"Oh, wait!" you gasped, suddenly remembering your promise. You stood up on your tiptoes to peer over the high counter. "Before I go in, Barb, do you have any spare enrolment slips? The pink ones for new students?"
Barb raised a painted, perfectly arched eyebrow, leaning back in her squeaky office chair. "Ooh, bringing us a new recruit, are we? Anyone I know?"
"He's my new neighbour," you explained eagerly, the excitement bubbling back up in your chest. "He just moved here from the Blue Mountains. He's exactly my age, and he used to do street dance at his old school. He's heaps good. He wants to join the Wednesday class with me."
"Brilliant! We always need more boys in the hip-hop crew, they bring great energy to the routines," Barb beamed enthusiastically. She spun around in her chair and yanked open a notoriously sticky filing cabinet behind her desk. She rifled through a few folders before pulling out a crisp, bright pink piece of paper. She slid it across the wooden counter toward you. "Here you go, sweetheart. Tell his mum to fill out both sides, especially the emergency contacts, we've got to have those, and bring it back next week to the desk before class starts."
"Thank you, Barb! You're an absolute legend!"
You grabbed the pink slip, folding it carefully in half. You unzipped the small front pocket of your duffel bag and tucked it safely inside, making sure it wouldn't get crushed or stained by your water bottle.
"Have a good class, darl!" Barb called after you as you grabbed your bag and sprinted down the hallway.
You pushed open the heavy wooden door to Studio Two, the heavy bass of the music hitting you square in the chest like a physical weight.
The room was massive and completely unpretentious. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors that were already beginning to fog up slightly at the edges from the collective body heat in the room. The wooden floorboards were scuffed with black marks from thousands of sneakers. About fifteen other kids, mostly your age or a year older, were scattered around the room, dropping their bags against the back wall and doing half-hearted stretches.
"Alright, Year Sixes and Sevens, let's go! Into the center!" Miss Clara clapped her hands loudly, abruptly cutting the music from the stereo system in the corner. She was a fiercely energetic woman in her twenties, wearing baggy grey sweatpants and a bright neon pink tank top. "We have a brand new routine starting today, so I want maximum focus and maximum energy! Let's get these warm-ups done!"
You quickly swapped your sandals for your lightweight sneakers, threw your duffel bag against the wall alongside the others, and jogged into the middle of the floor to find your spot.
The next hour was an absolute blur of sweat, loud music, and intense physical exertion.
Miss Clara didn't take it easy on you just because there was a heatwave outside. She cranked the volume on the stereo, a high-energy mashup of Pitbull, Flo Rida, and LMFAO, and pushed the class relentlessly through the new choreography. Hip-hop was completely different from the stiff, structured rules of the classroom. It was loud, it was messy, and it required you to throw your entire body into every single movement.
You struggled through the new footwork, getting your sneakers tangled up in a complex slide-and-step combination, laughing breathlessly when you accidentally bumped shoulders with the girl next to you. You practiced popping your chest, dropping low to the floor, and finding the heavy down-beat rhythm of the music.
As you danced, staring at your flushed reflection in the fogged-up mirrors, your mind kept drifting back to Felix.
You pictured him standing in this exact room next Wednesday. You remembered what he had said to you under the shade of the wattle tree, that when he danced, he didn't feel quiet, or shy, or small. He felt loud. You tried to imagine the terrified boy who had hidden behind his father's leg suddenly hitting these aggressive hip-hop moves with perfect precision. It was almost impossible to fully picture, but the thought of it made a thrilling rush of adrenaline course through your veins. You could not wait to see it.
By the time five-thirty rolled around, you were absolutely exhausted. Your chest was heaving, and your singlet was clinging uncomfortably to your back.
"Great work today, everyone!" Miss Clara yelled over the final fading chords of the music, using a small white towel to wipe the sweat from her forehead. "Practice those eight-counts at home! I don't want to see any messy or lazy footwork next Wednesday! Grab your bags and get out of here, drink plenty of water!"
You collapsed onto the scuffed floorboards for a few seconds, staring up at the corrugated iron ceiling to catch your breath, before dragging yourself over to your duffel bag. Your face was flushed a brilliant red, and your legs felt like absolute jelly.
You unzipped the front pocket, letting out a huge sigh of relief when you saw the bright pink enrolment slip still sitting there, perfectly flat and completely unscathed.
You waved a tired goodbye to Miss Clara and Barb on your way out, pushing through the heavy double doors and stepping back out into the Australian evening.
The brutal edge of the heatwave had finally broken, leaving behind a thick, warm, and intensely humid evening. The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the Sydney sky in sweeping streaks of bruised purple, violent orange, and soft pink. The deafening roar of the cicadas was slowly transitioning into the quieter chirping of the evening crickets.
Your mom’s silver sedan was idling near the curb exactly where she had dropped you off.
You climbed into the passenger seat, letting out a long dramatic groan as your tired muscles sank into the cool leather upholstery.
"Good workout?" your mom laughed, putting the car into gear and pulling away from the curb.
"I am completely dead," you announced, dramatically throwing your arm over your eyes to block out the setting sun. "I don't think my legs work anymore. Miss Clara is actively trying to kill us."
"Well, you smell like a wet dog, so she definitely made you work for it," she teased, reaching over to turn the air-conditioning vents directly onto your flushed face. "Did you remember to ask Barb for the slip for Felix?"
You sat up slightly, patting the front pocket of your duffel bag. "Got it right here. Hey, Mum, can we go straight to his house when we get back? I want to give it to him before dinner."
"Sure thing," your mom smiled. "It'll be nice for you to have a buddy in that class. Especially someone who lives so close. Min and I can easily take turns doing the carpool run on Wednesday afternoons."
The drive back to your neighbourhood was peaceful. You watched the streetlights flicker on one by one as the golden hour faded into dusk. The suburban streets were quiet, smelling faintly of freshly cut grass and the occasional, mouth-watering waft of a backyard barbecue.
When your mom finally pulled the car into your driveway, you didn't even bother going inside your own house first.
You slung your duffel bag over your shoulder, unzipped the front pocket, grabbed the pink piece of paper, and hopped out of the car. "I'll be right back, Mom!"
You walked across the dry, yellowed grass of your front lawn, stepping over the low wooden property line, and marched straight up the Lee family's driveway.
Their house looked incredibly warm and inviting. The lights were on in the front living room, casting a soft glow through the drawn curtains. You could hear the muffled sound of a television playing a cartoon, and the incredible smell of toasted sesame oil and garlic wafted through the front flyscreen door.
You stepped up onto their front porch, suddenly feeling a tiny spike of nervousness flutter in your stomach. This was the first time you were actually knocking on their door by yourself.
You raised your hand and rapped your knuckles three times against the wooden frame of the screen door.
"I'll get it!" a small, high-pitched voice shrieked from inside.
A second later, the heavy wooden front door swung open, revealing Olivia. She was wearing a pair of wildly colourful pyjamas and holding a half-eaten carrot stick in one hand.
"Oh, hi!" she beamed, her eyes widening behind her messy bangs. "Are we going to the beach again? Because I can't find my pink goggles."
You laughed, shaking your head. "Not tonight, Liv. I'm too tired. Is Felix here?"
"Who is it, Olivia?" a woman's voice called out from further down the hallway.
Mrs. Lee, Min, appeared behind her daughter, wiping her hands on a floral kitchen apron. When she saw you standing on the porch, her face immediately broke into a warm welcoming smile. "Oh, hello sweetheart! Come in, come in, the bugs are terrible out there tonight."
"Hi, Mrs. Lee," you smiled back politely, staying planted on the porch. "It's okay, I'm super sweaty from dance class, I don't want to mess up your hallway. I just came to drop something off for Felix."
"Dance class!" Mrs. Lee's eyes lit up with immediate recognition. She turned her head toward the hallway, raising her voice. "Yongbok! Your friend is at the door!"
You blinked in surprise. Yongbok?
Before you could ask who that was, the sound of hurried sock-clad footsteps echoed loudly down the hardwood hallway.
Felix skidded around the corner, nearly crashing right into his mother's back. He was wearing an incredibly oversized faded grey t-shirt and loose sweatpants, his dark coppery-brown hair messy and sticking up in several different directions as if he had been lying on the floor.
When he saw you standing on the other side of the flyscreen door, his entire face illuminated.
"You're back!" he said, slightly out of breath. He gently pushed past his sister to stand right at the mesh screen.
"I told you I'd come over this arvo," you grinned, thoroughly enjoying the uncontainable excitement radiating off him. You reached through the unlatched screen door and held out the bright pink piece of paper. "I got it. Barb at the front desk said your mom just needs to fill out both sides, and you can bring it in next Wednesday before class starts."
Felix took the slip from your hand with a reverence usually reserved for handling delicate glass. He stared down at the bold Rhythm & Move Dance Academy logo printed across the top. His hands were actually trembling slightly.
He didn't just look happy; he looked completely, utterly overwhelmed with gratitude. It wasn't just a piece of paper to him. It was a ticket back to the one thing he felt truly confident doing, and it was undeniable proof that you had kept your promise to him. He finally had a friend he could rely on.
"I got it," he whispered, tracing the edge of the pink paper with his thumb.
Mrs. Lee leaned over his shoulder, looking at the slip with a knowing smile. "I'll fill it out tonight while you do your homework, Felix. It's so wonderful that you two can go together. Thank you so much for bringing this over, sweetheart."
"It's no worries at all, Mrs. Lee," you beamed.
Felix finally looked up from the paper, his dark eyes locking onto yours. The porch light above your head suddenly clicked on automatically, casting a golden glow over his face and highlighting the beautifull constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks. The boyish, gap-toothed smile that stretched across his face was unequivocally the most wonderful thing you had seen all day.
"Thank you," he said softly, his expressive eyes holding a universe of unspoken appreciation. "Really. Thank you."
"You're welcome," you smiled warmly. "You'd better start practicing your Melbourne Shuffle, though. Miss Clara doesn't mess around. If your footwork is sloppy, she'll make you do fifty pushups."
Felix's eyes widened in comical horror, but his massive grin didn't falter for a second. "I'll practice right now. I'll practice in the living room."
"Don't you dare break my good vases, Yongbok!" his mother scolded playfully, swatting him gently on the shoulder with her tea towel before disappearing back down the hallway to the kitchen. Olivia had also wandered off, distracted by the cartoon blaring from the living room, leaving just the two of you at the screen door.
You hesitated for a second, your curiosity finally getting the better of you.
"Hey, so..." you started, tilting your head slightly. "Who is Yongbok? Is that your middle name or something?"
Felix's massive grin instantly vanished. He winced, a full-body shudder rippling through his small frame, and his ears turned a violent shade of red. He looked down at his socked feet, suddenly looking incredibly embarrassed.
"It's... my Korean name," he mumbled, his boyish voice dropping to a mortified whisper.
"Yongbok?" you repeated, testing the syllables on your tongue. "I like it. It sounds cool."
"It's not cool," he groaned, bringing his free hand up to bury his flushed face in his palm. "It sounds like an old man's name in Korea. My grandpa gave it to me. I hate it so much. Please don't call me that at school."
You laughed softly at his dramatic reaction, finding it completely endearing. "Okay, okay, I won't tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me, Felix."
He peeked at you through his fingers, letting out a heavy sigh of relief. "Thanks. Seriously."
"I'll see you tomorrow," you smiled, taking a step back off the porch. The cool evening breeze washed over your sweaty skin, offering a sweet relief from the day's heat.
"See you tomorrow!" he called after you, his voice ringing clear into the evening air, the embarrassment already fading.
You walked back through your own front door, the smell of your mom cooking dinner hitting your nose. You were utterly exhausted, your leg muscles ached fiercely, and your sunburn was stinging slightly beneath your singlet. But as you dropped your duffel bag in the hallway and listened to the distant sound of the television next door, you felt completely invincible.
Harper Jones didn't matter. The brutal social hierarchy of Year 6 didn't matter. You had a best friend, and next Wednesday, you were finally going to see exactly how loud the quiet boy next door could be.
➺ summary: you finally stand up to harper's behavior, choosing to ditch her and find felix hiding alone at recess. bonding over snacks and a shared love for hip-hop breaks the ice, turning the lonely new kid into a fast friend.
The second day of Year 6 started much like the first, completely bathed in the suffocating, unrelenting heat of the Australian summer.
When your alarm clock blared its annoying electronic tune, you didn't groan or roll over like you usually did. Instead, you were already awake, staring up at the slowly rotating blades of the ceiling fan. You had slept terribly. Every time you had closed your eyes, your brain had unhelpfully replayed the image of the freckled boy next door, his face flushed red with humiliation as he clutched his lunchbox and practically ran away from the Moreton Bay Fig tree.
The guilt was a heavy thing sitting right at the bottom of your stomach. It felt like you had swallowed a handful of gravel.
You dragged yourself out of bed, your bare feet hitting the warm floorboards. You went through the motions of your morning routine on autopilot. You brushed your teeth, tied your hair back into a tight ponytail, and slathered on the mandatory layer of SPF 50+ sunscreen, the thick, coconut-scented lotion doing nothing to settle your churning stomach. You pulled on your stiff senior uniform, the white button-down shirt already feeling restrictive.
In the kitchen, your mother was humming along to the morning radio, pouring milk over a bowl of Weet-Bix.
"Morning, sweetheart," she chirped, sliding the bowl across the kitchen island toward you. "Sleep well? Ready for day two?"
"Yeah," you mumbled, picking up your spoon. You didn't feel hungry in the slightest, the gravel in your stomach leaving no room for breakfast, but you forced yourself to eat three bites of the soggy cereal just to appease her.
You kept glancing at the clock on the microwave. The glowing green numbers ticked closer and closer to 8:15 AM. You quickly rinsed your bowl in the sink, grabbed your heavy backpack, and practically bolted out the front door.
"Have a good day! Don't forget your hat!" your mother called out after you.
"Got it! Bye, Mom!"
You stood on your front porch for a long moment, the morning sun already aggressive enough to make you squint. You looked over at the Lee house. The silver station wagon was still parked in the driveway, and the front door was firmly shut. You took a few steps down your driveway, hovering near the wooden palings of the fence that separated your properties. You waited. You kicked a stray pebble across the concrete, listening to the cicadas, which were already winding up for their deafening daily concert.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. You checked your watch. If you didn't leave now, you were going to be late, and Harper was probably already throwing a fit at your usual meeting spot.
With a heavy sigh, you adjusted the straps of your backpack and began the walk to school alone.
You had hoped to catch him. You had hoped that maybe, if you walked out of your house at the exact same time, you could walk with him. You could prove to him that yesterday afternoon wasn't a fluke, that you genuinely wanted to be his friend, and that you weren't going to let Harper dictate who you talked to. But the pavement was empty. The walk felt twice as long without the nervous energy of wondering if you should speak to the boy walking two paces behind you.
When you reached the corner of Miller Street, right next to the dented, sun-faded red postbox, Harper was waiting.
She looked immaculate, as always. Her blonde hair was perfect, her uniform was crisp, and her wrists were loaded with the familiar, noisy stack of colorful bracelets. She was tapping her black leather school shoe against the curb impatiently.
"Finally," Harper groaned as you approached, throwing her hands up in the air. The bracelets clattered together like wind chimes in a storm. "I was literally about to leave you. I am sweating heaps. Why are you so late?"
"I'm not that late," you said defensively, falling into step beside her as you both headed toward the main road. "I was just... looking for something."
"Well, whatever," Harper huffed, instantly launching into her usual morning gossip. "So, you know Sarah Adams? She brought a flip phone to school yesterday. Like, an actual phone. I think she thinks she's suddenly a teenager just because we're in Year 6. It's so embarrassing."
You let her talk for a solid block, the rhythmic slapping of your shoes against the pavement keeping time with her chatter. But the gravel in your stomach was grinding. You couldn't just let yesterday go. You had promised Felix –well, you had promised yourself, really– that you would say something. You were the only person in the school who even knew his name, and if you didn't stand up for him, no one would.
"Harper," you interrupted suddenly. Your voice came out a little louder, a little sharper than you intended.
Harper stopped mid-sentence, looking at you with a mix of surprise and annoyance. "What?"
You took a deep breath of the hot, eucalyptus-scented air. "You need to apologize to Felix."
"Who?" Harper scrunched up her nose, her perfectly plucked eyebrows knitting together in confusion.
"Felix. The new boy. The one you yelled at under the tree yesterday," you clarified, your heart beginning to pound against your ribs. Confronting Harper was dangerous territory. She was the queen bee of your little social circle, and crossing her usually meant you'd be subjected to days of passive-aggressive silent treatment. But you pushed through the fear. "You were incredibly mean to him. He was just trying to say hi, and you completely humiliated him."
Harper stopped walking. She planted her feet on the hot concrete and crossed her arms over her chest, her expression instantly hardening. The playful, gossipy demeanor vanished, replaced by the fierce, territorial glare she usually reserved for girls in rival cliques.
"Are you serious right now?" Harper asked, her voice dropping an octave. "You're still on this? I told you, I did us a favor. He was being a weirdo."
"He wasn't being a weirdo, he was being shy!" you argued back, stopping to face her. "He just moved here. He doesn't know anyone. Imagine how you would feel if you walked up to someone on your first day and they looked at you like you were garbage. You owe him an apology, Harper. I mean it."
Harper let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. "I don't owe him anything. And I am not apologizing to some random kid who can't even speak in a full sentence. If you want to go hold his hand and be the patron saint of the losers, be my guest. But don't expect me to tank my social life for it."
"It's not about tanking your social life, it's about being a decent person!" you shot back, your hands balling into fists at your sides.
"Whatever," Harper rolled her eyes, clearly done with the conversation. She turned around and started walking again, her pace much faster than before. "I'm not talking about this anymore. It's stupid."
You stood there for a second, fuming, before jogging slightly to catch up with her. The rest of the walk to the school gates was thick with a tense silence. The Australian summer was boiling around you, but the space between you and your best friend was absolutely freezing.
When you finally reached the school, the playground was already a chaotic mess of screaming kids, bouncing handballs, and teachers blowing whistles. You navigated through the breezeways, the air smelling strongly of sunscreen and floor wax. You and Harper didn't say a single word to each other as you walked down the corridor toward Class 6B.
Harper pushed the classroom door open, her bracelets jangling as she marched straight toward your desks at the back of the room, completely ignoring you.
You followed her inside, your eyes automatically scanning the room.
And there he was.
Felix must have arrived at school incredibly early, while you were still waiting by your fence. He was already sitting in his seat in the second row. His heavy backpack was tucked neatly under his chair. His back was rigidly straight, his shoulders tense, and his head was bowed low. He had a blank notebook open on his desk, and he was staring down at it, a pencil grasped tightly in his hand, though he didn't seem to be drawing anything.
He looked like he was bracing himself for impact. He looked like he was just trying to survive.
You paused in the aisle, your heart aching. You wanted to walk over to him. You wanted to tap him on the shoulder, say good morning, and tell him that you had yelled at Harper on the way here. You wanted to see those freckles crinkle with a smile.
But from the back of the room, Harper dropped her sequined pencil case onto her desk with a loud, aggressive thud, the sound ringing out like a warning shot in the quiet classroom.
You flinched. The fear of social exile grabbed you by the collar again. Cowardice won out over bravery. You lowered your eyes, walked past Felix without saying a word, and took your seat next to Harper just as the morning bell began to scream.
The morning session felt like it lasted for a century.
Mrs. Gable had decided that the second day of Year 6 was the perfect time to launch straight into a heavy numeracy block. The whiteboard was quickly covered in complex fractions and long division problems. The ceiling fans in the classroom spun lazily, doing absolutely nothing to cut through the sweltering heat that was slowly baking the room.
You usually liked math, but today, you couldn't focus on a single number. You just kept staring at the back of Felix's head.
He was so quiet. He didn't drop his pencil, he didn't ask to go to the toilet, he didn't even shift his weight in his plastic blue chair. Whenever Mrs. Gable asked a question to the class, he seemed to shrink even further into his oversized uniform, terrified that she might call on him. The tension radiating off his small frame was palpable. It made your chest tight.
Next to you, Harper was aggressively writing notes, occasionally sighing loudly to let you know she was still mad at you. The fight you had on the way to school was hanging over both of your heads.
When the 11:00 AM recess bell finally rang, the relief in the classroom was instantaneous.
"Alright, hats on, everyone! Enjoy your break!" Mrs. Gable called out, wiping the whiteboard clean.
The usual stampede ensued. You grabbed your school hat and your plastic lunchbox, following Harper out the door. The unspoken rule of your fight was that you were still best friends, which meant you still had to sit together.
You marched down the concrete stairs and out onto the blindingly bright asphalt. The heat radiating off the ground was intense, shimmering in the air like a mirage. You practically sprinted toward the massive Moreton Bay Fig tree, eager to escape the sun.
Harper claimed her spot on the thickest root, dropping her bag with a huff. She immediately opened her lunchbox, which today contained a perfectly cut chicken sandwich, and launched into a story about something her older sister had done over the weekend, acting as if the argument from the morning had never happened.
You sat opposite her, nodding along automatically, your eyes scanning the playground.
The Year 5s were dominating the handball courts, their rubber bouncy balls smacking loudly against the pavement. A massive game of tiggy was tearing across the grass oval. A huge line was forming outside the tuckshop, kids clutching loose coins to buy frozen juice cups and meat pies.
But you couldn't see Felix.
You scanned the crowds near the breezeways, you checked the shaded areas near the bubblers, you even squinted toward the far fence line where the jacaranda trees grew. Nothing. He was nowhere to be seen. He hadn't followed you out of the classroom, and he certainly hadn't come anywhere near the fig tree.
Panic, sudden and sharp, flared in your chest. What if he was hiding in the toilets? What if he was so scared of Harper, and so disappointed in your silence this morning, that he was just hiding away from the entire school?
You looked down at your lunchbox. You hadn't even opened it. The thought of sitting here in the cool shade, pretending everything was fine while Felix was hiding in fear, made you feel physically sick.
You had to find him.
"Hey," you interrupted Harper mid-sentence, your voice a little breathless. You stood up quickly, brushing the dirt off your pleated uniform skirt.
Harper paused, a piece of chicken sandwich halfway to her mouth. "What?"
"I, um... I have to go," you stammered, your brain racing to formulate a believable lie. "I left my math workbook on my desk and Mrs. Gable said we have to finish the worksheet for homework. If I don't grab it now, she locks the classroom."
Harper rolled her eyes, letting out a long, exasperated sigh. "You are so disorganized today. Hurry up, you're missing the story."
"I'll be right back," you promised, already turning away.
You power-walked across the asphalt, weaving through the chaotic games of handball and dodgeball. As soon as you were out of Harper's line of sight, you bypassed the classroom block entirely and headed straight for the oval.
The sun beat down relentlessly against your school hat. You felt the sweat gathering at the nape of your neck, your heavy black shoes sinking slightly into the dry, yellowed grass of the field. You walked the entire perimeter of the oval, your eyes darting everywhere.
Where are you? you thought frantically.
You checked the shaded areas near the library. Empty. You checked the metal benches near the water bubblers. Nothing but a group of Year 3 boys splashing each other.
Finally, you turned a corner near the front gates of the school. This area was usually out of bounds during playtime, as it was too close to the main road, but there was a small cluster of wooden benches tucked underneath a dense wattle tree, completely hidden from the main playground.
You slowed your steps. Sitting on the furthest bench, completely secluded by the hanging yellow blossoms of the wattle tree, was Felix.
He was entirely alone. His wide-brimmed hat was sitting on the bench next to him. His knees were pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around his legs. His lunchbox sat unopened beside him. He looked so incredibly small, isolated from the noise and chaos of the school, just waiting out the clock until he could go home.
Your heart broke all over again.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and stepped out of the blinding sun and into the dappled shade of the wattle tree. Your shoes crunched softly against the fallen leaves.
Felix's head snapped up instantly. When he saw you, his dark eyes widened in sheer panic. His entire body tensed, and for a horrible second, you thought he was going to bolt. He looked past you, scanning the area over your shoulder, clearly terrified that Harper was looming right behind you, ready to deliver another cruel comment.
"It's just me," you said quickly, your voice soft and reassuring. "I'm alone. I promise."
Felix stared at you, his chest rising and falling quickly. He didn't say anything, but the wild, cornered-animal look in his eyes dimmed just a fraction. He slowly lowered his knees from his chest, planting his feet firmly on the ground.
You walked over to the bench. Every step felt incredibly heavy. You stopped a few feet away, pointing to the empty space on the wooden slats next to his lunchbox.
"Can I... can I sit down?" you asked, feeling suddenly very shy yourself.
Felix looked at the empty space, then up at you. His expression was completely unreadable. He seemed to be battling with himself, weighing the risk of you being cruel against the overwhelming loneliness of sitting by himself.
After a long moment of silence, he gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and sat down carefully, making sure to leave a polite amount of space between you. You unzipped your lunchbox, the loud tearing noise of the zipper sounding like a gunshot in the shaded area.
The silence stretched on. It was heavy with the unsaid tension of yesterday and the awkwardness of today. You could hear the distant screams of kids playing on the oval, and the ever-present hum of the cicadas above you.
You looked over at him. He was staring intensely at his black school shoes, his hands nervously picking at a loose thread on his uniform shorts. His freckles stood out starkly against his honey-colored skin, dusted across his nose and cheeks in that mesmerizing pattern.
You had to say something. You had to break the ice, or he was going to spend the rest of the year hiding under a tree.
"So," you started, your voice slightly too loud, causing him to flinch slightly. You quickly lowered your volume. "You haven't opened your lunchbox. Aren't you hungry?"
Felix kept his eyes firmly glued to his shoes. He shook his head slowly. "No."
His voice was quiet, soft, and distinctly boyish. It lacked the deep, rumbling resonance of an older boy, instead holding the high, slightly raspy cadence of an eleven-year-old who was entirely unsure of himself.
"You should eat something," you pressed gently, digging into your own lunchbox. "It's heaps hot today. You'll feel sick if you don't eat."
You pulled out a small, plastic-wrapped snack. "Look. My mum packed me a roll-up. Do you wantt half?"
You held out the sticky, strawberry-flavored fruit leather toward him. It was a peace offering. A sugary olive branch.
Felix finally looked up. He looked at the roll-up, then his dark eyes flicked up to meet yours. For the first time since you met him, he didn't immediately look away. He searched your face, his gaze intense and incredibly vulnerable, looking for any trace of a trick, any hidden cruelty.
Slowly, his hand reached out. His fingers brushed against yours, his skin was surprisingly warm as he took the snack.
"Thanks," he mumbled softly.
You smiled, a genuine smile, and took a bite of your own lunch. The ice wasn't completely broken, but the first major crack had just formed.
Sitting with Felix under the wattle tree was wildly different from sitting with Harper under the fig tree.
With Harper, the air was always filled with noise. It was a constant barrage of gossip, complaints about the heat, and dramatic reenactments of whatever happened on the weekend. The silence was never allowed to settle.
With Felix, the silence was everything. But surprisingly, as the minutes ticked by and he slowly chewed on the strawberry roll-up you had given him, the silence started to lose its suffocating edge. It became less awkward and more... peaceful. The dappled sunlight filtered through the yellow blossoms above, casting moving shadows across his dark brown hair.
You desperately wanted to talk to him, to know more about the boy who lived next door, but you were terrified of spooking him again. You realized quickly that if you wanted a conversation, you were going to have to do all the heavy lifting. You had to talk enough for the both of you, until he felt safe enough to join in.
"It's so hot today," you blurted out, cringing internally at how painfully cliché it sounded. "I wish the tuckshop wasn't so crowded. I'd kill for a Zooper Dooper right now."
Felix paused mid-chew. He looked at you, a confused crease appearing between his eyebrows. "A what?"
You gasped, your eyes widening in genuine, absolute horror. You dropped your half-eaten sandwich back into your lunchbox. "A Zooper Dooper? Are you serious? You don't know what a Zooper Dooper is?"
Felix shrank back slightly, his eyes darting down as if he had just given the wrong answer on a math test. "No... I don't think so."
"Felix, it's literally the best thing about summer in Australia," you explained passionately, leaning forward slightly. The excitement in your voice seemed to ease his nerves, and he looked back up at you, his dark eyes wide and attentive. "It's this long plastic tube of flavored ice. You freeze them and then you have to snap them in half, and they always cut the corners of your mouth, but they're so good. The fairy floss flavor is elite, but cola is pretty heaps good too."
A tiny, barely-there smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It was the first time you had ever seen him look remotely amused. "Fairy floss ice?"
"It's amazing," you promised solemnly. "I'll make my mom buy a pack and I'll bring you one tomorrow. You have to try it. It's basically a primary school requirement."
He ducked his head, hiding his face behind the brim of his hat, but you could see the apples of his cheeks pushing up. He was definitely smiling.
Encouraged by this massive victory, you kept talking. You realized that as long as you weren't asking him probing questions, he was perfectly happy to listen. He was a phenomenal listener.
You rambled about whatever came to your mind. You told him about your absolute obsession with sea animals.
"I went to the aquarium in Darling Harbour over the holidays," you told him, gesturing wildly with your hands to emphasize the size of the tanks. "They have these dugongs, right? They're basically sea cows. They just float around eating lettuce all day. It's the best life ever. I think I want to be a marine biologist when I grow up. Or maybe just a dugong."
Felix let out a soft, breathy sound. It took you a second to realize it was a laugh. It was a small, quiet chuckle, but it felt like you had just won the lottery.
"What about you?" you asked gently, deciding to test the waters. "What do you like? Besides video games, because your sister Olivia already snitched on you for that."
Felix's eyes widened slightly, a blush dusting across his freckles at the mention of his little sister. "She talks too much."
"She definitely does," you laughed. "So, what else? What do you do for fun?"
He hesitated. The nervous energy returned for a fleeting second. His hands went back to picking at the loose thread on his shorts. He looked down, his thick eyelashes casting long shadows on his cheeks. "I... I like music. And..." He stopped, swallowing hard as if the words were trapped in his throat.
"And what?" you prompted softly, leaning closer. You made sure your voice was as open and non-judgmental as possible.
Felix took a deep breath. He looked up at you through his eyelashes, his dark eyes searching yours one last time before he confessed. "I like dancing."
You blinked, genuinely surprised. "Dancing? Like, ballet?"
"No, no," he said quickly, his hands flying up as if to physically wave the thought away. The panic in his boyish voice was almost comical. "Not ballet. Like... hip-hop. Street dance. Just... moving, I guess."
"That's so cool!" you exclaimed, and you meant it. The boys at your school usually only cared about rugby or cricket. Dancing was something entirely new. "Are you good at it?"
The blush on his face deepened until his ears were bright red. He shrugged, looking incredibly embarrassed but secretly pleased by your reaction. "I don't know. I guess. I used to go to a studio near my old school. I went three times a week."
"No way," you grinned, feeling a sudden spark of connection. "I dance too! Well, I try to. I do hip-hop at this studio a few suburbs over. It's in this old warehouse, and the floor smells like cheap wax and sweat, but it's heaps of fun."
When you looked at him, the change in his demeanor was breathtaking.
The terrified, hunch-shouldered boy was entirely gone. As you talked about the dance studio, about the feeling of the music vibrating through the floorboards, he looked up at you with wide, mesmerized eyes. It was like someone had suddenly flipped a switch inside him.
The guarded, defensive look was replaced by pure, unadulterated wonder. His dark brown eyes caught the dappled sunlight filtering through the wattle tree, making them shine brilliantly. He looked at you as if you were the only person in the entire world, hanging onto every single word you said. It literally looked like he had stars in his eyes.
"You dance?" he asked, his voice filled with a quiet, breathless excitement.
"Yeah," you nodded, smiling back at him.
"I... I really miss it," Felix confessed, his voice dropping to a soft whisper. He looked down at his hands, his fingers tapping out a silent, erratic rhythm against his kneecaps. "My parents said they would look for a new studio around here, but... I don't know anywhere. I want to start again. I love it. When I dance, I don't feel..." He trailed off, struggling to find the right words. He gestured vaguely to himself, to his oversized uniform and his hunched posture. "I don't feel like this. I feel loud."
Your heart swelled. For the first time, you were seeing the real Felix beneath the crippling shyness. You were seeing the passion, the quiet confidence that he was desperately hiding away.
"You should come to my studio," you blurted out without even thinking.
Felix's head snapped up, the stars in his eyes flaring brighter. "Really?"
"Yeah, absolutely," you nodded enthusiastically. "I have my hip-hop class on Wednesdays. It's mostly beginners, but the teacher is awesome. You should ask your mom. We could... we could go together, if you want. Since we live next door and all."
Felix stared at you. The constellation of freckles across his face shifted as a massive, radiant smile broke across his face. It transformed him completely. He didn't look like the terrified new kid anymore; he looked like a bright, beautiful boy who had just found a lifeline.
"I'll ask her," he said, his boyish voice trembling slightly with excitement. "I promise."
Before you could say anything else, the electronic shriek of the school bell cut through the air, signaling the end of recess.
The spell under the wattle tree was broken. You both jumped slightly at the noise. The distant screams of the playground immediately shifted into the groans of students being forced back to class.
You stood up, brushing the dirt off your skirt, and grabbed your lunchbox. Felix did the same, picking up his wide-brimmed hat and placing it carefully on his head.
"We should go back," you said, suddenly remembering that you had to face Harper again. The anxiety flared back up, but as you looked at Felix, it didn't feel as crippling as before.
Felix gave a small nod. He took a step out from under the shade of the tree, into the blinding Australian sun. He didn't hunch his shoulders as much. He didn't look quite as terrified of the world.
He looked back at you, the ghost of that radiant smile still lingering on his lips.
"Hey," he said softly. "Thank you. For the roll-up. And... for sitting with me."
"Anytime," you smiled, meaning it with every fiber of your being. "Come on, let's go before Mrs. Gable locks us out."
As you walked back toward the classroom block, side-by-side this time, you realized that Harper's rules didn't matter anymore. You had just made a friend, and he was the most interesting person you had ever met.
Walking back to the classroom block with Felix felt entirely different than the walk you had taken earlier that morning. The oppressive guilt that had been sitting in your stomach all day had finally dissolved, replaced by a fluttering sense of accomplishment. You had done it. You had reached out, and he hadn't run away.
Felix walked beside you, not two paces behind, but right next to you. He still kept his head ducked slightly to avoid the blinding sun, but his shoulders weren't drawn up to his ears anymore. The defensive tension had melted out of his small frame.
As you both rounded the corner and stepped into the shaded breezeway outside Class 6B, the final warning bell shrieked overhead.
"Just in time," you breathed a sigh of relief, pulling your wide-brimmed hat off your sweaty forehead.
Felix mirrored your action, taking off his hat and running a hand through his dark, coppery-brown hair to flatten it down. He gave you another small, shy smile– a secret, shared look that made you feel incredibly proud, before he turned and slipped through the classroom door, heading straight for his desk at the front of the room.
You took a deep breath, the smell of floor wax and stale air conditioning hitting your nose, and walked in after him.
The moment you stepped through the doorway, your eyes locked onto the back of the room. Harper was already sitting at her desk. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her posture rigid, and her blue eyes were narrowed into a fierce glare. She had watched Felix walk in, and then she had watched you walk in directly behind him. She was smart enough to connect the dots.
Your stomach did a nervous little flip. The grace period was over.
You walked down the aisle, your black leather shoes squeaking faintly on the linoleum, and slid into the plastic blue chair next to hers. You didn't even have time to unzip your pencil case before she leaned over, her voice a sharp whisper.
"Where were you?" she demanded, her bracelets clinking as she gripped the edge of your desk. "I waited by the bubblers for, like, ten minutes. You never came back to the tree."
You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly feeling incredibly dry. You could lie. It would be so easy to say you got held up by Mrs. Gable, or that you couldn't find your math workbook and had to search the library. It would save you from her wrath.
But then you looked toward the front of the room. Felix was sitting quietly, taking his notebook out of his bag. He was the nicest, most interesting person you had talked to all year, and he had looked so incredibly lonely sitting under that wattle tree.
"I didn't go to the classroom," you confessed, keeping your voice low so the surrounding kids wouldn't hear. You squared your shoulders, forcing yourself to look Harper directly in the eye. "I went to find Felix."
Harper stared at you. For a second, her expression was completely blank, as if her brain simply couldn't compute the words you had just spoken. Then, an ugly look of betrayal twisted her features.
"Are you serious?" she hissed, her voice rising slightly before she caught herself. She leaned in closer, her eyes flashing. "You ditched me? On the second day of Year 6, you left me sitting alone under the tree for... for him?"
"You weren't alone, Harper, Sarah and Chloe were right there," you argued, your heart beginning to pound a frantic rhythm against your ribs. "And I didn't ditch you. I just went to check on him. He was sitting completely by himself."
"I don't care!" Harper snapped. "You lied to me! And for what? For some weird kid who can't even talk? Oh my god, you're leaving me for a boy. You're actually ditching your best friend for a boy you don't even know."
"I'm not leaving you for a boy!" you whisper-yelled back, your cheeks flushing a hot red. "That's stupid. I'm just trying to be nice. He lives right next door to me, Harper. And he's actually really cool once you get to know him."
Harper scoffed, a sound dripping with concentrated middle-school condescension. She looked you up and down, as if she suddenly didn't recognize the person sitting next to her. "He's a loser. If you start hanging around him, everyone is going to think you're a loser too. I am trying to protect you."
"I don't need protecting," you said firmly, surprising yourself with the steady tone of your own voice. The fear of losing her friendship was still there, buzzing in the back of your mind, but it was being rapidly overshadowed by a sudden fierce protectiveness over Felix. "He's my friend now, Harper. Whether you like it or not. And if I'm going to stay your friend, you have to be nice to him. I mean it. No more glaring, no more calling him a creep."
Harper's jaw dropped. You had never, not once in the three years you had known her, given her an ultimatum. You had always been the agreeable sidekick.
Before she could formulate a devastating comeback, Mrs. Gable clapped her hands loudly at the front of the room.
"Alright, Year 6, settle down!" the teacher called out, her voice cutting through the lingering playground chatter. "Math workbooks out, please. Let's get through these fractions so we can move on to reading time."
Harper snapped her mouth shut, her face a mask of absolute fury. She spun around in her chair, turning her back to you as much as physically possible, and aggressively flipped open her math workbook. She didn't speak to you for the rest of the afternoon. She didn't ask to borrow a gel pen, she didn't complain about the heat, she just radiated a cold silence.
It was terrifying, but as you looked toward the front of the room and saw the back of Felix's head, you knew you had made the right choice.
When the 3:00 PM bell finally screamed through the school, signaling the end of the day, Harper practically bolted. She shoved her books into her sequined bag and stormed out of the classroom without a single backwards glance, making sure everyone knew you were officially on the outs.
You packed your bag much slower, letting the classroom empty out. By the time you swung your heavy backpack over your shoulders, there were only a few kids left.
Felix was standing by his desk. He was waiting.
He didn't say anything, but as you walked down the aisle, he fell into step beside you. The two of you walked out of the school gates together, leaving the chaotic, noisy playground behind and stepping out onto the sun-baked concrete of Miller Street.
The heat of the late afternoon was brutal. The sun was beginning its slow descent, but it was still aggressively bright, baking the asphalt until it literally shimmered.
"Reckon we could fry an egg on the footpath today," you muttered, using the back of your hand to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead.
Felix let out that soft, breathy laugh that you were quickly deciding was your new favorite sound. "My dad said the same thing this morning. He hates the heat. He says he misses the cold."
"Where did you move from?" you asked, adjusting the heavy straps of your backpack.
"The Blue Mountains," Felix answered quietly, his dark eyes fixed on the pavement ahead. "It's heaps cooler up there. We had a big backyard, and it actually rained a lot. Here, it just feels like... like being inside an oven."
"Yeah, Sydney summers are brutal," you agreed. "But wait until winter. We don't get snow or anything, but it gets super rainy and cold, and the houses here aren't built for it. You'll be freezing."
Felix looked over at you, a genuine smile crinkling his freckles. "I'll hold you to that."
The walk home felt incredibly short compared to yesterday. Without the crushing awkwardness, the blocks flew by. You talked mostly about the dance studio, answering his rapid-fire questions about the teacher, the music they played, and how big the practice rooms were. You promised him you would grab a spare permission slip from the front desk on Wednesday so his parents could sign him up.
By the time you reached the adjoining driveways of your houses, you were both sweating through your school uniforms, but you were smiling.
You stopped at the wooden fence that separated your front yards. The cicadas were screaming their afternoon song, loud and rhythmic.
"Well," you said, suddenly feeling a tiny bit shy again as it was time to say goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
Felix nodded eagerly, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack. "Yeah. Tomorrow. And... don't forget the Zooper Dooper."
You laughed loudly. "I won't! Fairy floss flavor, I promise. See ya, Felix."
"Bye," he smiled.
You walked up your driveway, feeling lighter than air. You unlocked the front door and stepped into the glorious freezing oasis of your air-conditioned house.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a sticky summer haze. You managed to finish your math worksheet while sitting at the kitchen island, eating a plate of sliced watermelon your mom had put in front of you. You told her about the fight with Harper. Your mom was sympathetic, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and telling you that true friends wouldn't make you choose, and that she was proud of you for standing up for the new boy.
By 5:00 PM, the extreme edge of the heatwave had begun to soften, transitioning into a thick, humid evening. You had changed out of your suffocating school uniform and into a comfortable pair of denim shorts and a loose singlet, currently sprawled out on the living room rug, mindlessly watching cartoons.
Then, the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it!" you yelled, scrambling off the rug.
You ran down the hallway, your bare feet slapping against the floorboards, and pulled the front door open.
Standing on your front porch, bathed in the golden, late-afternoon sunlight, was Felix.
He had completely transformed. The stiff, oversized school uniform was gone. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of dark blue boardies. Without the wide-brimmed school hat hiding his face, you could fully appreciate the wild, messy spray of freckles across his nose. He looked incredibly nervous again, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his board shorts.
Standing right next to him, literally vibrating with excess energy, was his younger sister, Olivia. She was already wearing a bright pink rashie and a pair of goggles pushed up onto her forehead, clutching a plastic yellow bucket in her hands.
"Hi!" Olivia shrieked the second the door opened, not giving her brother a chance to speak. "Are you coming? Please say you're coming, Rachel is being boring and Felix won't build a sandcastle with me!"
You blinked, completely bewildered. You looked from the tiny, energetic girl up to Felix. "Coming where?"
Felix's ears turned a vibrant shade of red. He pulled one hand out of his pocket to scratch the back of his neck nervously. "Um. Hi. Sorry to bother you." His boyish voice was quiet, almost entirely drowned out by the cicadas. "My mum and dad... they're taking us down to the beach for the arvo. Just to get out of the house. It's too hot inside. And, um..."
He swallowed hard, clearly forcing himself to be brave. He looked up, his dark eyes meeting yours.
"I asked them if we could invite you," he finished quietly. "If you wanted to come. Only if you're not busy."
Your mouth fell open slightly. He had asked his parents to invite you. The boy who was so painfully shy he could barely speak to anyone on the playground had walked up to your front door, rang the bell, and invited you to the beach.
"The beach?" you repeated, a massive grin breaking across your face.
"Yeah!" Olivia yelled, swinging her yellow bucket. "Mum packed an esky with cold drinks and sandwiches. Please come! You can help me bury Felix in the sand!"
"Hey," Felix protested softly, looking down at his sister with a fond, exasperated sigh. "Don't threaten her, Liv, she might say no."
"I would love to come," you said instantly, cutting off any possibility of him doubting your answer. "That sounds heaps fun. Let me just ask my mom!"
You spun around, leaving the door wide open, and sprinted down the hallway toward the kitchen. "Mum! Mum!"
Your mother appeared from the laundry room, holding a basket of folded towels. "What is it? Who's at the door?"
"It's Felix and Olivia from next door!" you practically vibrated with excitement. "Their parents are taking them to the beach for the afternoon, and they want to know if I can go with them! Can I? Please, please, please? I've already finished my math homework!"
Your mother raised her eyebrows in surprise, looking down the hallway toward the open front door where the two Lee siblings were standing awkwardly on the porch. A warm, knowing smile spread across her face.
"Of course you can, sweetheart," she said softly. "Go grab your swimmers and a towel. I'll go out and say hello to their parents."
"Thank you!" you cheered, already bolting for your bedroom.
You had never changed so fast in your entire life. You practically ripped your clothes off, wrestling your way into your favorite swimsuit. You threw your denim shorts and singlet back on over the top, grabbed a beach towel from your closet, and slathered an extra, messy layer of sunscreen over your face. You grabbed your sunnies off your bedside table and sprinted back to the front door.
Your mother was standing on the porch, chatting amiably with Mr. and Mrs. Lee, who were waiting at the end of the driveway next to their silver station wagon. The trunk was open, revealing a large blue esky and a couple of folded beach chairs.
Felix was still standing on the porch, watching you as you rushed out, completely out of breath, a brightly colored towel slung over your shoulder.
"Ready?" he asked, a huge, genuine smile lighting up his entire face, making his freckles dance.
"Ready," you beamed back.
As you followed him down the driveway and climbed into the back seat of the hot station wagon, squished between Felix and a very loud Olivia, you realized that the sweltering heat of the Australian summer suddenly didn't feel so bad anymore. In fact, looking at the boy sitting next to you, you thought this might turn out to be the best year of your entire life.
➺ summary: the brutal reality of harper's silent treatment forces a definitive choice at the morning walk to school, and you choose felix. sitting together in class and sharing a fairy floss zooper dooper solidifies the bond. handing over the pink permission slip for dance class seals the deal, and you finally learn his deeply guarded korean name.
➺ warnings: confrontation, loss of friendship
➺ author's note: sorry for the lack of posting! i literally have zero motivation rn 😭
Wednesday morning greeted you with a dull ache in your shoulders and the lingering, unmistakable scent of salt and coconut sunscreen woven into your hair.
When your eyes fluttered open, staring up at the familiar ceiling of your bedroom, you didn't feel the usual heavy dread of the impending school day. Instead, an uncontainable smile stretched across your face. You stretched your arms above your head, wincing slightly as the skin on your shoulders pulled taut. Despite your mother’s aggressive and repeated applications of SPF 50+ yesterday afternoon, the harsh Australian sun had managed to kiss your skin with a faint pink sunburn.
It was entirely worth it.
You kicked the tangled cotton sheets off your legs, your bare feet hitting the floorboards. You could still feel the phantom sensation of sand between your toes. You threw on your stiff school uniform, the fabric irritating your mildly sunburned shoulders, and practically skipped down the hallway toward the kitchen.
The house was filled with the usual morning sounds. The radio was playing softly on the kitchen counter, the kettle was just finishing its rumbling boil, and the smell of toasted bread hung in the air.
Your dad was sitting at the kitchen island, dressed in his work clothes, reading a news article on his tablet while nursing a steaming mug of coffee. Your mom was at the counter, vigorously spreading Vegemite and a thick layer of butter onto two slices of toast.
"Morning, beach bum," your dad teased without looking up from his screen as you hopped onto the stool next to him. "Your mother tells me you had quite the adventure yesterday afternoon."
"It was the best day ever," you declared passionately, grabbing the glass of cold Milo your mom pushed toward you. You took a long gulp of the chocolate malt drink, the cold liquid soothing your dry throat.
Your mom turned around, leaning her hip against the counter, a fond smile on her face. "She hasn't stopped smiling since she walked through the door last night. Tell your father about the seagulls, honey. I swear, I have never laughed so hard in my entire life."
Your dad raised an eyebrow, finally looking up from his tablet. "Seagulls? Did you get swooped?"
"Not me!" you giggled, the memory bubbling up in your chest and making you laugh all over again. You set your glass of Milo down on the marble counter. "Felix! It was Felix!"
"The quiet boy from next door?" your dad asked, looking mildly surprised. "The one who looked like he was about to faint when he was moving boxes?"
"Yes, but he's not like that at all!" you explained quickly, eager to defend your new best friend. You leaned forward on the counter, using your hands to animate the story. "Okay, so we get to the beach, right? And Olivia, his little sister, she's in Year 2 and she is absolutely crazy, she decides that her life's mission is to bury Felix in the sand. And because he's actually super nice, he just laid down and let us do it."
You recalled the feeling of the coarse sand, digging with the small plastic spades Olivia had brought. Felix had been lying flat on his back, his eyes squeezed shut against the glaring sun, laughing as you and his sister shoveled heavy piles of wet sand over his legs, his stomach and his chest.
"We buried him all the way up to his neck," you continued, your eyes wide with the thrill of the memory. "He literally looked like a disembodied head sitting on the beach. He couldn't move his arms or his legs or anything. He was completely trapped."
Your dad chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. "Sounds like a standard sibling beach trip so far."
"Wait, it gets better," your mom chimed in, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Tell him about the hat."
"Right!" you gasped for air between giggles. "So, the sun is really bright, and Felix's nose is getting all red because he has all these freckles. So Olivia takes his hat, it's this hideous, floppy, bright green bucket hat, and she plops it right on top of his head to protect his face."
"Okay, so we have a boy buried in the sand wearing a green bucket hat," your dad summarized, looking highly amused. "Where do the seagulls come in?"
"Well," you took another quick sip of your Milo. "We left him there for a minute because Olivia wanted to go fill her bucket with ocean water to make a moat around his head. And suddenly, this massive flock of seagulls lands near us. Like, twenty of them. You know how aggressive they get at the beach when they think someone has hot chips?"
"Absolute menaces," your dad agreed solemnly. "Worse than bin chickens."
"Exactly! And I don't know if they thought the green hat was a piece of lettuce, or if they honestly thought Felix was a stranded sea turtle, but they just zeroed in on him!" you threw your hands in the air, mimicking the birds. "They started squawking and dive-bombing his head! And Felix is screaming, but his voice is like, really high and squeaky, and he can't move because he's packed into the wet sand!"
Your dad burst into genuine laughter, nearly spilling his coffee.
"He was trying so hard to get out!" you laughed so hard your stomach muscles ached. "He was thrashing around, and the sand was exploding everywhere. He looked like a zombie crawling out of a grave, just flailing his lanky arms and legs, swatting at the birds. His hat flew off, and he just scrambled on his hands and knees all the way to the water to get away from them!"
"Poor kid," your dad chuckled, shaking his head. "First month in a new neighborhood and he gets attacked by the local wildlife. Did he cry?"
"No!" you grinned proudly. "Once he got into the water, he realized how stupid he looked and he just started laughing. He laughed so hard he fell backward into a wave. He's actually really funny, Dad. He just... he gets scared around big groups of people. But when it's just us, he's heaps of fun."
Your mom smiled warmly, sliding a plate of Vegemite toast across the counter toward you. "I'm really glad you went with them, sweetheart. It was lovely to see you both getting along so well. And Min is wonderful. They seem like a really lovely family. It's nice to have good neighbors again."
"Did she say anything about the dance studio?" you asked eagerly, taking a bite of your toast. The salty, savory flavor of the Vegemite was perfect.
"She did," your mom nodded, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "I gave her the address of your studio and told her about the Wednesday hip-hop classes. She said if Felix is still interested, she'll sign the permission slip for him. So you make sure you grab one from the front desk today, alright?"
"I will!" you promised, your heart soaring with excitement.
You finished your breakfast in record time, the energy buzzing through your veins like electricity. The heavy, oppressive guilt that had plagued you yesterday morning was entirely gone. Today, the world felt bright and full of possibilities.
You ran to the bathroom, aggressively brushed your teeth, and grabbed your heavy school backpack from your bedroom floor.
"Have a good day at work, Dad!" you called out, racing back down the hallway.
"Have a good day at school! Watch out for the seagulls!" he called back playfully.
"Do you have your hat? And your lunchbox?" your mom asked, meeting you at the front door.
"Got it, got it, got it!" you practically vibrated with impatience, shifting your weight from foot to foot. "I gotta go, Mom, I'll see you this arvo!"
You threw the front door open, stepping out into the already-sweltering morning air. The cicadas were just beginning to warm up, their collective hum starting to build in the eucalyptus trees.
You didn't look toward the road. Your eyes immediately darted to the right, peering over the wooden fence that separated your yard from the Lees'.
You expected to see a closed door. You expected to have to walk to the corner alone, wondering if you would see him in the classroom.
But as you stepped out onto your porch, your breath hitched in your throat.
Felix was waiting for you.
He was standing right in the middle of his front porch, bathed in the golden, harsh light of the Australian morning sun. But it wasn't just the fact that he was outside that made you freeze in your tracks; it was the way he was standing.
Yesterday morning, in the classroom, he had looked like a cornered animal—shoulders hunched up to his ears, spine curved, trying to make himself invisible within his oversized senior uniform.
Today, he looked like a completely different person.
He was standing tall, his posture relaxed and open. His heavy school backpack was slung casually over one shoulder instead of being clutched tightly to his chest like a shield. He was gently kicking a small pebble against the wooden post of his porch, humming a soft, rhythmic tune under his breath. When he heard the sound of your screen door slamming shut, his head snapped up.
The constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks shifted brilliantly as a massive, radiant, gap-toothed smile broke across his face.
It was like looking at the sun. In the span of a single afternoon, a few hours of building sandcastles and fighting off aggressive seagulls, he had completely blossomed. The terrified, mute boy who had shrunk away from Harper's cruel words was gone, replaced by the bubbly, kind, and incredibly bright kid underneath.
"Hey!" Felix called out. His voice was still soft and distinctly boyish, but it held a confidence that hadn't been there yesterday.
"Hey yourself!" you grinned back, practically jogging down your driveway to meet him at the property line.
He met you at the sidewalk, falling into step beside you instantly. There was no more awkward staggering, no more walking two paces behind. He walked shoulder-to-shoulder with you, close enough that your backpacks occasionally bumped against each other.
"Did you recover from your traumatic bird attack?" you teased immediately, bumping your shoulder gently against his arm.
Felix's ears immediately turned a violent shade of pink, but he didn't look away. Instead, he threw his head back and let out a bright, unrestrained laugh. It was a beautiful sound, ringing clear over the hum of the cicadas.
"It wasn't funny!" he protested, though his massive grin completely ruined his defense. "They were huge! I thought one of them was going to take my eye out. Olivia told my dad I looked like a screaming turtle."
"You kind of did," you admitted, giggling uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, I should have helped you, but I was laughing too hard. You were literally trapped."
"I am never wearing that green hat again," Felix declared solemnly, adjusting the straps of his school bag. "I'm throwing it in the bin. The bin chickens can have it."
You continued to chat easily as you walked down the sun-baked concrete of Miller Street. You talked about the sandcastles, about how good the cold sandwiches from the esky had tasted, and about the upcoming hip-hop class. Felix was incredibly animated when it was just the two of you. He used his hands when he talked, his dark eyes sparkling with excitement. He asked you a million questions about the dance teacher, the routines, and the music.
You were so deeply engrossed in explaining the layout of the dance studio to him that you almost forgot about the impending reality of the school day.
Almost.
As you rounded the familiar bend of the street, your eyes automatically sought out the dented, sun-faded red postbox. It was the exact spot you had met Harper every single morning since Year 3. It was your designated meeting place, the anchor of your daily routine.
Your sentence slowly died in your throat. You slowed your pace, your heavy black school shoes dragging slightly against the hot pavement.
The corner was completely empty.
There was no blonde ponytail reflecting the sun. There was no aggressive clinking of cheap plastic bracelets. There was no dramatic sigh complaining about the heat or the walk.
Harper wasn't there.
You stopped walking entirely, standing next to the red postbox. You checked your watch. 8:20 AM. You were right on time. In fact, you were usually the one running a few minutes late, and Harper would always be leaning against the red metal, tapping her foot impatiently.
Felix noticed your sudden halt and stopped a few steps ahead of you. He turned around, his bright smile faltering slightly as he saw the confused, sinking expression on your face.
"What's wrong?" he asked gently, taking a step back toward you.
"Harper isn't here," you murmured, staring at the empty patch of concrete.
"Maybe she's sick today?" Felix suggested, his voice laced with innocent hope. You knew he would probably prefer if Harper never came to school again.
You shook your head slowly, a cold, heavy knot of dread forming in your stomach despite the boiling summer heat. "No. She's never sick. And even if she was, she would have texted my mom's phone to tell me."
You knew exactly what this was. This was a calculated, deliberate move.
In the brutal, unspoken political arena of primary school, your morning walk was a public declaration of friendship. By abandoning your meeting spot, Harper was sending a very clear, very loud message. She was officially freezing you out. The fight you had yesterday afternoon wasn't just a brief argument; it was the end of the line. She was forcing you to choose between your social standing and the boy standing next to you.
You stood by the postbox for three agonizing minutes, staring down the street, hoping against hope that you would see her walking toward you, ready to complain about a bad hair day or a strict parent. But the street remained empty.
The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable.
Felix shifted his weight from foot to foot. He looked from the postbox to your face, his dark eyes wide and suddenly incredibly observant. The bright, bubbly boy from the beach retreated slightly, replaced by the anxious, perceptive kid who was terrified of causing trouble.
"She's not coming, is she?" Felix asked. His voice was quiet, stripped of all its earlier excitement.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. "No. I don't think so."
Felix looked down at his shoes, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack in a white-knuckled hold. "It's because of me. Because you walked with me yesterday."
"No, Felix, it's not—"
"It is," he interrupted softly, his boyish voice trembling slightly. The guilt radiating off his small frame was palpable. He looked up at you, his eyes swimming with a mixture of sadness and apology. "She told you not to talk to me. And now she's mad at you. I'm sorry. You... you can go find her at school. You don't have to walk in with me. I know the way."
He took a step away from you, as if preparing to walk the rest of the way alone to save you from further social ruin.
Something fierce and protective flared in your chest. The dread of losing Harper was suddenly eclipsed by a profound wave of anger. How dare she make him feel like a burden? How dare she make this sweet, funny, wonderful boy feel like he was something to be ashamed of?
"Stop it," you said firmly, stepping forward and grabbing the fabric of his sleeve to stop him from walking away.
Felix froze, looking at your hand on his arm, and then up at your face.
"I don't care if she's mad," you declared, your voice ringing with a newfound conviction. You let go of his sleeve and adjusted your own backpack. "If she's going to act like a baby because I made a new friend, then I don't want to walk with her anyway. She's being ridiculous. You are my friend, Felix. And I want to walk with you."
Felix stared at you. The anxiety in his eyes slowly melted away, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated awe. He looked at you like you were the bravest person he had ever met.
Slowly, the tension left his shoulders. The ghost of his bright smile returned, tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Okay," he whispered.
"Okay," you nodded, forcing a smile onto your own face. "Come on. If we don't hurry up, Mrs. Gable is going to make us run laps around the oval."
As you turned away from the empty postbox and continued the walk to school, you felt a strange sense of liberation. The invisible chain that had tethered you to Harper's approval had snapped. It was terrifying, yes, but as Felix bumped his shoulder against yours and started telling you another joke about his little sister, you knew you wouldn't trade this for all the popularity in the world.
The walk through the school gates was like stepping onto a battlefield.
Usually, you would navigate the chaotic sea of blue and white uniforms with Harper by your side, her fierce glare parting the crowds of younger students like Moses parting the Red Sea. You were protected by her aura. Today, walking beside Felix, you felt entirely exposed.
You kept your chin up, ignoring the curious glances from a few kids in your grade as you made your way through the breezeways toward Class 6B. Felix walked close to you, his shoulder brushing yours, offering a silent, steadying presence.
When you reached the classroom door, you took a deep breath of the stale, air-conditioned air and stepped inside.
The morning bell hadn't rung yet, so the room was filled with the loud chatter of students unpacking their bags. You immediately looked toward the back of the room, to your designated spot.
Harper was there. But she wasn't alone.
Sitting in your chair, her sequined pencil case spread out across your side of the desk, was Chloe from 6A. Harper and Chloe were leaning their heads together, giggling loudly over a piece of paper, their blonde ponytails practically intertwined. As soon as you walked into the room, Harper looked up. Her eyes locked onto yours, then flicked dismissively to Felix, before she purposefully turned her back to you and laughed even louder at whatever Chloe was saying.
The message was crystal clear. Your seat was gone. You had been replaced.
For a split second, the sting of rejection burned hot behind your eyes. It hurt. Despite everything, she had been your best friend for three years.
"Hey," a soft voice murmured right beside you.
You blinked, tearing your gaze away from the back of the room. Felix was looking at you, his dark eyes filled with deep, empathetic concern. He didn't ask if you were okay, he knew you weren't, but his presence was a quiet anchor in the stormy classroom.
You took a shaky breath, forcing the burn out of your eyes, and squared your shoulders. If Harper wanted to play this game, you were going to play it better.
"Come on," you whispered to Felix.
Instead of walking down the aisle toward the back, you stopped at the very front of the room. Felix's desk was in the second row, right by the window. The desk next to it was currently empty.
Without hesitating, you dropped your heavy backpack onto the floor next to the empty chair and sat down right beside him.
Felix's eyes widened in surprise as he slid into his own seat. He looked at you, then glanced nervously toward the back of the room where Harper was undoubtedly watching. "Are you sure? You don't have to..."
"I want to sit here," you interrupted firmly, unzipping your pencil case with a sharp, decisive noise. "The view is better from the front anyway. Plus, I bet Mrs. Gable won't yell at us as much if we sit closer to her desk."
Felix stared at you for a moment, his expression incredibly soft, before a massive, beaming smile broke across his face. He nodded enthusiastically, pulling his own notebooks out of his bag. "Okay. Cool."
When the bell finally rang and Mrs. Gable clapped her hands to start the lesson, you felt a surprising wave of peace wash over you. Sitting at the front of the room was different. You couldn't hide, but sitting next to Felix, you found you didn't really want to.
Mrs. Gable launched into a painfully boring history lesson about the First Fleet. The classroom was quiet, save for the scratching of pencils and the loud, rhythmic hum of the ceiling fans above.
About twenty minutes into the lesson, you heard a faint, deliberate tearing sound.
You kept your eyes glued to the whiteboard, pretending to take notes, but your peripheral vision caught Felix's hands moving under his desk. A few seconds later, a tiny, perfectly folded square of lined paper slid slowly across the crack separating your desks, coming to a halt right next to your elbow.
Your heart did a thrilling little leap. Note passing. It was the ultimate, risky thrill of primary school. If Mrs. Gable caught you, the note would be read aloud to the entire class.
You waited for Mrs. Gable to turn her back to write a date on the board, then quickly scooped the tiny square of paper into your hand and unfolded it under the cover of your textbook.
The handwriting was neat, slightly rounded, and written in blue gel pen.
Are you okay? Is Harper super mad because of me?
You looked over at Felix. He was staring intensely at his history book, pretending to read, but his ears were bright pink.
You quickly grabbed your favourite black pen, leaned over your book, and scribbled a reply on the bottom half of the paper.
I'm fine! She is just being a massive drama queen. I want to sit here. You're way more fun than her anyway. P.S. I kept my promise. Fairy floss Zooper Dooper is currently freezing in my lunchbox.
You carefully folded the paper back into a tiny square. When Mrs. Gable walked over to the windows to adjust the blinds, you flicked the note back across the gap.
You watched out of the corner of your eye as Felix caught it and unfolded it in his lap. As he read your words, you saw his shoulders drop with relief. He bit his lower lip, trying to suppress a huge, radiant smile, but it was impossible. The freckles on his cheeks danced as he beamed at the piece of paper.
He quickly wrote something else and slid it back.
Good. We have to share. I can't wait to try it.
You looked over at him, your eyes sparkling with amusement, and gave him a tiny, secretive thumbs-up. The rest of the morning block flew by in a flurry of passed notes, filled with terrible stick-figure drawings of seagulls and secret jokes about Mrs. Gable's sensible shoes.
When the 11:00 AM recess bell finally shrieked, you didn't even look toward the back of the room. You grabbed your hat and your lunchbox, and you and Felix practically bolted out the door together.
You didn't go to the massive Moreton Bay Fig tree. That was Harper's territory, and you had no desire to fight that battle today. Instead, you and Felix walked straight to the small, secluded cluster of wooden benches hidden underneath the wattle tree near the front gates.
It was your spot now.
You sat down on the wooden slats, the dappled sunlight filtering through the yellow blossoms overhead. The heat was already intense, baking the asphalt of the playground, but sitting in the shade with Felix made it bearable.
"Okay, let's see it," Felix said eagerly, leaning forward the second he sat down.
You grinned proudly, unzipping a small, insulated cooler bag from inside your lunchbox. With a dramatic flourish, you produced a frozen, bright pink Zooper Dooper tube. The plastic was covered in a thick layer of frosty condensation.
"My mom put ice packs in here so it wouldn't melt," you explained, holding up the icy tube.
"How do we eat it? Do you cut it?" Felix asked, looking at it with intense curiosity.
"Watch and learn," you teased.
You placed the middle of the plastic tube against the edge of the wooden bench and brought your hand down on either side with a sharp, practiced thwack. The frozen ice snapped perfectly in half.
Felix's eyes went wide. "Whoa. That was aggressive."
"It's the only way," you laughed, handing him the top half of the tube and keeping the bottom for yourself. "Now, remember, you have to push the ice up from the bottom, and be careful of the plastic edges, they will literally slice your lips open."
Felix took a cautious bite of the bright pink, fairy floss-flavored ice. His eyes immediately lit up, crinkling at the corners in pure delight. "Oh, that's heaps good. It tastes like actual sugar."
"Told you!" you cheered, taking a bite of your own. The cold, artificial sweetness was exactly what you needed in the sweltering heat.
"So," Felix said, his words slightly muffled around the mouthful of ice. "Do you have your dance class today?"
"Yep," you nodded eagerly. "Every Wednesday afternoon. From four-thirty to five-thirty. I'm going to grab the spare permission slip from the front desk before I leave today. Will your mom really let you come next week?"
"I asked her last night when we got home from the beach," Felix said, his voice buzzing with excitement. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "She said yes! She said if you give me the slip, my dad can drive us both there next Wednesday."
"That is going to be so awesome," you grinned, kicking your legs back and forth against the bench. "We're starting a new routine this week, so you won't even be behind. Do you listen to much hip-hop music?"
"A little bit," Felix nodded, pushing the last bit of his Zooper Dooper up through the plastic. "I really like the fast stuff. Like, the stuff with good beats you can jump to."
"Like LMFAO?" you asked, referencing the absolute kings of the 2012 primary school disco scene.
"Yes!" Felix's eyes lit up brighter than the sun. "Party Rock Anthem is my favorite! I know how to do the Melbourne Shuffle part. I practiced it in my bedroom for like, a week."
"No way, you have to show me!" you gasped. "I tried to learn it from a YouTube video but I just ended up kicking my own ankle and tripping over."
Felix let out that bright, beautiful, unrestrained laugh again. "I will! What else do you listen to? Do you like Justice Crew?"
"Obviously," you scoffed playfully. "Everyone likes Justice Crew. They're Australian! 'Friday to Sunday' is literally the best song ever written."
The entire twenty minutes of recess were spent huddled under the wattle tree, passionately debating the greatest pop and hip-hop songs of the era. Felix was incredibly knowledgeable about rhythm and beats. When he talked about music and dancing, all of his lingering shyness evaporated entirely. He was loud, he was expressive, and he was undeniably cool.
When the bell rang to end the break, neither of you wanted to go back inside.
"Next Wednesday," you promised, throwing your empty plastic tube into a nearby bin. "I'll give you the slip this arvo. Next Wednesday, we're dancing."
"I can't wait," Felix smiled, adjusting his wide-brimmed hat.
The rest of the school day passed in a warm, comfortable blur. The anxiety of Harper's rejection had completely faded, replaced by the thrilling realization that you had just secured the best friend you could possibly ask for.
When the 3:00 PM bell finally screamed, you and Felix packed your bags together at the front of the room. You walked out of the classroom side-by-side, entirely ignoring the venomous glare burning into the back of your head from the back row.
As you stepped out into the sweltering afternoon heat, ready for the walk home, Felix bumped his shoulder against yours.
"Thanks for sitting with me today," he mumbled softly, his boyish voice sweet and sincere.
"Thanks for letting me," you smiled back.
You had lost a friend today, but looking at the freckled boy walking happily beside you under the glaring Australian sun, you knew you had gained something so much better.
The pavement of Miller Street seemed to stretch out forever under the relentless afternoon sun, but for the first time in three years, you didn't mind the walk.
Usually, the trek home with Harper involved a litany of complaints—the heat was ruining her hair, her backpack was too heavy, her shoes were giving her blisters. Today, the walk was completely different. The air was filled with a comfortable, easy silence, broken only by the deafening drone of the cicadas hidden high in the eucalyptus branches and the occasional scuff of your black leather school shoes against the concrete.
You walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Felix. The tense, hunched posture that had plagued him on Monday was completely gone. He was still quiet, naturally observant and soft-spoken, but the nervous energy had evaporated. He walked with his head up, his dark eyes taking in the familiar suburban houses, occasionally kicking a stray gum nut off the footpath.
"You weren't kidding," Felix murmured, using the back of his hand to wipe a bead of sweat from his temple. "It actually feels like the road is melting."
"I told you," you laughed, pointing down at the dark, slightly sticky patches of asphalt where the sun hit the hardest. "If you step on the black parts for too long, your shoes will literally stick to the road. Welcome to a Sydney summer."
Felix chuckled, his boyish, slightly raspy voice light and happy. "I'll keep that in mind. No standing still on the road."
As you turned the final corner onto your street, the familiar brick facades of your adjoining houses came into view. The relief of the impending air-conditioning made you both naturally quicken your pace.
When you reached the wooden palings that separated your driveways, you both came to a halt. The afternoon sun was casting long, harsh shadows across the yellowing grass of the front lawns.
"Well," you smiled, adjusting the heavy straps of your school bag. "I've gotta go get ready for dance class. My mom usually drives me there at about four-fifteen."
Felix's eyes brightened instantly at the mention of the studio. The sheer enthusiasm he held for dancing was infectious. "Don't forget to ask for the paper," he reminded you, his voice buzzing with a sudden, eager energy. "The permission slip. So I can come next week."
"I won't forget," you promised, crossing your heart playfully with one finger. "I'll grab it from Barb at the front desk and bring it straight over to your house when I get back. Around quarter to six. Deal?"
"Deal," Felix beamed, the constellation of freckles across his nose shifting with his wide, gap-toothed smile. "Have heaps of fun today."
"I will. See ya, Felix!"
"See ya!"
You practically skipped up your driveway, the heavy burden of the school day entirely lifted from your shoulders. You pushed open your front door, immediately hit by the glorious, freezing blast of the central air-conditioning. You let out a long, dramatic groan of absolute relief, kicking your stiff black school shoes off your feet and leaving them haphazardly near the welcome mat.
"I'm home!" you yelled, your voice echoing down the hallway.
"In the kitchen!" your mother called back.
You padded down the hall in your socks, dropping your heavy backpack onto the floor with a loud thud. Your mom was standing at the kitchen island, pouring a tall glass of icy, bright green Cottee's lime cordial.
"How was the second day?" she asked, sliding the condensation-covered glass across the marble counter toward you. "Drink up, you look like a beetroot."
"It was actually amazing," you said, taking a long, greedy gulp of the sweet, icy cordial. The cold liquid instantly soothed your dry throat. You hopped up onto one of the barstools, resting your elbows on the cool stone counter. "I didn't sit with Harper today."
Your mom stopped wiping the counter, the tea towel pausing in her hands. She looked at you, a mixture of surprise and gentle concern softening her features. She knew exactly how powerful Harper was in the brutal ecosystem of Year 6, and she knew how anxious you had been about confronting her. "You didn't? Where did you sit?"
"Right at the front of the classroom," you announced proudly. "Next to Felix. Harper ignored me all day, and when I walked into the classroom this morning she was sitting in my chair with Chloe. So I just sat next to Felix instead. And it was the best thing I've done all year."
Your mother leaned against the counter, a warm, incredibly proud smile spreading across her face. "I am so proud of you, sweetheart. That takes a lot of bravery to step away from a friend who isn't treating you right. Did she say anything to you?"
"Nope. Not a word," you shrugged, surprised by how little it actually hurt now. "But Felix and I passed notes all through history class, and we shared the Zooper Dooper at recess under the wattle tree. He's actually so funny, Mom. He knows all about hip-hop music."
"Well, it sounds like you've made a wonderful new friend," she said softly, reaching over to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "And it's her loss. Now, if you're going to make it to Miss Clara's class on time, you need to go get changed. I want to leave in twenty minutes."
"Right! I need my bag!"
You slid off the stool and bolted for your bedroom. You threw your stifling, stiff school uniform onto your desk chair and quickly changed into your dance gear, a pair of loose, comfortable black trackies and a bright, oversized singlet. You grabbed your battered duffel bag from the closet, double-checking that your lightweight sneakers and a fresh water bottle were packed inside.
By the time four-fifteen rolled around, you and your mom were pulling out of the driveway in her silver sedan.
The drive to the dance studio took about fifteen minutes, winding through the neighbouring suburbs. You sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the familiar brick houses and sun-baked front lawns rolled by in a blur. The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, turning the harsh glare into a heavy, golden haze.
The dance studio was located in an old, repurposed warehouse complex tucked behind a bustling strip mall. It wasn't exactly prestigious, there were no sparkling chandeliers, fancy waiting rooms, or state-of-the-art sprung floors. It was just a massive, corrugated iron building with a faded sign that read Rhythm & Move Dance Academy above a set of heavy, dented double doors. But the moment you stepped inside, it felt like magic.
"I'll be back at five-thirty to pick you up!" your mom called out, keeping the car idling near the curb. "Have fun! And remember to stretch!"
"I will! Bye!"
You slung your duffel bag over your shoulder and pushed open the heavy front doors. You were immediately hit by the familiar, comforting wall of sensory overload.
The studio smelled overwhelmingly of cheap hairspray, floor wax, and the lingering, humid scent of dozens of sweating teenagers. From down the long, dimly lit hallway, the heavy, thumping bass of a pop song vibrated violently through the floorboards, rattling the framed photos of past dance troupes hanging crookedly on the walls.
You walked straight toward the front desk, a large, cluttered wooden counter completely covered in sign-in sheets, forgotten plastic water bottles, and scattered neon flyers for upcoming showcases.
Sitting behind the desk was Barb. Barb was an absolute institution at Rhythm & Move. She was a woman in her late fifties with aggressively teased auburn hair, reading glasses perched on the end of a long, beaded chain around her neck, and a permanent, brightly coloured acrylic manicure. She was furiously typing on a clunky, outdated desktop computer, a piece of mint chewing gum snapping rhythmically in her mouth.
"G'day, Barb," you smiled, dropping your duffel bag onto the squeaky linoleum floor.
Barb looked up over the rim of her reading glasses, her face instantly breaking into a wide, familiar grin. Her bracelets clattered loudly against the keyboard. "Well, if it isn't my favourite hip-hop star. G'day, sweetheart. How was school? You surviving this awful heat?"
"Barely," you laughed, leaning your elbows against the high counter. "I reckon the school oval is going to catch fire by Friday if it doesn't rain."
"You're not wrong, darl, it's an absolute scorcher out there today," Barb agreed, hitting the enter key with a loud, acrylic clack. "I've had the fans in the studios on full blast since noon. Now, don't forget to sign in. Miss Clara is already warming up Studio Two, so you'd better get your skates on."
You grabbed the cheap biro pen tied to the desk with a piece of string and quickly scribbled your name onto the damp sign-in sheet.
"Oh, wait!" you gasped, suddenly remembering your promise. You stood up on your tiptoes to peer over the high counter. "Before I go in, Barb, do you have any spare enrolment slips? The pink ones for new students?"
Barb raised a painted, perfectly arched eyebrow, leaning back in her squeaky office chair. "Ooh, bringing us a new recruit, are we? Anyone I know?"
"He's my new neighbour," you explained eagerly, the excitement bubbling back up in your chest. "He just moved here from the Blue Mountains. He's exactly my age, and he used to do street dance at his old school. He's heaps good. He wants to join the Wednesday class with me."
"Brilliant! We always need more boys in the hip-hop crew, they bring great energy to the routines," Barb beamed enthusiastically. She spun around in her chair and yanked open a notoriously sticky filing cabinet behind her desk. She rifled through a few folders before pulling out a crisp, bright pink piece of paper. She slid it across the wooden counter toward you. "Here you go, sweetheart. Tell his mum to fill out both sides, especially the emergency contacts, we've got to have those, and bring it back next week to the desk before class starts."
"Thank you, Barb! You're an absolute legend!"
You grabbed the pink slip, folding it carefully in half. You unzipped the small front pocket of your duffel bag and tucked it safely inside, making sure it wouldn't get crushed or stained by your water bottle.
"Have a good class, darl!" Barb called after you as you grabbed your bag and sprinted down the hallway.
You pushed open the heavy wooden door to Studio Two, the heavy bass of the music hitting you square in the chest like a physical weight.
The room was massive and completely unpretentious. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors that were already beginning to fog up slightly at the edges from the collective body heat in the room. The wooden floorboards were scuffed with black marks from thousands of sneakers. About fifteen other kids, mostly your age or a year older, were scattered around the room, dropping their bags against the back wall and doing half-hearted stretches.
"Alright, Year Sixes and Sevens, let's go! Into the center!" Miss Clara clapped her hands loudly, abruptly cutting the music from the stereo system in the corner. She was a fiercely energetic woman in her twenties, wearing baggy grey sweatpants and a bright neon pink tank top. "We have a brand new routine starting today, so I want maximum focus and maximum energy! Let's get these warm-ups done!"
You quickly swapped your sandals for your lightweight sneakers, threw your duffel bag against the wall alongside the others, and jogged into the middle of the floor to find your spot.
The next hour was an absolute blur of sweat, loud music, and intense physical exertion.
Miss Clara didn't take it easy on you just because there was a heatwave outside. She cranked the volume on the stereo, a high-energy mashup of Pitbull, Flo Rida, and LMFAO, and pushed the class relentlessly through the new choreography. Hip-hop was completely different from the stiff, structured rules of the classroom. It was loud, it was messy, and it required you to throw your entire body into every single movement.
You struggled through the new footwork, getting your sneakers tangled up in a complex slide-and-step combination, laughing breathlessly when you accidentally bumped shoulders with the girl next to you. You practiced popping your chest, dropping low to the floor, and finding the heavy down-beat rhythm of the music.
As you danced, staring at your flushed reflection in the fogged-up mirrors, your mind kept drifting back to Felix.
You pictured him standing in this exact room next Wednesday. You remembered what he had said to you under the shade of the wattle tree, that when he danced, he didn't feel quiet, or shy, or small. He felt loud. You tried to imagine the terrified boy who had hidden behind his father's leg suddenly hitting these aggressive hip-hop moves with perfect precision. It was almost impossible to fully picture, but the thought of it made a thrilling rush of adrenaline course through your veins. You could not wait to see it.
By the time five-thirty rolled around, you were absolutely exhausted. Your chest was heaving, and your singlet was clinging uncomfortably to your back.
"Great work today, everyone!" Miss Clara yelled over the final fading chords of the music, using a small white towel to wipe the sweat from her forehead. "Practice those eight-counts at home! I don't want to see any messy or lazy footwork next Wednesday! Grab your bags and get out of here, drink plenty of water!"
You collapsed onto the scuffed floorboards for a few seconds, staring up at the corrugated iron ceiling to catch your breath, before dragging yourself over to your duffel bag. Your face was flushed a brilliant red, and your legs felt like absolute jelly.
You unzipped the front pocket, letting out a huge sigh of relief when you saw the bright pink enrolment slip still sitting there, perfectly flat and completely unscathed.
You waved a tired goodbye to Miss Clara and Barb on your way out, pushing through the heavy double doors and stepping back out into the Australian evening.
The brutal edge of the heatwave had finally broken, leaving behind a thick, warm, and intensely humid evening. The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the Sydney sky in sweeping streaks of bruised purple, violent orange, and soft pink. The deafening roar of the cicadas was slowly transitioning into the quieter chirping of the evening crickets.
Your mom’s silver sedan was idling near the curb exactly where she had dropped you off.
You climbed into the passenger seat, letting out a long dramatic groan as your tired muscles sank into the cool leather upholstery.
"Good workout?" your mom laughed, putting the car into gear and pulling away from the curb.
"I am completely dead," you announced, dramatically throwing your arm over your eyes to block out the setting sun. "I don't think my legs work anymore. Miss Clara is actively trying to kill us."
"Well, you smell like a wet dog, so she definitely made you work for it," she teased, reaching over to turn the air-conditioning vents directly onto your flushed face. "Did you remember to ask Barb for the slip for Felix?"
You sat up slightly, patting the front pocket of your duffel bag. "Got it right here. Hey, Mum, can we go straight to his house when we get back? I want to give it to him before dinner."
"Sure thing," your mom smiled. "It'll be nice for you to have a buddy in that class. Especially someone who lives so close. Min and I can easily take turns doing the carpool run on Wednesday afternoons."
The drive back to your neighbourhood was peaceful. You watched the streetlights flicker on one by one as the golden hour faded into dusk. The suburban streets were quiet, smelling faintly of freshly cut grass and the occasional, mouth-watering waft of a backyard barbecue.
When your mom finally pulled the car into your driveway, you didn't even bother going inside your own house first.
You slung your duffel bag over your shoulder, unzipped the front pocket, grabbed the pink piece of paper, and hopped out of the car. "I'll be right back, Mom!"
You walked across the dry, yellowed grass of your front lawn, stepping over the low wooden property line, and marched straight up the Lee family's driveway.
Their house looked incredibly warm and inviting. The lights were on in the front living room, casting a soft glow through the drawn curtains. You could hear the muffled sound of a television playing a cartoon, and the incredible smell of toasted sesame oil and garlic wafted through the front flyscreen door.
You stepped up onto their front porch, suddenly feeling a tiny spike of nervousness flutter in your stomach. This was the first time you were actually knocking on their door by yourself.
You raised your hand and rapped your knuckles three times against the wooden frame of the screen door.
"I'll get it!" a small, high-pitched voice shrieked from inside.
A second later, the heavy wooden front door swung open, revealing Olivia. She was wearing a pair of wildly colourful pyjamas and holding a half-eaten carrot stick in one hand.
"Oh, hi!" she beamed, her eyes widening behind her messy bangs. "Are we going to the beach again? Because I can't find my pink goggles."
You laughed, shaking your head. "Not tonight, Liv. I'm too tired. Is Felix here?"
"Who is it, Olivia?" a woman's voice called out from further down the hallway.
Mrs. Lee, Min, appeared behind her daughter, wiping her hands on a floral kitchen apron. When she saw you standing on the porch, her face immediately broke into a warm welcoming smile. "Oh, hello sweetheart! Come in, come in, the bugs are terrible out there tonight."
"Hi, Mrs. Lee," you smiled back politely, staying planted on the porch. "It's okay, I'm super sweaty from dance class, I don't want to mess up your hallway. I just came to drop something off for Felix."
"Dance class!" Mrs. Lee's eyes lit up with immediate recognition. She turned her head toward the hallway, raising her voice. "Yongbok! Your friend is at the door!"
You blinked in surprise. Yongbok?
Before you could ask who that was, the sound of hurried sock-clad footsteps echoed loudly down the hardwood hallway.
Felix skidded around the corner, nearly crashing right into his mother's back. He was wearing an incredibly oversized faded grey t-shirt and loose sweatpants, his dark coppery-brown hair messy and sticking up in several different directions as if he had been lying on the floor.
When he saw you standing on the other side of the flyscreen door, his entire face illuminated.
"You're back!" he said, slightly out of breath. He gently pushed past his sister to stand right at the mesh screen.
"I told you I'd come over this arvo," you grinned, thoroughly enjoying the uncontainable excitement radiating off him. You reached through the unlatched screen door and held out the bright pink piece of paper. "I got it. Barb at the front desk said your mom just needs to fill out both sides, and you can bring it in next Wednesday before class starts."
Felix took the slip from your hand with a reverence usually reserved for handling delicate glass. He stared down at the bold Rhythm & Move Dance Academy logo printed across the top. His hands were actually trembling slightly.
He didn't just look happy; he looked completely, utterly overwhelmed with gratitude. It wasn't just a piece of paper to him. It was a ticket back to the one thing he felt truly confident doing, and it was undeniable proof that you had kept your promise to him. He finally had a friend he could rely on.
"I got it," he whispered, tracing the edge of the pink paper with his thumb.
Mrs. Lee leaned over his shoulder, looking at the slip with a knowing smile. "I'll fill it out tonight while you do your homework, Felix. It's so wonderful that you two can go together. Thank you so much for bringing this over, sweetheart."
"It's no worries at all, Mrs. Lee," you beamed.
Felix finally looked up from the paper, his dark eyes locking onto yours. The porch light above your head suddenly clicked on automatically, casting a golden glow over his face and highlighting the beautifull constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks. The boyish, gap-toothed smile that stretched across his face was unequivocally the most wonderful thing you had seen all day.
"Thank you," he said softly, his expressive eyes holding a universe of unspoken appreciation. "Really. Thank you."
"You're welcome," you smiled warmly. "You'd better start practicing your Melbourne Shuffle, though. Miss Clara doesn't mess around. If your footwork is sloppy, she'll make you do fifty pushups."
Felix's eyes widened in comical horror, but his massive grin didn't falter for a second. "I'll practice right now. I'll practice in the living room."
"Don't you dare break my good vases, Yongbok!" his mother scolded playfully, swatting him gently on the shoulder with her tea towel before disappearing back down the hallway to the kitchen. Olivia had also wandered off, distracted by the cartoon blaring from the living room, leaving just the two of you at the screen door.
You hesitated for a second, your curiosity finally getting the better of you.
"Hey, so..." you started, tilting your head slightly. "Who is Yongbok? Is that your middle name or something?"
Felix's massive grin instantly vanished. He winced, a full-body shudder rippling through his small frame, and his ears turned a violent shade of red. He looked down at his socked feet, suddenly looking incredibly embarrassed.
"It's... my Korean name," he mumbled, his boyish voice dropping to a mortified whisper.
"Yongbok?" you repeated, testing the syllables on your tongue. "I like it. It sounds cool."
"It's not cool," he groaned, bringing his free hand up to bury his flushed face in his palm. "It sounds like an old man's name in Korea. My grandpa gave it to me. I hate it so much. Please don't call me that at school."
You laughed softly at his dramatic reaction, finding it completely endearing. "Okay, okay, I won't tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me, Felix."
He peeked at you through his fingers, letting out a heavy sigh of relief. "Thanks. Seriously."
"I'll see you tomorrow," you smiled, taking a step back off the porch. The cool evening breeze washed over your sweaty skin, offering a sweet relief from the day's heat.
"See you tomorrow!" he called after you, his voice ringing clear into the evening air, the embarrassment already fading.
You walked back through your own front door, the smell of your mom cooking dinner hitting your nose. You were utterly exhausted, your leg muscles ached fiercely, and your sunburn was stinging slightly beneath your singlet. But as you dropped your duffel bag in the hallway and listened to the distant sound of the television next door, you felt completely invincible.
Harper Jones didn't matter. The brutal social hierarchy of Year 6 didn't matter. You had a best friend, and next Wednesday, you were finally going to see exactly how loud the quiet boy next door could be.
➺ summary: the brutal reality of harper's silent treatment forces a definitive choice at the morning walk to school, and you choose felix. sitting together in class and sharing a fairy floss zooper dooper solidifies the bond. handing over the pink permission slip for dance class seals the deal, and you finally learn his deeply guarded korean name.
➺ warnings: confrontation, loss of friendship
➺ author's note: sorry for the lack of posting! i literally have zero motivation rn 😭
Wednesday morning greeted you with a dull ache in your shoulders and the lingering, unmistakable scent of salt and coconut sunscreen woven into your hair.
When your eyes fluttered open, staring up at the familiar ceiling of your bedroom, you didn't feel the usual heavy dread of the impending school day. Instead, an uncontainable smile stretched across your face. You stretched your arms above your head, wincing slightly as the skin on your shoulders pulled taut. Despite your mother’s aggressive and repeated applications of SPF 50+ yesterday afternoon, the harsh Australian sun had managed to kiss your skin with a faint pink sunburn.
It was entirely worth it.
You kicked the tangled cotton sheets off your legs, your bare feet hitting the floorboards. You could still feel the phantom sensation of sand between your toes. You threw on your stiff school uniform, the fabric irritating your mildly sunburned shoulders, and practically skipped down the hallway toward the kitchen.
The house was filled with the usual morning sounds. The radio was playing softly on the kitchen counter, the kettle was just finishing its rumbling boil, and the smell of toasted bread hung in the air.
Your dad was sitting at the kitchen island, dressed in his work clothes, reading a news article on his tablet while nursing a steaming mug of coffee. Your mom was at the counter, vigorously spreading Vegemite and a thick layer of butter onto two slices of toast.
"Morning, beach bum," your dad teased without looking up from his screen as you hopped onto the stool next to him. "Your mother tells me you had quite the adventure yesterday afternoon."
"It was the best day ever," you declared passionately, grabbing the glass of cold Milo your mom pushed toward you. You took a long gulp of the chocolate malt drink, the cold liquid soothing your dry throat.
Your mom turned around, leaning her hip against the counter, a fond smile on her face. "She hasn't stopped smiling since she walked through the door last night. Tell your father about the seagulls, honey. I swear, I have never laughed so hard in my entire life."
Your dad raised an eyebrow, finally looking up from his tablet. "Seagulls? Did you get swooped?"
"Not me!" you giggled, the memory bubbling up in your chest and making you laugh all over again. You set your glass of Milo down on the marble counter. "Felix! It was Felix!"
"The quiet boy from next door?" your dad asked, looking mildly surprised. "The one who looked like he was about to faint when he was moving boxes?"
"Yes, but he's not like that at all!" you explained quickly, eager to defend your new best friend. You leaned forward on the counter, using your hands to animate the story. "Okay, so we get to the beach, right? And Olivia, his little sister, she's in Year 2 and she is absolutely crazy, she decides that her life's mission is to bury Felix in the sand. And because he's actually super nice, he just laid down and let us do it."
You recalled the feeling of the coarse sand, digging with the small plastic spades Olivia had brought. Felix had been lying flat on his back, his eyes squeezed shut against the glaring sun, laughing as you and his sister shoveled heavy piles of wet sand over his legs, his stomach and his chest.
"We buried him all the way up to his neck," you continued, your eyes wide with the thrill of the memory. "He literally looked like a disembodied head sitting on the beach. He couldn't move his arms or his legs or anything. He was completely trapped."
Your dad chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. "Sounds like a standard sibling beach trip so far."
"Wait, it gets better," your mom chimed in, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Tell him about the hat."
"Right!" you gasped for air between giggles. "So, the sun is really bright, and Felix's nose is getting all red because he has all these freckles. So Olivia takes his hat, it's this hideous, floppy, bright green bucket hat, and she plops it right on top of his head to protect his face."
"Okay, so we have a boy buried in the sand wearing a green bucket hat," your dad summarized, looking highly amused. "Where do the seagulls come in?"
"Well," you took another quick sip of your Milo. "We left him there for a minute because Olivia wanted to go fill her bucket with ocean water to make a moat around his head. And suddenly, this massive flock of seagulls lands near us. Like, twenty of them. You know how aggressive they get at the beach when they think someone has hot chips?"
"Absolute menaces," your dad agreed solemnly. "Worse than bin chickens."
"Exactly! And I don't know if they thought the green hat was a piece of lettuce, or if they honestly thought Felix was a stranded sea turtle, but they just zeroed in on him!" you threw your hands in the air, mimicking the birds. "They started squawking and dive-bombing his head! And Felix is screaming, but his voice is like, really high and squeaky, and he can't move because he's packed into the wet sand!"
Your dad burst into genuine laughter, nearly spilling his coffee.
"He was trying so hard to get out!" you laughed so hard your stomach muscles ached. "He was thrashing around, and the sand was exploding everywhere. He looked like a zombie crawling out of a grave, just flailing his lanky arms and legs, swatting at the birds. His hat flew off, and he just scrambled on his hands and knees all the way to the water to get away from them!"
"Poor kid," your dad chuckled, shaking his head. "First month in a new neighborhood and he gets attacked by the local wildlife. Did he cry?"
"No!" you grinned proudly. "Once he got into the water, he realized how stupid he looked and he just started laughing. He laughed so hard he fell backward into a wave. He's actually really funny, Dad. He just... he gets scared around big groups of people. But when it's just us, he's heaps of fun."
Your mom smiled warmly, sliding a plate of Vegemite toast across the counter toward you. "I'm really glad you went with them, sweetheart. It was lovely to see you both getting along so well. And Min is wonderful. They seem like a really lovely family. It's nice to have good neighbors again."
"Did she say anything about the dance studio?" you asked eagerly, taking a bite of your toast. The salty, savory flavor of the Vegemite was perfect.
"She did," your mom nodded, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "I gave her the address of your studio and told her about the Wednesday hip-hop classes. She said if Felix is still interested, she'll sign the permission slip for him. So you make sure you grab one from the front desk today, alright?"
"I will!" you promised, your heart soaring with excitement.
You finished your breakfast in record time, the energy buzzing through your veins like electricity. The heavy, oppressive guilt that had plagued you yesterday morning was entirely gone. Today, the world felt bright and full of possibilities.
You ran to the bathroom, aggressively brushed your teeth, and grabbed your heavy school backpack from your bedroom floor.
"Have a good day at work, Dad!" you called out, racing back down the hallway.
"Have a good day at school! Watch out for the seagulls!" he called back playfully.
"Do you have your hat? And your lunchbox?" your mom asked, meeting you at the front door.
"Got it, got it, got it!" you practically vibrated with impatience, shifting your weight from foot to foot. "I gotta go, Mom, I'll see you this arvo!"
You threw the front door open, stepping out into the already-sweltering morning air. The cicadas were just beginning to warm up, their collective hum starting to build in the eucalyptus trees.
You didn't look toward the road. Your eyes immediately darted to the right, peering over the wooden fence that separated your yard from the Lees'.
You expected to see a closed door. You expected to have to walk to the corner alone, wondering if you would see him in the classroom.
But as you stepped out onto your porch, your breath hitched in your throat.
Felix was waiting for you.
He was standing right in the middle of his front porch, bathed in the golden, harsh light of the Australian morning sun. But it wasn't just the fact that he was outside that made you freeze in your tracks; it was the way he was standing.
Yesterday morning, in the classroom, he had looked like a cornered animal—shoulders hunched up to his ears, spine curved, trying to make himself invisible within his oversized senior uniform.
Today, he looked like a completely different person.
He was standing tall, his posture relaxed and open. His heavy school backpack was slung casually over one shoulder instead of being clutched tightly to his chest like a shield. He was gently kicking a small pebble against the wooden post of his porch, humming a soft, rhythmic tune under his breath. When he heard the sound of your screen door slamming shut, his head snapped up.
The constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks shifted brilliantly as a massive, radiant, gap-toothed smile broke across his face.
It was like looking at the sun. In the span of a single afternoon, a few hours of building sandcastles and fighting off aggressive seagulls, he had completely blossomed. The terrified, mute boy who had shrunk away from Harper's cruel words was gone, replaced by the bubbly, kind, and incredibly bright kid underneath.
"Hey!" Felix called out. His voice was still soft and distinctly boyish, but it held a confidence that hadn't been there yesterday.
"Hey yourself!" you grinned back, practically jogging down your driveway to meet him at the property line.
He met you at the sidewalk, falling into step beside you instantly. There was no more awkward staggering, no more walking two paces behind. He walked shoulder-to-shoulder with you, close enough that your backpacks occasionally bumped against each other.
"Did you recover from your traumatic bird attack?" you teased immediately, bumping your shoulder gently against his arm.
Felix's ears immediately turned a violent shade of pink, but he didn't look away. Instead, he threw his head back and let out a bright, unrestrained laugh. It was a beautiful sound, ringing clear over the hum of the cicadas.
"It wasn't funny!" he protested, though his massive grin completely ruined his defense. "They were huge! I thought one of them was going to take my eye out. Olivia told my dad I looked like a screaming turtle."
"You kind of did," you admitted, giggling uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, I should have helped you, but I was laughing too hard. You were literally trapped."
"I am never wearing that green hat again," Felix declared solemnly, adjusting the straps of his school bag. "I'm throwing it in the bin. The bin chickens can have it."
You continued to chat easily as you walked down the sun-baked concrete of Miller Street. You talked about the sandcastles, about how good the cold sandwiches from the esky had tasted, and about the upcoming hip-hop class. Felix was incredibly animated when it was just the two of you. He used his hands when he talked, his dark eyes sparkling with excitement. He asked you a million questions about the dance teacher, the routines, and the music.
You were so deeply engrossed in explaining the layout of the dance studio to him that you almost forgot about the impending reality of the school day.
Almost.
As you rounded the familiar bend of the street, your eyes automatically sought out the dented, sun-faded red postbox. It was the exact spot you had met Harper every single morning since Year 3. It was your designated meeting place, the anchor of your daily routine.
Your sentence slowly died in your throat. You slowed your pace, your heavy black school shoes dragging slightly against the hot pavement.
The corner was completely empty.
There was no blonde ponytail reflecting the sun. There was no aggressive clinking of cheap plastic bracelets. There was no dramatic sigh complaining about the heat or the walk.
Harper wasn't there.
You stopped walking entirely, standing next to the red postbox. You checked your watch. 8:20 AM. You were right on time. In fact, you were usually the one running a few minutes late, and Harper would always be leaning against the red metal, tapping her foot impatiently.
Felix noticed your sudden halt and stopped a few steps ahead of you. He turned around, his bright smile faltering slightly as he saw the confused, sinking expression on your face.
"What's wrong?" he asked gently, taking a step back toward you.
"Harper isn't here," you murmured, staring at the empty patch of concrete.
"Maybe she's sick today?" Felix suggested, his voice laced with innocent hope. You knew he would probably prefer if Harper never came to school again.
You shook your head slowly, a cold, heavy knot of dread forming in your stomach despite the boiling summer heat. "No. She's never sick. And even if she was, she would have texted my mom's phone to tell me."
You knew exactly what this was. This was a calculated, deliberate move.
In the brutal, unspoken political arena of primary school, your morning walk was a public declaration of friendship. By abandoning your meeting spot, Harper was sending a very clear, very loud message. She was officially freezing you out. The fight you had yesterday afternoon wasn't just a brief argument; it was the end of the line. She was forcing you to choose between your social standing and the boy standing next to you.
You stood by the postbox for three agonizing minutes, staring down the street, hoping against hope that you would see her walking toward you, ready to complain about a bad hair day or a strict parent. But the street remained empty.
The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable.
Felix shifted his weight from foot to foot. He looked from the postbox to your face, his dark eyes wide and suddenly incredibly observant. The bright, bubbly boy from the beach retreated slightly, replaced by the anxious, perceptive kid who was terrified of causing trouble.
"She's not coming, is she?" Felix asked. His voice was quiet, stripped of all its earlier excitement.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. "No. I don't think so."
Felix looked down at his shoes, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack in a white-knuckled hold. "It's because of me. Because you walked with me yesterday."
"No, Felix, it's not—"
"It is," he interrupted softly, his boyish voice trembling slightly. The guilt radiating off his small frame was palpable. He looked up at you, his eyes swimming with a mixture of sadness and apology. "She told you not to talk to me. And now she's mad at you. I'm sorry. You... you can go find her at school. You don't have to walk in with me. I know the way."
He took a step away from you, as if preparing to walk the rest of the way alone to save you from further social ruin.
Something fierce and protective flared in your chest. The dread of losing Harper was suddenly eclipsed by a profound wave of anger. How dare she make him feel like a burden? How dare she make this sweet, funny, wonderful boy feel like he was something to be ashamed of?
"Stop it," you said firmly, stepping forward and grabbing the fabric of his sleeve to stop him from walking away.
Felix froze, looking at your hand on his arm, and then up at your face.
"I don't care if she's mad," you declared, your voice ringing with a newfound conviction. You let go of his sleeve and adjusted your own backpack. "If she's going to act like a baby because I made a new friend, then I don't want to walk with her anyway. She's being ridiculous. You are my friend, Felix. And I want to walk with you."
Felix stared at you. The anxiety in his eyes slowly melted away, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated awe. He looked at you like you were the bravest person he had ever met.
Slowly, the tension left his shoulders. The ghost of his bright smile returned, tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Okay," he whispered.
"Okay," you nodded, forcing a smile onto your own face. "Come on. If we don't hurry up, Mrs. Gable is going to make us run laps around the oval."
As you turned away from the empty postbox and continued the walk to school, you felt a strange sense of liberation. The invisible chain that had tethered you to Harper's approval had snapped. It was terrifying, yes, but as Felix bumped his shoulder against yours and started telling you another joke about his little sister, you knew you wouldn't trade this for all the popularity in the world.
The walk through the school gates was like stepping onto a battlefield.
Usually, you would navigate the chaotic sea of blue and white uniforms with Harper by your side, her fierce glare parting the crowds of younger students like Moses parting the Red Sea. You were protected by her aura. Today, walking beside Felix, you felt entirely exposed.
You kept your chin up, ignoring the curious glances from a few kids in your grade as you made your way through the breezeways toward Class 6B. Felix walked close to you, his shoulder brushing yours, offering a silent, steadying presence.
When you reached the classroom door, you took a deep breath of the stale, air-conditioned air and stepped inside.
The morning bell hadn't rung yet, so the room was filled with the loud chatter of students unpacking their bags. You immediately looked toward the back of the room, to your designated spot.
Harper was there. But she wasn't alone.
Sitting in your chair, her sequined pencil case spread out across your side of the desk, was Chloe from 6A. Harper and Chloe were leaning their heads together, giggling loudly over a piece of paper, their blonde ponytails practically intertwined. As soon as you walked into the room, Harper looked up. Her eyes locked onto yours, then flicked dismissively to Felix, before she purposefully turned her back to you and laughed even louder at whatever Chloe was saying.
The message was crystal clear. Your seat was gone. You had been replaced.
For a split second, the sting of rejection burned hot behind your eyes. It hurt. Despite everything, she had been your best friend for three years.
"Hey," a soft voice murmured right beside you.
You blinked, tearing your gaze away from the back of the room. Felix was looking at you, his dark eyes filled with deep, empathetic concern. He didn't ask if you were okay, he knew you weren't, but his presence was a quiet anchor in the stormy classroom.
You took a shaky breath, forcing the burn out of your eyes, and squared your shoulders. If Harper wanted to play this game, you were going to play it better.
"Come on," you whispered to Felix.
Instead of walking down the aisle toward the back, you stopped at the very front of the room. Felix's desk was in the second row, right by the window. The desk next to it was currently empty.
Without hesitating, you dropped your heavy backpack onto the floor next to the empty chair and sat down right beside him.
Felix's eyes widened in surprise as he slid into his own seat. He looked at you, then glanced nervously toward the back of the room where Harper was undoubtedly watching. "Are you sure? You don't have to..."
"I want to sit here," you interrupted firmly, unzipping your pencil case with a sharp, decisive noise. "The view is better from the front anyway. Plus, I bet Mrs. Gable won't yell at us as much if we sit closer to her desk."
Felix stared at you for a moment, his expression incredibly soft, before a massive, beaming smile broke across his face. He nodded enthusiastically, pulling his own notebooks out of his bag. "Okay. Cool."
When the bell finally rang and Mrs. Gable clapped her hands to start the lesson, you felt a surprising wave of peace wash over you. Sitting at the front of the room was different. You couldn't hide, but sitting next to Felix, you found you didn't really want to.
Mrs. Gable launched into a painfully boring history lesson about the First Fleet. The classroom was quiet, save for the scratching of pencils and the loud, rhythmic hum of the ceiling fans above.
About twenty minutes into the lesson, you heard a faint, deliberate tearing sound.
You kept your eyes glued to the whiteboard, pretending to take notes, but your peripheral vision caught Felix's hands moving under his desk. A few seconds later, a tiny, perfectly folded square of lined paper slid slowly across the crack separating your desks, coming to a halt right next to your elbow.
Your heart did a thrilling little leap. Note passing. It was the ultimate, risky thrill of primary school. If Mrs. Gable caught you, the note would be read aloud to the entire class.
You waited for Mrs. Gable to turn her back to write a date on the board, then quickly scooped the tiny square of paper into your hand and unfolded it under the cover of your textbook.
The handwriting was neat, slightly rounded, and written in blue gel pen.
Are you okay? Is Harper super mad because of me?
You looked over at Felix. He was staring intensely at his history book, pretending to read, but his ears were bright pink.
You quickly grabbed your favourite black pen, leaned over your book, and scribbled a reply on the bottom half of the paper.
I'm fine! She is just being a massive drama queen. I want to sit here. You're way more fun than her anyway. P.S. I kept my promise. Fairy floss Zooper Dooper is currently freezing in my lunchbox.
You carefully folded the paper back into a tiny square. When Mrs. Gable walked over to the windows to adjust the blinds, you flicked the note back across the gap.
You watched out of the corner of your eye as Felix caught it and unfolded it in his lap. As he read your words, you saw his shoulders drop with relief. He bit his lower lip, trying to suppress a huge, radiant smile, but it was impossible. The freckles on his cheeks danced as he beamed at the piece of paper.
He quickly wrote something else and slid it back.
Good. We have to share. I can't wait to try it.
You looked over at him, your eyes sparkling with amusement, and gave him a tiny, secretive thumbs-up. The rest of the morning block flew by in a flurry of passed notes, filled with terrible stick-figure drawings of seagulls and secret jokes about Mrs. Gable's sensible shoes.
When the 11:00 AM recess bell finally shrieked, you didn't even look toward the back of the room. You grabbed your hat and your lunchbox, and you and Felix practically bolted out the door together.
You didn't go to the massive Moreton Bay Fig tree. That was Harper's territory, and you had no desire to fight that battle today. Instead, you and Felix walked straight to the small, secluded cluster of wooden benches hidden underneath the wattle tree near the front gates.
It was your spot now.
You sat down on the wooden slats, the dappled sunlight filtering through the yellow blossoms overhead. The heat was already intense, baking the asphalt of the playground, but sitting in the shade with Felix made it bearable.
"Okay, let's see it," Felix said eagerly, leaning forward the second he sat down.
You grinned proudly, unzipping a small, insulated cooler bag from inside your lunchbox. With a dramatic flourish, you produced a frozen, bright pink Zooper Dooper tube. The plastic was covered in a thick layer of frosty condensation.
"My mom put ice packs in here so it wouldn't melt," you explained, holding up the icy tube.
"How do we eat it? Do you cut it?" Felix asked, looking at it with intense curiosity.
"Watch and learn," you teased.
You placed the middle of the plastic tube against the edge of the wooden bench and brought your hand down on either side with a sharp, practiced thwack. The frozen ice snapped perfectly in half.
Felix's eyes went wide. "Whoa. That was aggressive."
"It's the only way," you laughed, handing him the top half of the tube and keeping the bottom for yourself. "Now, remember, you have to push the ice up from the bottom, and be careful of the plastic edges, they will literally slice your lips open."
Felix took a cautious bite of the bright pink, fairy floss-flavored ice. His eyes immediately lit up, crinkling at the corners in pure delight. "Oh, that's heaps good. It tastes like actual sugar."
"Told you!" you cheered, taking a bite of your own. The cold, artificial sweetness was exactly what you needed in the sweltering heat.
"So," Felix said, his words slightly muffled around the mouthful of ice. "Do you have your dance class today?"
"Yep," you nodded eagerly. "Every Wednesday afternoon. From four-thirty to five-thirty. I'm going to grab the spare permission slip from the front desk before I leave today. Will your mom really let you come next week?"
"I asked her last night when we got home from the beach," Felix said, his voice buzzing with excitement. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "She said yes! She said if you give me the slip, my dad can drive us both there next Wednesday."
"That is going to be so awesome," you grinned, kicking your legs back and forth against the bench. "We're starting a new routine this week, so you won't even be behind. Do you listen to much hip-hop music?"
"A little bit," Felix nodded, pushing the last bit of his Zooper Dooper up through the plastic. "I really like the fast stuff. Like, the stuff with good beats you can jump to."
"Like LMFAO?" you asked, referencing the absolute kings of the 2012 primary school disco scene.
"Yes!" Felix's eyes lit up brighter than the sun. "Party Rock Anthem is my favorite! I know how to do the Melbourne Shuffle part. I practiced it in my bedroom for like, a week."
"No way, you have to show me!" you gasped. "I tried to learn it from a YouTube video but I just ended up kicking my own ankle and tripping over."
Felix let out that bright, beautiful, unrestrained laugh again. "I will! What else do you listen to? Do you like Justice Crew?"
"Obviously," you scoffed playfully. "Everyone likes Justice Crew. They're Australian! 'Friday to Sunday' is literally the best song ever written."
The entire twenty minutes of recess were spent huddled under the wattle tree, passionately debating the greatest pop and hip-hop songs of the era. Felix was incredibly knowledgeable about rhythm and beats. When he talked about music and dancing, all of his lingering shyness evaporated entirely. He was loud, he was expressive, and he was undeniably cool.
When the bell rang to end the break, neither of you wanted to go back inside.
"Next Wednesday," you promised, throwing your empty plastic tube into a nearby bin. "I'll give you the slip this arvo. Next Wednesday, we're dancing."
"I can't wait," Felix smiled, adjusting his wide-brimmed hat.
The rest of the school day passed in a warm, comfortable blur. The anxiety of Harper's rejection had completely faded, replaced by the thrilling realization that you had just secured the best friend you could possibly ask for.
When the 3:00 PM bell finally screamed, you and Felix packed your bags together at the front of the room. You walked out of the classroom side-by-side, entirely ignoring the venomous glare burning into the back of your head from the back row.
As you stepped out into the sweltering afternoon heat, ready for the walk home, Felix bumped his shoulder against yours.
"Thanks for sitting with me today," he mumbled softly, his boyish voice sweet and sincere.
"Thanks for letting me," you smiled back.
You had lost a friend today, but looking at the freckled boy walking happily beside you under the glaring Australian sun, you knew you had gained something so much better.
The pavement of Miller Street seemed to stretch out forever under the relentless afternoon sun, but for the first time in three years, you didn't mind the walk.
Usually, the trek home with Harper involved a litany of complaints—the heat was ruining her hair, her backpack was too heavy, her shoes were giving her blisters. Today, the walk was completely different. The air was filled with a comfortable, easy silence, broken only by the deafening drone of the cicadas hidden high in the eucalyptus branches and the occasional scuff of your black leather school shoes against the concrete.
You walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Felix. The tense, hunched posture that had plagued him on Monday was completely gone. He was still quiet, naturally observant and soft-spoken, but the nervous energy had evaporated. He walked with his head up, his dark eyes taking in the familiar suburban houses, occasionally kicking a stray gum nut off the footpath.
"You weren't kidding," Felix murmured, using the back of his hand to wipe a bead of sweat from his temple. "It actually feels like the road is melting."
"I told you," you laughed, pointing down at the dark, slightly sticky patches of asphalt where the sun hit the hardest. "If you step on the black parts for too long, your shoes will literally stick to the road. Welcome to a Sydney summer."
Felix chuckled, his boyish, slightly raspy voice light and happy. "I'll keep that in mind. No standing still on the road."
As you turned the final corner onto your street, the familiar brick facades of your adjoining houses came into view. The relief of the impending air-conditioning made you both naturally quicken your pace.
When you reached the wooden palings that separated your driveways, you both came to a halt. The afternoon sun was casting long, harsh shadows across the yellowing grass of the front lawns.
"Well," you smiled, adjusting the heavy straps of your school bag. "I've gotta go get ready for dance class. My mom usually drives me there at about four-fifteen."
Felix's eyes brightened instantly at the mention of the studio. The sheer enthusiasm he held for dancing was infectious. "Don't forget to ask for the paper," he reminded you, his voice buzzing with a sudden, eager energy. "The permission slip. So I can come next week."
"I won't forget," you promised, crossing your heart playfully with one finger. "I'll grab it from Barb at the front desk and bring it straight over to your house when I get back. Around quarter to six. Deal?"
"Deal," Felix beamed, the constellation of freckles across his nose shifting with his wide, gap-toothed smile. "Have heaps of fun today."
"I will. See ya, Felix!"
"See ya!"
You practically skipped up your driveway, the heavy burden of the school day entirely lifted from your shoulders. You pushed open your front door, immediately hit by the glorious, freezing blast of the central air-conditioning. You let out a long, dramatic groan of absolute relief, kicking your stiff black school shoes off your feet and leaving them haphazardly near the welcome mat.
"I'm home!" you yelled, your voice echoing down the hallway.
"In the kitchen!" your mother called back.
You padded down the hall in your socks, dropping your heavy backpack onto the floor with a loud thud. Your mom was standing at the kitchen island, pouring a tall glass of icy, bright green Cottee's lime cordial.
"How was the second day?" she asked, sliding the condensation-covered glass across the marble counter toward you. "Drink up, you look like a beetroot."
"It was actually amazing," you said, taking a long, greedy gulp of the sweet, icy cordial. The cold liquid instantly soothed your dry throat. You hopped up onto one of the barstools, resting your elbows on the cool stone counter. "I didn't sit with Harper today."
Your mom stopped wiping the counter, the tea towel pausing in her hands. She looked at you, a mixture of surprise and gentle concern softening her features. She knew exactly how powerful Harper was in the brutal ecosystem of Year 6, and she knew how anxious you had been about confronting her. "You didn't? Where did you sit?"
"Right at the front of the classroom," you announced proudly. "Next to Felix. Harper ignored me all day, and when I walked into the classroom this morning she was sitting in my chair with Chloe. So I just sat next to Felix instead. And it was the best thing I've done all year."
Your mother leaned against the counter, a warm, incredibly proud smile spreading across her face. "I am so proud of you, sweetheart. That takes a lot of bravery to step away from a friend who isn't treating you right. Did she say anything to you?"
"Nope. Not a word," you shrugged, surprised by how little it actually hurt now. "But Felix and I passed notes all through history class, and we shared the Zooper Dooper at recess under the wattle tree. He's actually so funny, Mom. He knows all about hip-hop music."
"Well, it sounds like you've made a wonderful new friend," she said softly, reaching over to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "And it's her loss. Now, if you're going to make it to Miss Clara's class on time, you need to go get changed. I want to leave in twenty minutes."
"Right! I need my bag!"
You slid off the stool and bolted for your bedroom. You threw your stifling, stiff school uniform onto your desk chair and quickly changed into your dance gear, a pair of loose, comfortable black trackies and a bright, oversized singlet. You grabbed your battered duffel bag from the closet, double-checking that your lightweight sneakers and a fresh water bottle were packed inside.
By the time four-fifteen rolled around, you and your mom were pulling out of the driveway in her silver sedan.
The drive to the dance studio took about fifteen minutes, winding through the neighbouring suburbs. You sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the familiar brick houses and sun-baked front lawns rolled by in a blur. The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, turning the harsh glare into a heavy, golden haze.
The dance studio was located in an old, repurposed warehouse complex tucked behind a bustling strip mall. It wasn't exactly prestigious, there were no sparkling chandeliers, fancy waiting rooms, or state-of-the-art sprung floors. It was just a massive, corrugated iron building with a faded sign that read Rhythm & Move Dance Academy above a set of heavy, dented double doors. But the moment you stepped inside, it felt like magic.
"I'll be back at five-thirty to pick you up!" your mom called out, keeping the car idling near the curb. "Have fun! And remember to stretch!"
"I will! Bye!"
You slung your duffel bag over your shoulder and pushed open the heavy front doors. You were immediately hit by the familiar, comforting wall of sensory overload.
The studio smelled overwhelmingly of cheap hairspray, floor wax, and the lingering, humid scent of dozens of sweating teenagers. From down the long, dimly lit hallway, the heavy, thumping bass of a pop song vibrated violently through the floorboards, rattling the framed photos of past dance troupes hanging crookedly on the walls.
You walked straight toward the front desk, a large, cluttered wooden counter completely covered in sign-in sheets, forgotten plastic water bottles, and scattered neon flyers for upcoming showcases.
Sitting behind the desk was Barb. Barb was an absolute institution at Rhythm & Move. She was a woman in her late fifties with aggressively teased auburn hair, reading glasses perched on the end of a long, beaded chain around her neck, and a permanent, brightly coloured acrylic manicure. She was furiously typing on a clunky, outdated desktop computer, a piece of mint chewing gum snapping rhythmically in her mouth.
"G'day, Barb," you smiled, dropping your duffel bag onto the squeaky linoleum floor.
Barb looked up over the rim of her reading glasses, her face instantly breaking into a wide, familiar grin. Her bracelets clattered loudly against the keyboard. "Well, if it isn't my favourite hip-hop star. G'day, sweetheart. How was school? You surviving this awful heat?"
"Barely," you laughed, leaning your elbows against the high counter. "I reckon the school oval is going to catch fire by Friday if it doesn't rain."
"You're not wrong, darl, it's an absolute scorcher out there today," Barb agreed, hitting the enter key with a loud, acrylic clack. "I've had the fans in the studios on full blast since noon. Now, don't forget to sign in. Miss Clara is already warming up Studio Two, so you'd better get your skates on."
You grabbed the cheap biro pen tied to the desk with a piece of string and quickly scribbled your name onto the damp sign-in sheet.
"Oh, wait!" you gasped, suddenly remembering your promise. You stood up on your tiptoes to peer over the high counter. "Before I go in, Barb, do you have any spare enrolment slips? The pink ones for new students?"
Barb raised a painted, perfectly arched eyebrow, leaning back in her squeaky office chair. "Ooh, bringing us a new recruit, are we? Anyone I know?"
"He's my new neighbour," you explained eagerly, the excitement bubbling back up in your chest. "He just moved here from the Blue Mountains. He's exactly my age, and he used to do street dance at his old school. He's heaps good. He wants to join the Wednesday class with me."
"Brilliant! We always need more boys in the hip-hop crew, they bring great energy to the routines," Barb beamed enthusiastically. She spun around in her chair and yanked open a notoriously sticky filing cabinet behind her desk. She rifled through a few folders before pulling out a crisp, bright pink piece of paper. She slid it across the wooden counter toward you. "Here you go, sweetheart. Tell his mum to fill out both sides, especially the emergency contacts, we've got to have those, and bring it back next week to the desk before class starts."
"Thank you, Barb! You're an absolute legend!"
You grabbed the pink slip, folding it carefully in half. You unzipped the small front pocket of your duffel bag and tucked it safely inside, making sure it wouldn't get crushed or stained by your water bottle.
"Have a good class, darl!" Barb called after you as you grabbed your bag and sprinted down the hallway.
You pushed open the heavy wooden door to Studio Two, the heavy bass of the music hitting you square in the chest like a physical weight.
The room was massive and completely unpretentious. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors that were already beginning to fog up slightly at the edges from the collective body heat in the room. The wooden floorboards were scuffed with black marks from thousands of sneakers. About fifteen other kids, mostly your age or a year older, were scattered around the room, dropping their bags against the back wall and doing half-hearted stretches.
"Alright, Year Sixes and Sevens, let's go! Into the center!" Miss Clara clapped her hands loudly, abruptly cutting the music from the stereo system in the corner. She was a fiercely energetic woman in her twenties, wearing baggy grey sweatpants and a bright neon pink tank top. "We have a brand new routine starting today, so I want maximum focus and maximum energy! Let's get these warm-ups done!"
You quickly swapped your sandals for your lightweight sneakers, threw your duffel bag against the wall alongside the others, and jogged into the middle of the floor to find your spot.
The next hour was an absolute blur of sweat, loud music, and intense physical exertion.
Miss Clara didn't take it easy on you just because there was a heatwave outside. She cranked the volume on the stereo, a high-energy mashup of Pitbull, Flo Rida, and LMFAO, and pushed the class relentlessly through the new choreography. Hip-hop was completely different from the stiff, structured rules of the classroom. It was loud, it was messy, and it required you to throw your entire body into every single movement.
You struggled through the new footwork, getting your sneakers tangled up in a complex slide-and-step combination, laughing breathlessly when you accidentally bumped shoulders with the girl next to you. You practiced popping your chest, dropping low to the floor, and finding the heavy down-beat rhythm of the music.
As you danced, staring at your flushed reflection in the fogged-up mirrors, your mind kept drifting back to Felix.
You pictured him standing in this exact room next Wednesday. You remembered what he had said to you under the shade of the wattle tree, that when he danced, he didn't feel quiet, or shy, or small. He felt loud. You tried to imagine the terrified boy who had hidden behind his father's leg suddenly hitting these aggressive hip-hop moves with perfect precision. It was almost impossible to fully picture, but the thought of it made a thrilling rush of adrenaline course through your veins. You could not wait to see it.
By the time five-thirty rolled around, you were absolutely exhausted. Your chest was heaving, and your singlet was clinging uncomfortably to your back.
"Great work today, everyone!" Miss Clara yelled over the final fading chords of the music, using a small white towel to wipe the sweat from her forehead. "Practice those eight-counts at home! I don't want to see any messy or lazy footwork next Wednesday! Grab your bags and get out of here, drink plenty of water!"
You collapsed onto the scuffed floorboards for a few seconds, staring up at the corrugated iron ceiling to catch your breath, before dragging yourself over to your duffel bag. Your face was flushed a brilliant red, and your legs felt like absolute jelly.
You unzipped the front pocket, letting out a huge sigh of relief when you saw the bright pink enrolment slip still sitting there, perfectly flat and completely unscathed.
You waved a tired goodbye to Miss Clara and Barb on your way out, pushing through the heavy double doors and stepping back out into the Australian evening.
The brutal edge of the heatwave had finally broken, leaving behind a thick, warm, and intensely humid evening. The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the Sydney sky in sweeping streaks of bruised purple, violent orange, and soft pink. The deafening roar of the cicadas was slowly transitioning into the quieter chirping of the evening crickets.
Your mom’s silver sedan was idling near the curb exactly where she had dropped you off.
You climbed into the passenger seat, letting out a long dramatic groan as your tired muscles sank into the cool leather upholstery.
"Good workout?" your mom laughed, putting the car into gear and pulling away from the curb.
"I am completely dead," you announced, dramatically throwing your arm over your eyes to block out the setting sun. "I don't think my legs work anymore. Miss Clara is actively trying to kill us."
"Well, you smell like a wet dog, so she definitely made you work for it," she teased, reaching over to turn the air-conditioning vents directly onto your flushed face. "Did you remember to ask Barb for the slip for Felix?"
You sat up slightly, patting the front pocket of your duffel bag. "Got it right here. Hey, Mum, can we go straight to his house when we get back? I want to give it to him before dinner."
"Sure thing," your mom smiled. "It'll be nice for you to have a buddy in that class. Especially someone who lives so close. Min and I can easily take turns doing the carpool run on Wednesday afternoons."
The drive back to your neighbourhood was peaceful. You watched the streetlights flicker on one by one as the golden hour faded into dusk. The suburban streets were quiet, smelling faintly of freshly cut grass and the occasional, mouth-watering waft of a backyard barbecue.
When your mom finally pulled the car into your driveway, you didn't even bother going inside your own house first.
You slung your duffel bag over your shoulder, unzipped the front pocket, grabbed the pink piece of paper, and hopped out of the car. "I'll be right back, Mom!"
You walked across the dry, yellowed grass of your front lawn, stepping over the low wooden property line, and marched straight up the Lee family's driveway.
Their house looked incredibly warm and inviting. The lights were on in the front living room, casting a soft glow through the drawn curtains. You could hear the muffled sound of a television playing a cartoon, and the incredible smell of toasted sesame oil and garlic wafted through the front flyscreen door.
You stepped up onto their front porch, suddenly feeling a tiny spike of nervousness flutter in your stomach. This was the first time you were actually knocking on their door by yourself.
You raised your hand and rapped your knuckles three times against the wooden frame of the screen door.
"I'll get it!" a small, high-pitched voice shrieked from inside.
A second later, the heavy wooden front door swung open, revealing Olivia. She was wearing a pair of wildly colourful pyjamas and holding a half-eaten carrot stick in one hand.
"Oh, hi!" she beamed, her eyes widening behind her messy bangs. "Are we going to the beach again? Because I can't find my pink goggles."
You laughed, shaking your head. "Not tonight, Liv. I'm too tired. Is Felix here?"
"Who is it, Olivia?" a woman's voice called out from further down the hallway.
Mrs. Lee, Min, appeared behind her daughter, wiping her hands on a floral kitchen apron. When she saw you standing on the porch, her face immediately broke into a warm welcoming smile. "Oh, hello sweetheart! Come in, come in, the bugs are terrible out there tonight."
"Hi, Mrs. Lee," you smiled back politely, staying planted on the porch. "It's okay, I'm super sweaty from dance class, I don't want to mess up your hallway. I just came to drop something off for Felix."
"Dance class!" Mrs. Lee's eyes lit up with immediate recognition. She turned her head toward the hallway, raising her voice. "Yongbok! Your friend is at the door!"
You blinked in surprise. Yongbok?
Before you could ask who that was, the sound of hurried sock-clad footsteps echoed loudly down the hardwood hallway.
Felix skidded around the corner, nearly crashing right into his mother's back. He was wearing an incredibly oversized faded grey t-shirt and loose sweatpants, his dark coppery-brown hair messy and sticking up in several different directions as if he had been lying on the floor.
When he saw you standing on the other side of the flyscreen door, his entire face illuminated.
"You're back!" he said, slightly out of breath. He gently pushed past his sister to stand right at the mesh screen.
"I told you I'd come over this arvo," you grinned, thoroughly enjoying the uncontainable excitement radiating off him. You reached through the unlatched screen door and held out the bright pink piece of paper. "I got it. Barb at the front desk said your mom just needs to fill out both sides, and you can bring it in next Wednesday before class starts."
Felix took the slip from your hand with a reverence usually reserved for handling delicate glass. He stared down at the bold Rhythm & Move Dance Academy logo printed across the top. His hands were actually trembling slightly.
He didn't just look happy; he looked completely, utterly overwhelmed with gratitude. It wasn't just a piece of paper to him. It was a ticket back to the one thing he felt truly confident doing, and it was undeniable proof that you had kept your promise to him. He finally had a friend he could rely on.
"I got it," he whispered, tracing the edge of the pink paper with his thumb.
Mrs. Lee leaned over his shoulder, looking at the slip with a knowing smile. "I'll fill it out tonight while you do your homework, Felix. It's so wonderful that you two can go together. Thank you so much for bringing this over, sweetheart."
"It's no worries at all, Mrs. Lee," you beamed.
Felix finally looked up from the paper, his dark eyes locking onto yours. The porch light above your head suddenly clicked on automatically, casting a golden glow over his face and highlighting the beautifull constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks. The boyish, gap-toothed smile that stretched across his face was unequivocally the most wonderful thing you had seen all day.
"Thank you," he said softly, his expressive eyes holding a universe of unspoken appreciation. "Really. Thank you."
"You're welcome," you smiled warmly. "You'd better start practicing your Melbourne Shuffle, though. Miss Clara doesn't mess around. If your footwork is sloppy, she'll make you do fifty pushups."
Felix's eyes widened in comical horror, but his massive grin didn't falter for a second. "I'll practice right now. I'll practice in the living room."
"Don't you dare break my good vases, Yongbok!" his mother scolded playfully, swatting him gently on the shoulder with her tea towel before disappearing back down the hallway to the kitchen. Olivia had also wandered off, distracted by the cartoon blaring from the living room, leaving just the two of you at the screen door.
You hesitated for a second, your curiosity finally getting the better of you.
"Hey, so..." you started, tilting your head slightly. "Who is Yongbok? Is that your middle name or something?"
Felix's massive grin instantly vanished. He winced, a full-body shudder rippling through his small frame, and his ears turned a violent shade of red. He looked down at his socked feet, suddenly looking incredibly embarrassed.
"It's... my Korean name," he mumbled, his boyish voice dropping to a mortified whisper.
"Yongbok?" you repeated, testing the syllables on your tongue. "I like it. It sounds cool."
"It's not cool," he groaned, bringing his free hand up to bury his flushed face in his palm. "It sounds like an old man's name in Korea. My grandpa gave it to me. I hate it so much. Please don't call me that at school."
You laughed softly at his dramatic reaction, finding it completely endearing. "Okay, okay, I won't tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me, Felix."
He peeked at you through his fingers, letting out a heavy sigh of relief. "Thanks. Seriously."
"I'll see you tomorrow," you smiled, taking a step back off the porch. The cool evening breeze washed over your sweaty skin, offering a sweet relief from the day's heat.
"See you tomorrow!" he called after you, his voice ringing clear into the evening air, the embarrassment already fading.
You walked back through your own front door, the smell of your mom cooking dinner hitting your nose. You were utterly exhausted, your leg muscles ached fiercely, and your sunburn was stinging slightly beneath your singlet. But as you dropped your duffel bag in the hallway and listened to the distant sound of the television next door, you felt completely invincible.
Harper Jones didn't matter. The brutal social hierarchy of Year 6 didn't matter. You had a best friend, and next Wednesday, you were finally going to see exactly how loud the quiet boy next door could be.
➺ summary: the brutal reality of harper's silent treatment forces a definitive choice at the morning walk to school, and you choose felix. sitting together in class and sharing a fairy floss zooper dooper solidifies the bond. handing over the pink permission slip for dance class seals the deal, and you finally learn his deeply guarded korean name.
➺ warnings: confrontation, loss of friendship
➺ author's note: sorry for the lack of posting! i literally have zero motivation rn 😭
Wednesday morning greeted you with a dull ache in your shoulders and the lingering, unmistakable scent of salt and coconut sunscreen woven into your hair.
When your eyes fluttered open, staring up at the familiar ceiling of your bedroom, you didn't feel the usual heavy dread of the impending school day. Instead, an uncontainable smile stretched across your face. You stretched your arms above your head, wincing slightly as the skin on your shoulders pulled taut. Despite your mother’s aggressive and repeated applications of SPF 50+ yesterday afternoon, the harsh Australian sun had managed to kiss your skin with a faint pink sunburn.
It was entirely worth it.
You kicked the tangled cotton sheets off your legs, your bare feet hitting the floorboards. You could still feel the phantom sensation of sand between your toes. You threw on your stiff school uniform, the fabric irritating your mildly sunburned shoulders, and practically skipped down the hallway toward the kitchen.
The house was filled with the usual morning sounds. The radio was playing softly on the kitchen counter, the kettle was just finishing its rumbling boil, and the smell of toasted bread hung in the air.
Your dad was sitting at the kitchen island, dressed in his work clothes, reading a news article on his tablet while nursing a steaming mug of coffee. Your mom was at the counter, vigorously spreading Vegemite and a thick layer of butter onto two slices of toast.
"Morning, beach bum," your dad teased without looking up from his screen as you hopped onto the stool next to him. "Your mother tells me you had quite the adventure yesterday afternoon."
"It was the best day ever," you declared passionately, grabbing the glass of cold Milo your mom pushed toward you. You took a long gulp of the chocolate malt drink, the cold liquid soothing your dry throat.
Your mom turned around, leaning her hip against the counter, a fond smile on her face. "She hasn't stopped smiling since she walked through the door last night. Tell your father about the seagulls, honey. I swear, I have never laughed so hard in my entire life."
Your dad raised an eyebrow, finally looking up from his tablet. "Seagulls? Did you get swooped?"
"Not me!" you giggled, the memory bubbling up in your chest and making you laugh all over again. You set your glass of Milo down on the marble counter. "Felix! It was Felix!"
"The quiet boy from next door?" your dad asked, looking mildly surprised. "The one who looked like he was about to faint when he was moving boxes?"
"Yes, but he's not like that at all!" you explained quickly, eager to defend your new best friend. You leaned forward on the counter, using your hands to animate the story. "Okay, so we get to the beach, right? And Olivia, his little sister, she's in Year 2 and she is absolutely crazy, she decides that her life's mission is to bury Felix in the sand. And because he's actually super nice, he just laid down and let us do it."
You recalled the feeling of the coarse sand, digging with the small plastic spades Olivia had brought. Felix had been lying flat on his back, his eyes squeezed shut against the glaring sun, laughing as you and his sister shoveled heavy piles of wet sand over his legs, his stomach and his chest.
"We buried him all the way up to his neck," you continued, your eyes wide with the thrill of the memory. "He literally looked like a disembodied head sitting on the beach. He couldn't move his arms or his legs or anything. He was completely trapped."
Your dad chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. "Sounds like a standard sibling beach trip so far."
"Wait, it gets better," your mom chimed in, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Tell him about the hat."
"Right!" you gasped for air between giggles. "So, the sun is really bright, and Felix's nose is getting all red because he has all these freckles. So Olivia takes his hat, it's this hideous, floppy, bright green bucket hat, and she plops it right on top of his head to protect his face."
"Okay, so we have a boy buried in the sand wearing a green bucket hat," your dad summarized, looking highly amused. "Where do the seagulls come in?"
"Well," you took another quick sip of your Milo. "We left him there for a minute because Olivia wanted to go fill her bucket with ocean water to make a moat around his head. And suddenly, this massive flock of seagulls lands near us. Like, twenty of them. You know how aggressive they get at the beach when they think someone has hot chips?"
"Absolute menaces," your dad agreed solemnly. "Worse than bin chickens."
"Exactly! And I don't know if they thought the green hat was a piece of lettuce, or if they honestly thought Felix was a stranded sea turtle, but they just zeroed in on him!" you threw your hands in the air, mimicking the birds. "They started squawking and dive-bombing his head! And Felix is screaming, but his voice is like, really high and squeaky, and he can't move because he's packed into the wet sand!"
Your dad burst into genuine laughter, nearly spilling his coffee.
"He was trying so hard to get out!" you laughed so hard your stomach muscles ached. "He was thrashing around, and the sand was exploding everywhere. He looked like a zombie crawling out of a grave, just flailing his lanky arms and legs, swatting at the birds. His hat flew off, and he just scrambled on his hands and knees all the way to the water to get away from them!"
"Poor kid," your dad chuckled, shaking his head. "First month in a new neighborhood and he gets attacked by the local wildlife. Did he cry?"
"No!" you grinned proudly. "Once he got into the water, he realized how stupid he looked and he just started laughing. He laughed so hard he fell backward into a wave. He's actually really funny, Dad. He just... he gets scared around big groups of people. But when it's just us, he's heaps of fun."
Your mom smiled warmly, sliding a plate of Vegemite toast across the counter toward you. "I'm really glad you went with them, sweetheart. It was lovely to see you both getting along so well. And Min is wonderful. They seem like a really lovely family. It's nice to have good neighbors again."
"Did she say anything about the dance studio?" you asked eagerly, taking a bite of your toast. The salty, savory flavor of the Vegemite was perfect.
"She did," your mom nodded, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "I gave her the address of your studio and told her about the Wednesday hip-hop classes. She said if Felix is still interested, she'll sign the permission slip for him. So you make sure you grab one from the front desk today, alright?"
"I will!" you promised, your heart soaring with excitement.
You finished your breakfast in record time, the energy buzzing through your veins like electricity. The heavy, oppressive guilt that had plagued you yesterday morning was entirely gone. Today, the world felt bright and full of possibilities.
You ran to the bathroom, aggressively brushed your teeth, and grabbed your heavy school backpack from your bedroom floor.
"Have a good day at work, Dad!" you called out, racing back down the hallway.
"Have a good day at school! Watch out for the seagulls!" he called back playfully.
"Do you have your hat? And your lunchbox?" your mom asked, meeting you at the front door.
"Got it, got it, got it!" you practically vibrated with impatience, shifting your weight from foot to foot. "I gotta go, Mom, I'll see you this arvo!"
You threw the front door open, stepping out into the already-sweltering morning air. The cicadas were just beginning to warm up, their collective hum starting to build in the eucalyptus trees.
You didn't look toward the road. Your eyes immediately darted to the right, peering over the wooden fence that separated your yard from the Lees'.
You expected to see a closed door. You expected to have to walk to the corner alone, wondering if you would see him in the classroom.
But as you stepped out onto your porch, your breath hitched in your throat.
Felix was waiting for you.
He was standing right in the middle of his front porch, bathed in the golden, harsh light of the Australian morning sun. But it wasn't just the fact that he was outside that made you freeze in your tracks; it was the way he was standing.
Yesterday morning, in the classroom, he had looked like a cornered animal—shoulders hunched up to his ears, spine curved, trying to make himself invisible within his oversized senior uniform.
Today, he looked like a completely different person.
He was standing tall, his posture relaxed and open. His heavy school backpack was slung casually over one shoulder instead of being clutched tightly to his chest like a shield. He was gently kicking a small pebble against the wooden post of his porch, humming a soft, rhythmic tune under his breath. When he heard the sound of your screen door slamming shut, his head snapped up.
The constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks shifted brilliantly as a massive, radiant, gap-toothed smile broke across his face.
It was like looking at the sun. In the span of a single afternoon, a few hours of building sandcastles and fighting off aggressive seagulls, he had completely blossomed. The terrified, mute boy who had shrunk away from Harper's cruel words was gone, replaced by the bubbly, kind, and incredibly bright kid underneath.
"Hey!" Felix called out. His voice was still soft and distinctly boyish, but it held a confidence that hadn't been there yesterday.
"Hey yourself!" you grinned back, practically jogging down your driveway to meet him at the property line.
He met you at the sidewalk, falling into step beside you instantly. There was no more awkward staggering, no more walking two paces behind. He walked shoulder-to-shoulder with you, close enough that your backpacks occasionally bumped against each other.
"Did you recover from your traumatic bird attack?" you teased immediately, bumping your shoulder gently against his arm.
Felix's ears immediately turned a violent shade of pink, but he didn't look away. Instead, he threw his head back and let out a bright, unrestrained laugh. It was a beautiful sound, ringing clear over the hum of the cicadas.
"It wasn't funny!" he protested, though his massive grin completely ruined his defense. "They were huge! I thought one of them was going to take my eye out. Olivia told my dad I looked like a screaming turtle."
"You kind of did," you admitted, giggling uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, I should have helped you, but I was laughing too hard. You were literally trapped."
"I am never wearing that green hat again," Felix declared solemnly, adjusting the straps of his school bag. "I'm throwing it in the bin. The bin chickens can have it."
You continued to chat easily as you walked down the sun-baked concrete of Miller Street. You talked about the sandcastles, about how good the cold sandwiches from the esky had tasted, and about the upcoming hip-hop class. Felix was incredibly animated when it was just the two of you. He used his hands when he talked, his dark eyes sparkling with excitement. He asked you a million questions about the dance teacher, the routines, and the music.
You were so deeply engrossed in explaining the layout of the dance studio to him that you almost forgot about the impending reality of the school day.
Almost.
As you rounded the familiar bend of the street, your eyes automatically sought out the dented, sun-faded red postbox. It was the exact spot you had met Harper every single morning since Year 3. It was your designated meeting place, the anchor of your daily routine.
Your sentence slowly died in your throat. You slowed your pace, your heavy black school shoes dragging slightly against the hot pavement.
The corner was completely empty.
There was no blonde ponytail reflecting the sun. There was no aggressive clinking of cheap plastic bracelets. There was no dramatic sigh complaining about the heat or the walk.
Harper wasn't there.
You stopped walking entirely, standing next to the red postbox. You checked your watch. 8:20 AM. You were right on time. In fact, you were usually the one running a few minutes late, and Harper would always be leaning against the red metal, tapping her foot impatiently.
Felix noticed your sudden halt and stopped a few steps ahead of you. He turned around, his bright smile faltering slightly as he saw the confused, sinking expression on your face.
"What's wrong?" he asked gently, taking a step back toward you.
"Harper isn't here," you murmured, staring at the empty patch of concrete.
"Maybe she's sick today?" Felix suggested, his voice laced with innocent hope. You knew he would probably prefer if Harper never came to school again.
You shook your head slowly, a cold, heavy knot of dread forming in your stomach despite the boiling summer heat. "No. She's never sick. And even if she was, she would have texted my mom's phone to tell me."
You knew exactly what this was. This was a calculated, deliberate move.
In the brutal, unspoken political arena of primary school, your morning walk was a public declaration of friendship. By abandoning your meeting spot, Harper was sending a very clear, very loud message. She was officially freezing you out. The fight you had yesterday afternoon wasn't just a brief argument; it was the end of the line. She was forcing you to choose between your social standing and the boy standing next to you.
You stood by the postbox for three agonizing minutes, staring down the street, hoping against hope that you would see her walking toward you, ready to complain about a bad hair day or a strict parent. But the street remained empty.
The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable.
Felix shifted his weight from foot to foot. He looked from the postbox to your face, his dark eyes wide and suddenly incredibly observant. The bright, bubbly boy from the beach retreated slightly, replaced by the anxious, perceptive kid who was terrified of causing trouble.
"She's not coming, is she?" Felix asked. His voice was quiet, stripped of all its earlier excitement.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. "No. I don't think so."
Felix looked down at his shoes, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack in a white-knuckled hold. "It's because of me. Because you walked with me yesterday."
"No, Felix, it's not—"
"It is," he interrupted softly, his boyish voice trembling slightly. The guilt radiating off his small frame was palpable. He looked up at you, his eyes swimming with a mixture of sadness and apology. "She told you not to talk to me. And now she's mad at you. I'm sorry. You... you can go find her at school. You don't have to walk in with me. I know the way."
He took a step away from you, as if preparing to walk the rest of the way alone to save you from further social ruin.
Something fierce and protective flared in your chest. The dread of losing Harper was suddenly eclipsed by a profound wave of anger. How dare she make him feel like a burden? How dare she make this sweet, funny, wonderful boy feel like he was something to be ashamed of?
"Stop it," you said firmly, stepping forward and grabbing the fabric of his sleeve to stop him from walking away.
Felix froze, looking at your hand on his arm, and then up at your face.
"I don't care if she's mad," you declared, your voice ringing with a newfound conviction. You let go of his sleeve and adjusted your own backpack. "If she's going to act like a baby because I made a new friend, then I don't want to walk with her anyway. She's being ridiculous. You are my friend, Felix. And I want to walk with you."
Felix stared at you. The anxiety in his eyes slowly melted away, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated awe. He looked at you like you were the bravest person he had ever met.
Slowly, the tension left his shoulders. The ghost of his bright smile returned, tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Okay," he whispered.
"Okay," you nodded, forcing a smile onto your own face. "Come on. If we don't hurry up, Mrs. Gable is going to make us run laps around the oval."
As you turned away from the empty postbox and continued the walk to school, you felt a strange sense of liberation. The invisible chain that had tethered you to Harper's approval had snapped. It was terrifying, yes, but as Felix bumped his shoulder against yours and started telling you another joke about his little sister, you knew you wouldn't trade this for all the popularity in the world.
The walk through the school gates was like stepping onto a battlefield.
Usually, you would navigate the chaotic sea of blue and white uniforms with Harper by your side, her fierce glare parting the crowds of younger students like Moses parting the Red Sea. You were protected by her aura. Today, walking beside Felix, you felt entirely exposed.
You kept your chin up, ignoring the curious glances from a few kids in your grade as you made your way through the breezeways toward Class 6B. Felix walked close to you, his shoulder brushing yours, offering a silent, steadying presence.
When you reached the classroom door, you took a deep breath of the stale, air-conditioned air and stepped inside.
The morning bell hadn't rung yet, so the room was filled with the loud chatter of students unpacking their bags. You immediately looked toward the back of the room, to your designated spot.
Harper was there. But she wasn't alone.
Sitting in your chair, her sequined pencil case spread out across your side of the desk, was Chloe from 6A. Harper and Chloe were leaning their heads together, giggling loudly over a piece of paper, their blonde ponytails practically intertwined. As soon as you walked into the room, Harper looked up. Her eyes locked onto yours, then flicked dismissively to Felix, before she purposefully turned her back to you and laughed even louder at whatever Chloe was saying.
The message was crystal clear. Your seat was gone. You had been replaced.
For a split second, the sting of rejection burned hot behind your eyes. It hurt. Despite everything, she had been your best friend for three years.
"Hey," a soft voice murmured right beside you.
You blinked, tearing your gaze away from the back of the room. Felix was looking at you, his dark eyes filled with deep, empathetic concern. He didn't ask if you were okay, he knew you weren't, but his presence was a quiet anchor in the stormy classroom.
You took a shaky breath, forcing the burn out of your eyes, and squared your shoulders. If Harper wanted to play this game, you were going to play it better.
"Come on," you whispered to Felix.
Instead of walking down the aisle toward the back, you stopped at the very front of the room. Felix's desk was in the second row, right by the window. The desk next to it was currently empty.
Without hesitating, you dropped your heavy backpack onto the floor next to the empty chair and sat down right beside him.
Felix's eyes widened in surprise as he slid into his own seat. He looked at you, then glanced nervously toward the back of the room where Harper was undoubtedly watching. "Are you sure? You don't have to..."
"I want to sit here," you interrupted firmly, unzipping your pencil case with a sharp, decisive noise. "The view is better from the front anyway. Plus, I bet Mrs. Gable won't yell at us as much if we sit closer to her desk."
Felix stared at you for a moment, his expression incredibly soft, before a massive, beaming smile broke across his face. He nodded enthusiastically, pulling his own notebooks out of his bag. "Okay. Cool."
When the bell finally rang and Mrs. Gable clapped her hands to start the lesson, you felt a surprising wave of peace wash over you. Sitting at the front of the room was different. You couldn't hide, but sitting next to Felix, you found you didn't really want to.
Mrs. Gable launched into a painfully boring history lesson about the First Fleet. The classroom was quiet, save for the scratching of pencils and the loud, rhythmic hum of the ceiling fans above.
About twenty minutes into the lesson, you heard a faint, deliberate tearing sound.
You kept your eyes glued to the whiteboard, pretending to take notes, but your peripheral vision caught Felix's hands moving under his desk. A few seconds later, a tiny, perfectly folded square of lined paper slid slowly across the crack separating your desks, coming to a halt right next to your elbow.
Your heart did a thrilling little leap. Note passing. It was the ultimate, risky thrill of primary school. If Mrs. Gable caught you, the note would be read aloud to the entire class.
You waited for Mrs. Gable to turn her back to write a date on the board, then quickly scooped the tiny square of paper into your hand and unfolded it under the cover of your textbook.
The handwriting was neat, slightly rounded, and written in blue gel pen.
Are you okay? Is Harper super mad because of me?
You looked over at Felix. He was staring intensely at his history book, pretending to read, but his ears were bright pink.
You quickly grabbed your favourite black pen, leaned over your book, and scribbled a reply on the bottom half of the paper.
I'm fine! She is just being a massive drama queen. I want to sit here. You're way more fun than her anyway. P.S. I kept my promise. Fairy floss Zooper Dooper is currently freezing in my lunchbox.
You carefully folded the paper back into a tiny square. When Mrs. Gable walked over to the windows to adjust the blinds, you flicked the note back across the gap.
You watched out of the corner of your eye as Felix caught it and unfolded it in his lap. As he read your words, you saw his shoulders drop with relief. He bit his lower lip, trying to suppress a huge, radiant smile, but it was impossible. The freckles on his cheeks danced as he beamed at the piece of paper.
He quickly wrote something else and slid it back.
Good. We have to share. I can't wait to try it.
You looked over at him, your eyes sparkling with amusement, and gave him a tiny, secretive thumbs-up. The rest of the morning block flew by in a flurry of passed notes, filled with terrible stick-figure drawings of seagulls and secret jokes about Mrs. Gable's sensible shoes.
When the 11:00 AM recess bell finally shrieked, you didn't even look toward the back of the room. You grabbed your hat and your lunchbox, and you and Felix practically bolted out the door together.
You didn't go to the massive Moreton Bay Fig tree. That was Harper's territory, and you had no desire to fight that battle today. Instead, you and Felix walked straight to the small, secluded cluster of wooden benches hidden underneath the wattle tree near the front gates.
It was your spot now.
You sat down on the wooden slats, the dappled sunlight filtering through the yellow blossoms overhead. The heat was already intense, baking the asphalt of the playground, but sitting in the shade with Felix made it bearable.
"Okay, let's see it," Felix said eagerly, leaning forward the second he sat down.
You grinned proudly, unzipping a small, insulated cooler bag from inside your lunchbox. With a dramatic flourish, you produced a frozen, bright pink Zooper Dooper tube. The plastic was covered in a thick layer of frosty condensation.
"My mom put ice packs in here so it wouldn't melt," you explained, holding up the icy tube.
"How do we eat it? Do you cut it?" Felix asked, looking at it with intense curiosity.
"Watch and learn," you teased.
You placed the middle of the plastic tube against the edge of the wooden bench and brought your hand down on either side with a sharp, practiced thwack. The frozen ice snapped perfectly in half.
Felix's eyes went wide. "Whoa. That was aggressive."
"It's the only way," you laughed, handing him the top half of the tube and keeping the bottom for yourself. "Now, remember, you have to push the ice up from the bottom, and be careful of the plastic edges, they will literally slice your lips open."
Felix took a cautious bite of the bright pink, fairy floss-flavored ice. His eyes immediately lit up, crinkling at the corners in pure delight. "Oh, that's heaps good. It tastes like actual sugar."
"Told you!" you cheered, taking a bite of your own. The cold, artificial sweetness was exactly what you needed in the sweltering heat.
"So," Felix said, his words slightly muffled around the mouthful of ice. "Do you have your dance class today?"
"Yep," you nodded eagerly. "Every Wednesday afternoon. From four-thirty to five-thirty. I'm going to grab the spare permission slip from the front desk before I leave today. Will your mom really let you come next week?"
"I asked her last night when we got home from the beach," Felix said, his voice buzzing with excitement. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "She said yes! She said if you give me the slip, my dad can drive us both there next Wednesday."
"That is going to be so awesome," you grinned, kicking your legs back and forth against the bench. "We're starting a new routine this week, so you won't even be behind. Do you listen to much hip-hop music?"
"A little bit," Felix nodded, pushing the last bit of his Zooper Dooper up through the plastic. "I really like the fast stuff. Like, the stuff with good beats you can jump to."
"Like LMFAO?" you asked, referencing the absolute kings of the 2012 primary school disco scene.
"Yes!" Felix's eyes lit up brighter than the sun. "Party Rock Anthem is my favorite! I know how to do the Melbourne Shuffle part. I practiced it in my bedroom for like, a week."
"No way, you have to show me!" you gasped. "I tried to learn it from a YouTube video but I just ended up kicking my own ankle and tripping over."
Felix let out that bright, beautiful, unrestrained laugh again. "I will! What else do you listen to? Do you like Justice Crew?"
"Obviously," you scoffed playfully. "Everyone likes Justice Crew. They're Australian! 'Friday to Sunday' is literally the best song ever written."
The entire twenty minutes of recess were spent huddled under the wattle tree, passionately debating the greatest pop and hip-hop songs of the era. Felix was incredibly knowledgeable about rhythm and beats. When he talked about music and dancing, all of his lingering shyness evaporated entirely. He was loud, he was expressive, and he was undeniably cool.
When the bell rang to end the break, neither of you wanted to go back inside.
"Next Wednesday," you promised, throwing your empty plastic tube into a nearby bin. "I'll give you the slip this arvo. Next Wednesday, we're dancing."
"I can't wait," Felix smiled, adjusting his wide-brimmed hat.
The rest of the school day passed in a warm, comfortable blur. The anxiety of Harper's rejection had completely faded, replaced by the thrilling realization that you had just secured the best friend you could possibly ask for.
When the 3:00 PM bell finally screamed, you and Felix packed your bags together at the front of the room. You walked out of the classroom side-by-side, entirely ignoring the venomous glare burning into the back of your head from the back row.
As you stepped out into the sweltering afternoon heat, ready for the walk home, Felix bumped his shoulder against yours.
"Thanks for sitting with me today," he mumbled softly, his boyish voice sweet and sincere.
"Thanks for letting me," you smiled back.
You had lost a friend today, but looking at the freckled boy walking happily beside you under the glaring Australian sun, you knew you had gained something so much better.
The pavement of Miller Street seemed to stretch out forever under the relentless afternoon sun, but for the first time in three years, you didn't mind the walk.
Usually, the trek home with Harper involved a litany of complaints—the heat was ruining her hair, her backpack was too heavy, her shoes were giving her blisters. Today, the walk was completely different. The air was filled with a comfortable, easy silence, broken only by the deafening drone of the cicadas hidden high in the eucalyptus branches and the occasional scuff of your black leather school shoes against the concrete.
You walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Felix. The tense, hunched posture that had plagued him on Monday was completely gone. He was still quiet, naturally observant and soft-spoken, but the nervous energy had evaporated. He walked with his head up, his dark eyes taking in the familiar suburban houses, occasionally kicking a stray gum nut off the footpath.
"You weren't kidding," Felix murmured, using the back of his hand to wipe a bead of sweat from his temple. "It actually feels like the road is melting."
"I told you," you laughed, pointing down at the dark, slightly sticky patches of asphalt where the sun hit the hardest. "If you step on the black parts for too long, your shoes will literally stick to the road. Welcome to a Sydney summer."
Felix chuckled, his boyish, slightly raspy voice light and happy. "I'll keep that in mind. No standing still on the road."
As you turned the final corner onto your street, the familiar brick facades of your adjoining houses came into view. The relief of the impending air-conditioning made you both naturally quicken your pace.
When you reached the wooden palings that separated your driveways, you both came to a halt. The afternoon sun was casting long, harsh shadows across the yellowing grass of the front lawns.
"Well," you smiled, adjusting the heavy straps of your school bag. "I've gotta go get ready for dance class. My mom usually drives me there at about four-fifteen."
Felix's eyes brightened instantly at the mention of the studio. The sheer enthusiasm he held for dancing was infectious. "Don't forget to ask for the paper," he reminded you, his voice buzzing with a sudden, eager energy. "The permission slip. So I can come next week."
"I won't forget," you promised, crossing your heart playfully with one finger. "I'll grab it from Barb at the front desk and bring it straight over to your house when I get back. Around quarter to six. Deal?"
"Deal," Felix beamed, the constellation of freckles across his nose shifting with his wide, gap-toothed smile. "Have heaps of fun today."
"I will. See ya, Felix!"
"See ya!"
You practically skipped up your driveway, the heavy burden of the school day entirely lifted from your shoulders. You pushed open your front door, immediately hit by the glorious, freezing blast of the central air-conditioning. You let out a long, dramatic groan of absolute relief, kicking your stiff black school shoes off your feet and leaving them haphazardly near the welcome mat.
"I'm home!" you yelled, your voice echoing down the hallway.
"In the kitchen!" your mother called back.
You padded down the hall in your socks, dropping your heavy backpack onto the floor with a loud thud. Your mom was standing at the kitchen island, pouring a tall glass of icy, bright green Cottee's lime cordial.
"How was the second day?" she asked, sliding the condensation-covered glass across the marble counter toward you. "Drink up, you look like a beetroot."
"It was actually amazing," you said, taking a long, greedy gulp of the sweet, icy cordial. The cold liquid instantly soothed your dry throat. You hopped up onto one of the barstools, resting your elbows on the cool stone counter. "I didn't sit with Harper today."
Your mom stopped wiping the counter, the tea towel pausing in her hands. She looked at you, a mixture of surprise and gentle concern softening her features. She knew exactly how powerful Harper was in the brutal ecosystem of Year 6, and she knew how anxious you had been about confronting her. "You didn't? Where did you sit?"
"Right at the front of the classroom," you announced proudly. "Next to Felix. Harper ignored me all day, and when I walked into the classroom this morning she was sitting in my chair with Chloe. So I just sat next to Felix instead. And it was the best thing I've done all year."
Your mother leaned against the counter, a warm, incredibly proud smile spreading across her face. "I am so proud of you, sweetheart. That takes a lot of bravery to step away from a friend who isn't treating you right. Did she say anything to you?"
"Nope. Not a word," you shrugged, surprised by how little it actually hurt now. "But Felix and I passed notes all through history class, and we shared the Zooper Dooper at recess under the wattle tree. He's actually so funny, Mom. He knows all about hip-hop music."
"Well, it sounds like you've made a wonderful new friend," she said softly, reaching over to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "And it's her loss. Now, if you're going to make it to Miss Clara's class on time, you need to go get changed. I want to leave in twenty minutes."
"Right! I need my bag!"
You slid off the stool and bolted for your bedroom. You threw your stifling, stiff school uniform onto your desk chair and quickly changed into your dance gear, a pair of loose, comfortable black trackies and a bright, oversized singlet. You grabbed your battered duffel bag from the closet, double-checking that your lightweight sneakers and a fresh water bottle were packed inside.
By the time four-fifteen rolled around, you and your mom were pulling out of the driveway in her silver sedan.
The drive to the dance studio took about fifteen minutes, winding through the neighbouring suburbs. You sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the familiar brick houses and sun-baked front lawns rolled by in a blur. The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, turning the harsh glare into a heavy, golden haze.
The dance studio was located in an old, repurposed warehouse complex tucked behind a bustling strip mall. It wasn't exactly prestigious, there were no sparkling chandeliers, fancy waiting rooms, or state-of-the-art sprung floors. It was just a massive, corrugated iron building with a faded sign that read Rhythm & Move Dance Academy above a set of heavy, dented double doors. But the moment you stepped inside, it felt like magic.
"I'll be back at five-thirty to pick you up!" your mom called out, keeping the car idling near the curb. "Have fun! And remember to stretch!"
"I will! Bye!"
You slung your duffel bag over your shoulder and pushed open the heavy front doors. You were immediately hit by the familiar, comforting wall of sensory overload.
The studio smelled overwhelmingly of cheap hairspray, floor wax, and the lingering, humid scent of dozens of sweating teenagers. From down the long, dimly lit hallway, the heavy, thumping bass of a pop song vibrated violently through the floorboards, rattling the framed photos of past dance troupes hanging crookedly on the walls.
You walked straight toward the front desk, a large, cluttered wooden counter completely covered in sign-in sheets, forgotten plastic water bottles, and scattered neon flyers for upcoming showcases.
Sitting behind the desk was Barb. Barb was an absolute institution at Rhythm & Move. She was a woman in her late fifties with aggressively teased auburn hair, reading glasses perched on the end of a long, beaded chain around her neck, and a permanent, brightly coloured acrylic manicure. She was furiously typing on a clunky, outdated desktop computer, a piece of mint chewing gum snapping rhythmically in her mouth.
"G'day, Barb," you smiled, dropping your duffel bag onto the squeaky linoleum floor.
Barb looked up over the rim of her reading glasses, her face instantly breaking into a wide, familiar grin. Her bracelets clattered loudly against the keyboard. "Well, if it isn't my favourite hip-hop star. G'day, sweetheart. How was school? You surviving this awful heat?"
"Barely," you laughed, leaning your elbows against the high counter. "I reckon the school oval is going to catch fire by Friday if it doesn't rain."
"You're not wrong, darl, it's an absolute scorcher out there today," Barb agreed, hitting the enter key with a loud, acrylic clack. "I've had the fans in the studios on full blast since noon. Now, don't forget to sign in. Miss Clara is already warming up Studio Two, so you'd better get your skates on."
You grabbed the cheap biro pen tied to the desk with a piece of string and quickly scribbled your name onto the damp sign-in sheet.
"Oh, wait!" you gasped, suddenly remembering your promise. You stood up on your tiptoes to peer over the high counter. "Before I go in, Barb, do you have any spare enrolment slips? The pink ones for new students?"
Barb raised a painted, perfectly arched eyebrow, leaning back in her squeaky office chair. "Ooh, bringing us a new recruit, are we? Anyone I know?"
"He's my new neighbour," you explained eagerly, the excitement bubbling back up in your chest. "He just moved here from the Blue Mountains. He's exactly my age, and he used to do street dance at his old school. He's heaps good. He wants to join the Wednesday class with me."
"Brilliant! We always need more boys in the hip-hop crew, they bring great energy to the routines," Barb beamed enthusiastically. She spun around in her chair and yanked open a notoriously sticky filing cabinet behind her desk. She rifled through a few folders before pulling out a crisp, bright pink piece of paper. She slid it across the wooden counter toward you. "Here you go, sweetheart. Tell his mum to fill out both sides, especially the emergency contacts, we've got to have those, and bring it back next week to the desk before class starts."
"Thank you, Barb! You're an absolute legend!"
You grabbed the pink slip, folding it carefully in half. You unzipped the small front pocket of your duffel bag and tucked it safely inside, making sure it wouldn't get crushed or stained by your water bottle.
"Have a good class, darl!" Barb called after you as you grabbed your bag and sprinted down the hallway.
You pushed open the heavy wooden door to Studio Two, the heavy bass of the music hitting you square in the chest like a physical weight.
The room was massive and completely unpretentious. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors that were already beginning to fog up slightly at the edges from the collective body heat in the room. The wooden floorboards were scuffed with black marks from thousands of sneakers. About fifteen other kids, mostly your age or a year older, were scattered around the room, dropping their bags against the back wall and doing half-hearted stretches.
"Alright, Year Sixes and Sevens, let's go! Into the center!" Miss Clara clapped her hands loudly, abruptly cutting the music from the stereo system in the corner. She was a fiercely energetic woman in her twenties, wearing baggy grey sweatpants and a bright neon pink tank top. "We have a brand new routine starting today, so I want maximum focus and maximum energy! Let's get these warm-ups done!"
You quickly swapped your sandals for your lightweight sneakers, threw your duffel bag against the wall alongside the others, and jogged into the middle of the floor to find your spot.
The next hour was an absolute blur of sweat, loud music, and intense physical exertion.
Miss Clara didn't take it easy on you just because there was a heatwave outside. She cranked the volume on the stereo, a high-energy mashup of Pitbull, Flo Rida, and LMFAO, and pushed the class relentlessly through the new choreography. Hip-hop was completely different from the stiff, structured rules of the classroom. It was loud, it was messy, and it required you to throw your entire body into every single movement.
You struggled through the new footwork, getting your sneakers tangled up in a complex slide-and-step combination, laughing breathlessly when you accidentally bumped shoulders with the girl next to you. You practiced popping your chest, dropping low to the floor, and finding the heavy down-beat rhythm of the music.
As you danced, staring at your flushed reflection in the fogged-up mirrors, your mind kept drifting back to Felix.
You pictured him standing in this exact room next Wednesday. You remembered what he had said to you under the shade of the wattle tree, that when he danced, he didn't feel quiet, or shy, or small. He felt loud. You tried to imagine the terrified boy who had hidden behind his father's leg suddenly hitting these aggressive hip-hop moves with perfect precision. It was almost impossible to fully picture, but the thought of it made a thrilling rush of adrenaline course through your veins. You could not wait to see it.
By the time five-thirty rolled around, you were absolutely exhausted. Your chest was heaving, and your singlet was clinging uncomfortably to your back.
"Great work today, everyone!" Miss Clara yelled over the final fading chords of the music, using a small white towel to wipe the sweat from her forehead. "Practice those eight-counts at home! I don't want to see any messy or lazy footwork next Wednesday! Grab your bags and get out of here, drink plenty of water!"
You collapsed onto the scuffed floorboards for a few seconds, staring up at the corrugated iron ceiling to catch your breath, before dragging yourself over to your duffel bag. Your face was flushed a brilliant red, and your legs felt like absolute jelly.
You unzipped the front pocket, letting out a huge sigh of relief when you saw the bright pink enrolment slip still sitting there, perfectly flat and completely unscathed.
You waved a tired goodbye to Miss Clara and Barb on your way out, pushing through the heavy double doors and stepping back out into the Australian evening.
The brutal edge of the heatwave had finally broken, leaving behind a thick, warm, and intensely humid evening. The sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the Sydney sky in sweeping streaks of bruised purple, violent orange, and soft pink. The deafening roar of the cicadas was slowly transitioning into the quieter chirping of the evening crickets.
Your mom’s silver sedan was idling near the curb exactly where she had dropped you off.
You climbed into the passenger seat, letting out a long dramatic groan as your tired muscles sank into the cool leather upholstery.
"Good workout?" your mom laughed, putting the car into gear and pulling away from the curb.
"I am completely dead," you announced, dramatically throwing your arm over your eyes to block out the setting sun. "I don't think my legs work anymore. Miss Clara is actively trying to kill us."
"Well, you smell like a wet dog, so she definitely made you work for it," she teased, reaching over to turn the air-conditioning vents directly onto your flushed face. "Did you remember to ask Barb for the slip for Felix?"
You sat up slightly, patting the front pocket of your duffel bag. "Got it right here. Hey, Mum, can we go straight to his house when we get back? I want to give it to him before dinner."
"Sure thing," your mom smiled. "It'll be nice for you to have a buddy in that class. Especially someone who lives so close. Min and I can easily take turns doing the carpool run on Wednesday afternoons."
The drive back to your neighbourhood was peaceful. You watched the streetlights flicker on one by one as the golden hour faded into dusk. The suburban streets were quiet, smelling faintly of freshly cut grass and the occasional, mouth-watering waft of a backyard barbecue.
When your mom finally pulled the car into your driveway, you didn't even bother going inside your own house first.
You slung your duffel bag over your shoulder, unzipped the front pocket, grabbed the pink piece of paper, and hopped out of the car. "I'll be right back, Mom!"
You walked across the dry, yellowed grass of your front lawn, stepping over the low wooden property line, and marched straight up the Lee family's driveway.
Their house looked incredibly warm and inviting. The lights were on in the front living room, casting a soft glow through the drawn curtains. You could hear the muffled sound of a television playing a cartoon, and the incredible smell of toasted sesame oil and garlic wafted through the front flyscreen door.
You stepped up onto their front porch, suddenly feeling a tiny spike of nervousness flutter in your stomach. This was the first time you were actually knocking on their door by yourself.
You raised your hand and rapped your knuckles three times against the wooden frame of the screen door.
"I'll get it!" a small, high-pitched voice shrieked from inside.
A second later, the heavy wooden front door swung open, revealing Olivia. She was wearing a pair of wildly colourful pyjamas and holding a half-eaten carrot stick in one hand.
"Oh, hi!" she beamed, her eyes widening behind her messy bangs. "Are we going to the beach again? Because I can't find my pink goggles."
You laughed, shaking your head. "Not tonight, Liv. I'm too tired. Is Felix here?"
"Who is it, Olivia?" a woman's voice called out from further down the hallway.
Mrs. Lee, Min, appeared behind her daughter, wiping her hands on a floral kitchen apron. When she saw you standing on the porch, her face immediately broke into a warm welcoming smile. "Oh, hello sweetheart! Come in, come in, the bugs are terrible out there tonight."
"Hi, Mrs. Lee," you smiled back politely, staying planted on the porch. "It's okay, I'm super sweaty from dance class, I don't want to mess up your hallway. I just came to drop something off for Felix."
"Dance class!" Mrs. Lee's eyes lit up with immediate recognition. She turned her head toward the hallway, raising her voice. "Yongbok! Your friend is at the door!"
You blinked in surprise. Yongbok?
Before you could ask who that was, the sound of hurried sock-clad footsteps echoed loudly down the hardwood hallway.
Felix skidded around the corner, nearly crashing right into his mother's back. He was wearing an incredibly oversized faded grey t-shirt and loose sweatpants, his dark coppery-brown hair messy and sticking up in several different directions as if he had been lying on the floor.
When he saw you standing on the other side of the flyscreen door, his entire face illuminated.
"You're back!" he said, slightly out of breath. He gently pushed past his sister to stand right at the mesh screen.
"I told you I'd come over this arvo," you grinned, thoroughly enjoying the uncontainable excitement radiating off him. You reached through the unlatched screen door and held out the bright pink piece of paper. "I got it. Barb at the front desk said your mom just needs to fill out both sides, and you can bring it in next Wednesday before class starts."
Felix took the slip from your hand with a reverence usually reserved for handling delicate glass. He stared down at the bold Rhythm & Move Dance Academy logo printed across the top. His hands were actually trembling slightly.
He didn't just look happy; he looked completely, utterly overwhelmed with gratitude. It wasn't just a piece of paper to him. It was a ticket back to the one thing he felt truly confident doing, and it was undeniable proof that you had kept your promise to him. He finally had a friend he could rely on.
"I got it," he whispered, tracing the edge of the pink paper with his thumb.
Mrs. Lee leaned over his shoulder, looking at the slip with a knowing smile. "I'll fill it out tonight while you do your homework, Felix. It's so wonderful that you two can go together. Thank you so much for bringing this over, sweetheart."
"It's no worries at all, Mrs. Lee," you beamed.
Felix finally looked up from the paper, his dark eyes locking onto yours. The porch light above your head suddenly clicked on automatically, casting a golden glow over his face and highlighting the beautifull constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks. The boyish, gap-toothed smile that stretched across his face was unequivocally the most wonderful thing you had seen all day.
"Thank you," he said softly, his expressive eyes holding a universe of unspoken appreciation. "Really. Thank you."
"You're welcome," you smiled warmly. "You'd better start practicing your Melbourne Shuffle, though. Miss Clara doesn't mess around. If your footwork is sloppy, she'll make you do fifty pushups."
Felix's eyes widened in comical horror, but his massive grin didn't falter for a second. "I'll practice right now. I'll practice in the living room."
"Don't you dare break my good vases, Yongbok!" his mother scolded playfully, swatting him gently on the shoulder with her tea towel before disappearing back down the hallway to the kitchen. Olivia had also wandered off, distracted by the cartoon blaring from the living room, leaving just the two of you at the screen door.
You hesitated for a second, your curiosity finally getting the better of you.
"Hey, so..." you started, tilting your head slightly. "Who is Yongbok? Is that your middle name or something?"
Felix's massive grin instantly vanished. He winced, a full-body shudder rippling through his small frame, and his ears turned a violent shade of red. He looked down at his socked feet, suddenly looking incredibly embarrassed.
"It's... my Korean name," he mumbled, his boyish voice dropping to a mortified whisper.
"Yongbok?" you repeated, testing the syllables on your tongue. "I like it. It sounds cool."
"It's not cool," he groaned, bringing his free hand up to bury his flushed face in his palm. "It sounds like an old man's name in Korea. My grandpa gave it to me. I hate it so much. Please don't call me that at school."
You laughed softly at his dramatic reaction, finding it completely endearing. "Okay, okay, I won't tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me, Felix."
He peeked at you through his fingers, letting out a heavy sigh of relief. "Thanks. Seriously."
"I'll see you tomorrow," you smiled, taking a step back off the porch. The cool evening breeze washed over your sweaty skin, offering a sweet relief from the day's heat.
"See you tomorrow!" he called after you, his voice ringing clear into the evening air, the embarrassment already fading.
You walked back through your own front door, the smell of your mom cooking dinner hitting your nose. You were utterly exhausted, your leg muscles ached fiercely, and your sunburn was stinging slightly beneath your singlet. But as you dropped your duffel bag in the hallway and listened to the distant sound of the television next door, you felt completely invincible.
Harper Jones didn't matter. The brutal social hierarchy of Year 6 didn't matter. You had a best friend, and next Wednesday, you were finally going to see exactly how loud the quiet boy next door could be.
reblog if people r allowed to send u asks as if theyre ur friend. wanna tell me how ur day went? do it!!! ask me for advice? sure! ask a personal question? go right on ahead!
➺ summary: as a core member of the wardrobe team for stray kids’ world tour, you are uniquely adapted to the suffocating adrenaline of a stadium show. but when you’re forced into a pitch-black, 4x4 canvas pop-up tent with hwang hyunjin for a 90-second quick change, the secret relationship you've been hiding for months finally boils over. the stage director is counting down the seconds, but right now, hyunjin absolutely refuses to let you do your job.
➺ content: intense physical proximity, mild restraint (pinning to a wall), heavy make-out, neck kissing/biting, mild dirty talk, incredibly high tension/adrenaline.
➺ warnings: heavily suggestive themes
➺ author's note: hyunjin has been on my mind a lot lately, he is aggressively climbing up my bias ranks, so i had to get this out of my system!
The air in the subterranean belly of the Tokyo Dome feels less like oxygen and more like a physical weight pressing against your lungs.
It’s an intoxicating cocktail of industrial smoke machines, the sharp metallic tang of ozone from the pyrotechnics, the chemical sweetness of extra-hold hairspray, and the palpable adrenaline of fifty thousand screaming fans just fifty feet above your head. As a core member of the styling and wardrobe team for Stray Kids’ world tour, you are uniquely adapted to this suffocating environment. You know how to navigate the labyrinth of concrete hallways, how to dodge frantic camera operators, and how to fix a broken zipper in under ten seconds with nothing but a safety pin and sheer willpower.
You know the rules. You know the boundaries. And for the past three months, you have been expertly, dangerously breaking every single one of them.
"Headset check," the stage director’s voice crackles harshly in your left ear, snapping your attention back to the present. "Wardrobe, we are T-minus twelve minutes to the 'Red Lights' quick change. Tent three is prepped?"
You press two fingers against the earpiece. "Tent three is prepped. Wardrobe is standing by."
You drop your hand, your fingers trembling slightly as you double-check the rolling rack tucked into the shadowy alcove just beneath the stage stairs. The outfit hanging there is a logistical nightmare, a blood-red silk shirt with a complicated array of asymmetrical buttons, paired with a structured leather corset belt that requires absolute precision to lace up.
It’s Hyunjin’s outfit.
Just the thought of his name sends a dangerous spark shooting straight down your spine.
What the two of you have been doing is insane. It is reckless, stupid, and entirely intoxicating. It started during the Seoul leg of the tour, a lingering touch while adjusting a collar, a look in a vanity mirror that held for three seconds too long, a whispered conversation in a deserted hotel hallway that ended with you pinned against a door, his mouth devouring yours in the dark. Since then, the tour has become a high-stakes game of cat and mouse. Stolen kisses in broom closets. His hand brushing the small of your back when the managers aren't looking. The agonizing, suffocating tension of having to pretend you are nothing but staff while knowing exactly what he sounds like when he's over you in your hotel room.
But tonight is different. The stakes are higher. This is the biggest venue of the tour, the schedule is tighter than ever, and the physical exhaustion is pushing everyone to their breaking point.
Including him.
You think back to three hours ago, during the final hair and makeup touch-ups in the dressing room. The room had been packed with staff, stylists shouting over the rumble of the soundcheck happening on stage. Hyunjin had been sitting in the makeup chair, his eyes closed as a makeup artist dusted setting powder over his cheekbones. You had been tasked with adjusting the heavy, silver-studded choker around his neck.
You had stepped between his spread knees to get the right angle, your thighs brushing against the rough denim of his stage jeans. The moment you invaded his space, his eyes had snapped open.
They were completely, utterly black.
He hadn't moved. He hadn't said a word. But the way he looked at you, with that heavy, starving intensity, tracing the line of your throat, dropping to your lips, and then locking onto your eyes, had made your breath hitch so violently you almost choked. You had reached around his neck to clasp the choker, your wrists inevitably brushing against the sensitive skin of his pulse point. His skin was burning hot. As you secured the clasp, he had inhaled deeply, his chest expanding, his nose brushing against the fabric of your shirt, breathing in your perfume.
“You smell like vanilla,” he had whispered, his voice so low, so rough, that it was completely drowned out by the chaos of the room to everyone except you.
“Hyunjin, don't,” you had breathed back, your fingers fumbling with the metal clasp, terrified someone would hear the sheer desperation in his tone.
“I’m not doing anything,” he had murmured, a slow, wicked smirk playing on his lips as his hands, resting innocently on the armrests of the chair, flexed, his long fingers twitching as if it was taking every ounce of his legendary self-control not to reach up, grab your waist, and pull you down onto his lap right in front of the entire management team. “But if you keep leaning over me like that, I might.”
A loud crack of thunder from the stage pyrotechnics snaps you out of the memory, sending a jolt of adrenaline straight into your bloodstream.
The floorboards above you are shaking violently. The heavy bass of "Venom" is echoing through the concrete underbelly of the stadium. This is it. The song is ending. The quick change is approaching.
You grab the red silk shirt and the heavy leather corset from the rack, draping them carefully over your arm. You practically sprint the twenty yards to the designated quick-change area.
It’s not a room. It’s a pop-up tent, essentially a 4x4 square of heavy, opaque black canvas erected directly beneath the stage trapdoors. It is designed for maximum speed and absolute privacy. There are no lights inside, only whatever ambient glow bleeds through the canvas from the frantic flashlights of the stage crew running around outside.
You duck through the overlapping flaps of the tent, stepping into the cramped, pitch-black space. It smells of fresh canvas and the lingering scent of dry ice. You hang the outfit on the single hook suspended from the metal frame, unbuttoning the silk shirt so it’s ready to be slipped on the second he arrives.
"Wardrobe, target is moving. ETA thirty seconds," the stage manager's voice barks in your ear.
You swallow hard, your mouth completely dry. You wipe your sweating palms on your jeans.
Above you, the final note of the song hits. The crowd lets out a deafening, hysterical roar that sounds like a physical wave of water crashing over the stadium. You hear the heavy, metallic thud of the trapdoor opening just a few feet away.
Footsteps. Heavy, fast, desperate footsteps hitting the concrete.
The flap of the canvas tent is violently ripped open.
Hyunjin practically throws himself inside, bringing a rush of stifling hot air, the smell of sweat, and the sharp scent of his cologne with him. He is panting heavily, his chest heaving with deep, ragged gasps. The dim light from the hallway catches on his face for a split second before the heavy canvas flap falls shut, sealing the two of you in absolute, suffocating darkness.
"Ninety seconds, Hyunjin! Go, go, go!" a stagehand yells from outside, their voice muffled by the thick fabric.
But inside the tent, the world has stopped.
You can't see him clearly in the pitch black, but you can feel him. He is radiating heat like a furnace. The adrenaline of the performance is pouring off him in thick, palpable waves, electrifying the tiny enclosed space until the air feels too thick to breathe.
"Jacket," you command, forcing your voice to stay steady, professional. Your hands reach out in the dark, finding the sweat-dampened fabric of his current stage outfit.
"I can't," he gasps out, his voice a broken, breathless rasp.
"Hyunjin, we have eighty seconds, take the jacket off–"
"I can't," he repeats, and before you can even process the words, you feel his large hands wrap around your wrists.
His grip is bruising. It isn't the gentle, teasing touch from the dressing room. It is desperate. It is feral. The performer on stage has been completely stripped away, leaving only a man who has been forced to look at you all day without being allowed to touch you.
He yanks your wrists downward, stepping directly into your space. The toe of his boot hits your sneaker. His chest, still heaving violently from the choreography, crashes flush against yours.
The shock of the impact knocks the breath completely out of your lungs.
"Hyunjin–" you manage to choke out, your heart exploding against your ribs as the reality of the confined space and his overwhelming physical presence hits you.
He doesn't let you finish. He releases your wrists, his hands immediately dropping to your waist. His long fingers dig into your hips with a possessive strength, and with one smooth, forceful motion, he walks you backward.
Your spine hits the back wall of the canvas tent. There is nowhere left to go. You are entirely pinned between the taut fabric of the tent and the solid, burning wall of his body.
"You," he breathes, his voice dropping to a guttural whisper that vibrates directly against your neck. "You have been driving me insane all day."
The darkness inside the canvas tent is absolute, broken only by the erratic flashes of strobe lights bleeding through the thick fabric from the arena above.
Every time the light flashes, it illuminates the sharp, desperate angle of Hyunjin’s jaw, the sweat gleaming on his throat, and the pitch-black, starving intensity in his eyes. He has you pinned flush against the back wall of the tent, his body pressing so tightly against yours that you can feel the heavy thud of his heart hammering against his ribs.
"Hyunjin, we have seventy seconds," you gasp, your hands coming up to press flat against his chest. You try to push him back, to create even an inch of professional distance, but it’s like trying to move a concrete wall. The heavy leather and metal studs of his current stage jacket bite into the palms of your hands. "I have to change you."
"Change me," he challenges, his voice a low growl that scrapes directly down your spine. His grip on your hips tightens, his thumbs pressing deeply into the soft skin just above your waistband. "Do it."
Your hands are shaking violently. The adrenaline, the danger of being caught, and the overwhelming physical heat radiating off him are short-circuiting your brain. You slide your hands up to his collar, your fingers fumbling blindly with the heavy zipper of his jacket.
He doesn't make it easy. He doesn't step back to give you room. Instead, as you pull the zipper down, his hips surge forward, grinding flush against yours, pinning you even harder against the canvas.
A sharp, broken sound escapes your throat, half-gasp, half-moan.
"Sixty seconds!" the stage manager’s voice barks through your earpiece, so loud and sharp you flinch.
"Take it off," you breathe, your voice trembling as you push the heavy jacket off his broad shoulders. It falls to the floor of the tent with a muffled thud, leaving him in just a thin, sweat-soaked undershirt.
You reach blindly for the red silk shirt hanging on the hook beside your head. You find it, dragging it down, but before you can even attempt to guide his arms into the sleeves, Hyunjin’s hands move.
He slides his palms up from your waist, his long fingers mapping the curve of your ribs, sliding up until his hands bracket your face. His palms are incredibly warm, slightly damp with sweat, and rough against your cheeks. He tilts your head up, his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw.
"I need to taste you," he whispers, his breath hot and frantic against your lips. "I am losing my mind out there."
"You can't," you choke out, your chest rising and falling in desperate tandem with his. Your eyes flick to his mouth, his lips are stained with a dark, expensive cherry-red tint that the makeup artists spent ten minutes perfecting. "Your makeup. It'll smear. They'll know."
A low, frustrated groan rips from his throat. The realization that he can't actually kiss your lips seems to push him completely over the edge.
"Fine," he rasps.
His hands slide from your cheeks, tangling violently into your hair at the nape of your neck. He tilts your head sharply to the side, exposing the long, sensitive line of your throat.
Before you can even brace yourself, he buries his face in your neck.
His mouth is incredibly hot, wet, and entirely ruthless. He doesn't kiss you gently. He opens his mouth, pressing an open-mouthed, wet kiss directly over your wildly jumping pulse point. His lips slide over your sweat-dampened skin, his teeth scraping lightly against your collarbone.
Your knees instantly give out.
If he wasn't holding you up, pinning you with the solid weight of his body against the canvas wall, you would have collapsed to the concrete floor. Your hands fly up, bypassing the silk shirt entirely, your fingers tangling desperately into his damp hair. You pull him closer, your nails scraping lightly against his scalp.
"Forty-five seconds! Hyunjin, what is the hold up?!" the stagehand yells from just outside the tent flap, his voice practically vibrating through the canvas. You can hear the panic in his tone.
"Hyunjin," you whimper, trying to tug his hair to pull him back. "They're going to come in. You have to put the shirt on."
He ignores you. He sucks a harsh breath in against your neck, his lips trailing higher, right to the sensitive spot just below your ear. His tongue darts out, licking a hot, wet stripe up the column of your throat.
"Let them come in," he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick and slurred with desire. His hand drops between your bodies, his large palm wrapping around your thigh and hiking your leg up, hooking it firmly over his hip so you are pressed intimately, agonizingly close to his center. You can feel exactly how affected he is by the proximity, the hard, unforgiving lines of his body straining against his stage pants. "Let them see."
"You don't mean that," you gasp, your body completely betraying you as you instinctively arch into his touch, grinding your hips against his in the dark.
"I mean it," he groans, biting down sharply on the tendon of your shoulder, causing a fresh shock of pleasure to shoot straight to your core. "I hate it. I hate looking at you in the crowd and knowing I can't touch you. I hate that I have to go back out there."
"Thirty seconds! Wardrobe, respond!" your earpiece screams.
The countdown is a bucket of ice water. The reality of the stadium, the fifty thousand people waiting above, and the career-ending scandal hovering inches away finally breaks through the haze of lust.
"Put your arms out," you command, your voice cracking completely. You shove at his shoulders with all your might.
He resists for one terrifying second, his grip tightening on your thigh. But then the performer in him, the idol who has spent his entire life trained to meet deadlines and hit his marks, takes over. He lets out a devastatingly ragged sigh, dropping your leg and taking half a step back.
He holds his arms out in the pitch black.
Your hands are shaking so badly you can barely hold the silk fabric. You guide his left arm in, then his right, pulling the red silk up over his broad shoulders.
"Buttons," you gasp, stepping back into his space.
You have twenty seconds. The shirt has eight small buttons.
You start at the bottom, your trembling fingers struggling blindly with the silk loops. The darkness is your worst enemy.
Hyunjin doesn't help. He stands there, his chest heaving violently, his head thrown back as he tries to catch his breath. But he isn't completely still. As you work your way up to the third button, right over his stomach, his hands come up.
He slides his hands under the hem of your t-shirt.
His large palms lay flat against the bare skin of your waist. You gasp, your fingers slipping off the fourth button completely.
"Hyunjin, stop, please," you beg, your voice a desperate whisper. "I can't do this if you touch me."
"Then don't button them all," he rasps, his thumbs stroking the soft skin of your sides, sending violently hot shivers radiating through your torso. He leans down again, not kissing you, but pressing his forehead against yours in the dark. You can feel the sweat dripping from his hair onto your skin. You can smell the scent of your own arousal mixed with his cologne. "Leave the top three undone. It fits the concept."
You are hyperventilating. You manage to slip the fifth button through the loop, leaving the top half of his chest completely exposed. The silk hangs open, framing the sharp, sculpted lines of his pectorals.
"The corset," you whisper, reaching for the heavy leather piece hanging on the hook.
"Fifteen seconds! Move!"
You wrap the heavy leather corset around his waist over the silk shirt. You don't have time to lace it properly; you just pull the thick, industrial velcro straps tight, securing it to his midsection. You have to lean in close to pull it tight, your face once again hovering inches from his chest.
As you secure the final strap, Hyunjin’s hands slide from your bare waist, tracing up your sides, before moving to cup your face one last time.
He doesn't say a word. He just strokes his thumbs over your cheekbones, a touch so incredibly tender and terrifyingly possessive it makes your heart ache. He leans in, pressing a hard, desperate kiss to your forehead.
"Tonight," he whispers, the word rough and jagged. "My hotel room. Don't make me wait."
"Ten seconds! Trapdoor is opening!"
Hyunjin steps back. The loss of his body heat is a physical blow, leaving you shivering in the dark space of the tent.
The canvas flap is ripped open from the outside. The harsh, blinding white light of the hallway floods the tiny space.
In a fraction of a second, the feral, desperate man who had just been burying his teeth into your neck vanishes. Hyunjin rolls his shoulders, his posture snapping into the perfect, commanding arrogance of Stray Kids' main dancer. He runs a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back off his forehead, his eyes dark and focused entirely on the trapdoor stairs leading back to the stage.
He doesn't look back at you. He doesn't even glance in your direction. He steps out of the tent, the heavy red silk billowing behind him, and breaks into a sprint toward the stairs just as the heavy, ominous intro beat of "Red Lights" begins to pound through the stadium.
You are left standing alone in the tiny, canvas box.
Your chest is heaving. Your knees are trembling so violently you have to reach out and grip the metal frame of the tent to keep from collapsing. Your hair is a mess, and the skin of your neck is burning, a stinging, vivid reminder of his mouth.
"Wardrobe complete," you manage to say into your earpiece, your voice sounding incredibly weak and breathy to your own ears.
You press your hand over your thundering heart, closing your eyes in the dark, already terrified of exactly what is going to happen when the concert is finally over.
➺ content: established relationship, comedy, reader being kinda freaky and felix supporting it
➺ summary: you see the devastating new pictures felix took for atiissu, and you immediately have to slide into his dms to submit a formal request for "feral time." he happily sits back and lets you completely lose your mind.
➺ author's note: y'all... when i tell you i literally stopped functioning when those concept photos dropped. RED LEATHER??? THE UNZIPPED JACKET???? asdfghjkl. and do NOT even get me started on the bleached eyebrows and the fact that they actually kept his gorgeous natural golden skin tone. i am deceased. 6ft under.
i had to make this smau immediately because i am operating on the exact same freaky, unhinged wavelength as the reader right now. pls enjoy our collective meltdown
Foot in Mouth Disease (Or: How Kim Seungmin Almost Ruined His Own Anniversary)
➺ pairing: seungmin x reader
➺ ss count: 6
➺ content: angst to fluff, established relationship, comedy, boyfriend!seungmin
➺ summary: in which seungmin insults your outfit, realizes you were being genuine, panics in the group chat, and spends the rest of the night grovelling.
➺ warnings: minor angst, miscommunication, seungmin being an absolute asshole (until he realizes he messed up)
➺ author's note: yeah... i have to work on my formatting for fake texts...
Hey everyone! 👋 Just a quick life update. I’m so sorry for the unexpected pause in posting lately! I took a pretty bad fall recently that resulted in a hospital trip and a concussion, so I’ve been resting and taking a mandatory break from screens. I’m doing much better now and recovering well! Thank you all for sticking around. I'll be back to posting your regular content very soon! 🩵
I love ask games and I love making them so :3 I sent some questions to my friends recently and figured I'd just make a lil ask game people could reblog if they wanted!
1. Who was your first SKZ bias?
2. How did you find SKZ? Were they your first kpop obsession?
3. What's one SKZ quote you would get tattoo'd on your body?
4. How did you land on your current/ult bias? Like what really solidifed them for you?
5. What was your first comeback vs your fav comeback?
6. What boys make up your personal racha?
7. How do you most participate in Staydom? (Reblogging, interacting, making your own gifs, art, stories, etc)
8. Which fanmeeting theme has been your favorite?
9. If you collect SKZ things, what object or PC is your favorite?
10. Is there a piece of SKZ merch/PC you'd kill a man for?
11. What SKZ song did you first listen to on repeat?
12. Which SKZ album could you loop without skipping any songs?
13. What's your favorite song that your ult bias(es) is in? Could still be a group song!
14. If you had to cosplay as a SKZ album, MV, or stage performance, which one would you do?
15. If you do create content for the fandom, what piece are you most proud of?
16. What's your favorite art piece/fanfic of your ult bias?
17. Who did you follow first on tumblr once you started getting into SKZ?
18. Who's one Stay artist/writer that you always get excited to see on your dash?
19. What SKZ moment lives rent free in your mind?
20. What do you love most about Stray Kids?
21. Do you have a favorite SKZ meme?
22. What are two of your favorite SKZ songs that you think are polar opposite/best show off their range?
23. What's your favorite hairstyle for each of the boys?
24. If not the SKZoos, what animal do you think best represents each boy?
25. What animal would be YOUR SKZoo?
26. What's one moment with one of the other boys (not your ult/main bias) that really made you go :O?
27. Do you have any fanmade SKZ merch? If so, what's your fav?
28. Have you been to a SKZ live performance before? If so, what was the experience like? If not, which one do you most wish you could’ve gone to?
29. Do you have SKZ set as your wallpaper on any of your devices?
30. What's one thing you'd tell the SKZ boys if you had the chance to?
