At the Crossroads

The bus rounds the corner and hisses to a stop. I sling my bag over one shoulder, sunlight pressing warm against my cheek, the familiar hum of students blending into a blur I no longer notice.

A hint of summer carries on the November air, and a stray breeze pulls at the ends of my ponytail.

“So this is it,” Jo grins. “Last bus ride home.”

Psychology is over, my final exam and last link to high school done. I should feel free. Instead, I feel hollow.

“It doesn’t feel real,” I say.

Jo grins, scanning the crowd of students, their uniforms blending into a patchwork of colour.

“I can’t wait to move to Northspire,” Jo says. “To finally leave this place behind.”

For her, Ashgrove is too small, too ordinary. She wants city lights, an elite education, a chance to prove herself at Northspire's Silvern Academy.

Me? I’ve already lived city life in Crestbourne. Northspire will be much the same, all noise and neon, crowds and chaos. Ashgrove, though, is green trees and open air. Friendly faces. Space to breathe.

Sure, I want success and excitement. I’m just not convinced the city is where you find it.

The bus queue is a tangle of backpacks and chatter. Kids shove past, jostling for position. A younger girl from Jo’s pack steps back, we slip in beside her.

Something brushes my arm, light and deliberate. My chest tightens. Heath steps past, throwing me a quick smirk over his shoulder as he cuts to the front, the line parting almost instinctively for him.

Jo’s keen eyes find me, assessing. I look anywhere but at him.

The bus doors hiss open, and the students at the front push forward.

"Everly, Silvern would take you in a heartbeat, and I’d be there too.” Jo sweeps her hand over the crowd, brushing aside the ordinary. "You don’t belong here, just playing human."

Words catch in my throat. I don’t know where I belong. Or who I want to be.

We climb aboard, the musty heat of the old country bus wrapping around us. Halfway down the aisle, I slide into a window seat, Jo dropping in beside me. Vinyl sticks to the backs of our legs, warm from the sun. I shove my bag onto the floor.

Jo has grown up here. Confident and ambitious, Silvern is made for her. Me? My wolf blood is diluted. My cousin Sienna and I joke about it, half-hope, half-dread. Our parents rarely speak of that side. Sometimes I wonder what we’ve inherited... if anything.

Through the window, I spot Mia across the street. Sunglasses slipping, blonde hair tousled by the breeze, she waves. Her boyfriend brushes a strand from her face before a quick, easy kiss. She pushes him toward the carpark with a laugh.

Mia had a way of bringing out my silly side, the part that feels fun and easy. We’d grown apart once dating entered the picture. I miss her. I miss that version of me that shows up when she’s around.

Jo follows my gaze. “Some people have different priorities.”

Mia hasn’t aimed for anything prestigious. She’s taken a traineeship, a job, a life already in motion. Jo scoffs, dismissing it as small-time. And yet… maybe that’s the smarter choice. Mia hasn’t waited for the “right” path. She is moving forward on her own terms, and she seems… happy.

“My plan makes sense,” I say. “Ashgrove University’s decent. Staying local saves money, and I can actually get my degree without playing catch up to those born with a head start. You’ve got a pack behind you; I have to do it on my own.”

Jo blinks, quiet for once. Then she concedes, “You’re right. It’s different for you. But if you’re only saying no because it’s hard, that’s not a reason. That’s fear.”

That stings.

I feel the urge to argue, to make her understand but it vanishes as quickly as it comes. What’s the point? That’s just Jo.

With everyone on and seated, the bus rumbles toward home. I shift the conversation to other things, holiday plans, work, anything to keep my mind from circling back to her words.

At her stop, she throws me one last wave, and walks along the dusty gravel road into the late afternoon sun. Quiet settles over the bus.

I let my fingers trail along the glass, watching trees and dry grass paddocks blur past. The hollow I pushed aside while Jo was here creeps back in, but I know the back of the bus will stir soon. I keep my expression blank, even as my chest tightens with a familiar flutter.

As if on cue, he slides into the seat behind me. Sandy hair in an artful mess, that grin of his radiating trouble. I don’t even need to look. His scent reaches me first—warmth, spice, a hint of citrus that prickles my skin. I keep my eyes on the glass, fingers still, pretending I don’t notice.

We share the first stop in the morning and the last stretch of the ride home. I still remember my first day on the bus. I lingered at the edge of the shelter, trying not to be noticed, conscious of each careful step.

When I climbed on last, I picked a centre seat, heart thumping, aware of every eye I imagined on me. That’s when Heath turned, crooked smirk in place. “Girls sit in the back,” he said, pointing to the faded line on the floor like it was law. My stomach flipped. Too new, too unsure, I moved further back without a word, ignoring the muttered snobby bitch that followed.

The line was the driver’s weak attempt to keep Heath and his mates in check. Eventually the line faded, and so did my hesitation.

At first, we barely spoke. Just a few words, a smirk, a silent dare. He mostly stayed with his friends, but in those last twenty or so minutes of the ride, after everyone else had gone, he’d find me. That’s when the banter started, playful teasing that meant nothing and somehow, everything.

He’s funny in that dry, careless way. Attractive, too. The kind of boy my parents would hate, my friends would never understand. He skips classes, smokes behind the school sheds, fights without warning, kisses without apologies.

Mia thinks he’s a jerk. Jo would call him trash. Maybe they’re right. And yet every afternoon, we find ourselves drawn to each other.

He asked me out that first year. I felt the pull, but something held me back. Not my friends or family, although that would’ve been enough. I could see where it would go: expectations I wasn’t ready for, a kind of intimacy I couldn’t face. Despite the chemistry, a small voice whispered a warning. Maybe I didn’t trust him. Maybe I didn’t trust myself. My instincts were steering me clear, even as the rest of me wanted to fall.

He didn’t push. Just that lazy, teasing smile. “Your loss, city girl.” I thought I saw something in his eyes, a touch of hurt but maybe it was just me.

For a while, he flirted with someone else, letting her curl against his side on the backseat, her giggles scraping against my nerves. I watched, careful not to let him see. And when it burned out, as it always did, Heath and I drifted back to this almost-friends, almost-more. But in the end, almost nothing.

A foil wrapper crinkles behind me. I peek over the seat. One eyebrow lifts.

“Chocolate,” I murmur. “You know that’s my weakness.”

Heath snaps off a line, grin spreading. “Not sharing, princess.” He holds it between us for a heartbeat, daring me before taking a bite.

“We’ll see about that.”

I lean over the seat, snatching the treat from the edge of his lips before he can react. My hand brushes his mouth. Hot skin, quick breath, and for a moment, my knees go weak, pulse racing.

I bite the chocolate-coated wafer and sink back into my seat, victorious. A stunned silence, then his deep laugh curls around me like smoke, leaving my chest warm.

“Cheeky little thing,” Heath says, voice rougher than usual, eyes glinting as he reaches for the next bite.

“You love it,” I toss back, pretending not to hear the tightness threading through my own words.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You basically handed it to me.”

“That was bait,” he says, kicking the back of my seat gently. “You fell for it.”

I twist around again, arching an eyebrow. “Oh? And what would happen if I just said please?”

He smirks, leaning forward, voice low. “Maybe I’d have fed it to you.”

My pulse skips. I force a laugh. “Wow. Gross.”

“Romantic,” he says, mock-wounded. “That’s how you nerdy girls like it, grand gestures and sugar rushes.”

“So cliché. Who says being nerdy means I can’t be trouble? You’re just too slow to notice.”

For a moment, I think I see something in his eyes, a shadow of… something, but it vanishes before I can be sure.

“Oh, I noticed,” he mumbles, almost to himself, then grins, quick and wicked. “You going tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Shawn’s party.”

I blink. “Wasn’t invited.”

Heath makes a soft noise of disbelief. “Invites? You don’t need one. You just show up.”

I roll my eyes. “Drunk people, bad choices, a Bluetooth speaker that keeps cutting out. Not really my scene.”

"Yeah. But maybe it should be. Kinda thing trouble might do."

He says it casually, but the way he looks at me isn’t casual at all. I almost forget to breathe.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, looking away, a twitch of his lips making me pause for a heartbeat.

The bus shudders to a stop. Our stop. Heath stands, slinging his bag over one shoulder. For a second, I think he might say more. A real invitation, something to anchor this teasing energy.

He doesn’t. He brushes past and walks down the aisle without looking back.

And as always, I let him go. My chest feels heavy, like the air has been pulled out of me.

My phone buzzes as I walk the gravel driveway home. I pull it from my pocket.

[Sienna] Hey. Survived exams? Found some stuff in Nana’s things. Mum and Dad left it at yours so you could see it, your parents wanted you to finish school first. It’s… kinda wild.

By the time I push open the front door, I’m done, brain fried, heart heavy. Exams are over, but relief hasn’t come; I crave stillness. Of course, my parents are waiting.

Author Note:

And so the story begins!

I’m curious, what’s your favourite chocolate treat? I love a Kit Kat—E x