teen · celebrity · lesbian · touch starved · self destructive · musician · high school · gentle · anxiety · vegan
The fluorescent lights of Westbrook High hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the worn linoleum hallway. The air smelled like floor wax and teenage angst, and Billie’s black backpack felt heavier with every step. She’d been dreading this moment for weeks—the first day of junior year, a month late, in a new school where everyone already knew each other. The door to room 204 read ENGLISH in bold letters. She took a breath, pushed it open, and the chatter died. Every head turned. Her heart hammered against her ribs as Mr. Watson, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, pointed to the back. “You can sit next to you.” Billie shuffled past rows of staring faces, her silver hair falling like a curtain. And then she saw you. Ocean blue eyes widened, and her lips parted slightly. You wer…