FADE IN
MY BEDROOM. SEPTEMBER. EVENING.
CLOSE-UP. HEART-SHAPED PINK SUNGLASSES. HIDING A FACE. MUSIC PLAYS. THE SUN FALLS ACROSS THE BEDROOM IN A BRIGHT SHAFT OF LIGHT. CUT TO: WIDE SHOT. GIRL LIES ON HER BED, PROPPED ON HER ELBOWS, CHIN IN HER HANDS.
Phyre, sixteen, that’s me! And this is my life. Or how I picture it. The door swings open and I smile up at you.
ME
Come in. Close the door behind you.
We painted my name on it when we were seven. Phyre, still there because we used oil paint and nothing covers it. Put regular paint on top and it beads and wipes right off, like watercolor on wax crayon. Purple, because it’s my favorite color, the color of this bedroom! Depending on the light. See how everything burns pink in the sun?
ME
Sit down!
I swing a hand toward your usual spot.
YOU
Stylish sunnies, Phy!
The sunglasses were a present from you, a joke, but I wear them anyway. I slide them down my nose, then fling them at you, shielding my eyes from the sun as you catch them and sink into my beanbag. I laugh at your serious face as you put them on. Nice new jeans, I see, watching you jam your hands into your pockets and cross your ankles out in front of you. They look good on you. We’re not the kids that started in first grade together, I think, smiling at the ridiculous pink heart reflections cast across your cheek.
I roll onto my back, resting my head on my hands, and gaze out the window. The trees are already turning to a fiery gold, the sun dipping behind them as I watch. A gust of wind sends yellow leaves falling like rain. I look at you over the top of my head, a shadow dividing your upside-down face in two. You push the sunglasses up into your fair hair so I can see every shade of your green eyes.
YOU
Can you believe it’s the first day of school tomorrow?
I shake my head, catching sight of the outfit I’ve laid out. I squeeze my eyes shut and spread my arms across the bed. I haven’t been nervous for a first day since we were five and I saw you sitting in the classroom refusing to take off your backpack. I’m lucky to start every new year with you.
SCHOOL HALLWAY. MONDAY MORNING. FIRST DAY.
We ride the wave of the hallway, returning familiar smiles. Everyone has the glow of summer about them. I tuck a rogue strand of brown hair behind my ear, the fire-engine red growing out of my bangs so it looks like just the tips are on fire. I wave at Cara. She looks very Vogue in stripes and skinny black jeans, her dark hair cropped to her chin this year.
CARA
Phyre Power!
Cara wants to make movies too, and smiles at me with the casual scrutiny she looks at the world with, like someone watching a story piece itself together in pictures.
CARA
Good summer?
The question ripples between people down the hall as she gives me a salute and we roll on.
Kate heads toward us and asks you if you’re signed up for swimming. You’ve been on the team for the last couple of years. A few more greetings are sent your way and I spare you a sideways glance. You’re getting more and more attention every year—growing into your good looks, my mom called it. I elbow you fondly, wondering whether I’ll have to remind you who was there for you when you were awkward looking.
SUNNY CLASSROOM. THAT AFTERNOON.
Curled forward in my chair, I’m filling in my timetable on the inside cover of my notebook. My mouth has slid into its pout—my concentrating face, you call it. We get to take a theater and film class this year, so I’m excited, and there’s a student teacher for the first semester, which is theater studies. We’re sitting in haphazard rows; class hasn’t started. Ryan is sitting on Bella’s desk, knees wide apart like boys do, inviting her to a party that will probably end up as a party of two. He’s an attention seeker. He can make you feel special one on one, but in front of people he has something to prove. Trust me, we went out for a few weeks last year. Sitting on the windowsill, I can see you frowning from here. He’s not your favorite person—you’ve never been the kind to fool around.
Tony, Ryan’s sidekick, taps me on the shoulder and rocks forward.
TONY
Hey.
He rests his forearm across the back