Monday morning dawns bright and cheery, but it does nothing to lighten my mood as I trudge past the school gates. Students mill around in groups. I scan around for Kylie but I don’t see her iconic fringe anywhere.

Then, as I approach the lockers, I hear her shrill voice.

“Chandy!”

I turn. Her fringe is blonde today with a small strip of purple down the side. That’s the thing with Kylie; she’s so restless that even her hair can’t stay the same colour for a single week.

“Nice hair,” I say flatly as she approaches. Then, unable to resist, “Again.”

Her almond-shaped brown eyes fill with glee. “I know, right? I’m following right on trend this year. Or should I say the trend is following me.”

I blow air out of my mouth, rolling my eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she asks. “What’s happened to my Chandy-Pandy?”

I level my gaze with hers, but my eyes are still drawn to the obnoxious strip of purple hair. “I met a boy.”

Her eyebrows rise until they’re hidden. “A boy?”

“Well, we didn’t meet exactly.”

“And this is why you’re sad?” she splutters. “Because you met a boy?” Before I can reply, she’s off on a tangent. “But I swear boys are meant to make us happy—”

She cuts off short suddenly, eyes on something behind me.

“What?” I grumble.

She doesn’t reply. Instead, her eyes are still locked on something I can’t see.

I whirl around. Down the corridor is a sight that makes my stomach leap to my throat.

A girl and a boy burst through the doors. The girl saunters in first, flicking her sleek, black hair into the faces of others passing by. I catch a smug expression as she rests her eyes on me. Then, she turns to the boy and clasps his hands in hers. He takes it willingly, body slightly stoic as he sees me. His eyes cast to the floor, expression blank. Once they pass, a catch a whiff of her vanilla perfume.

“Megan and Dayson,” I hiss between my teeth.

“Sorry, girl,” Kylie says. “It looks like they’ve moved forward.”

I turn back to my locker and throw in a few books; my coat follows closely behind. Megan, that bitch.

As soon as Dayson and I ended all those seven months ago, she’d pounced on him like a cheetah on a gazelle. I couldn’t kid myself – she’d had an eye on him even before we’d started dating, but it hurt that she would attack so soon, and that now he’d respond. At first I’d thought it was just a crush on him but now it seems like it’s something indefinitely more.

"So all he did," I drawl, "is go with another tennis player."

"Hypocrite," Kylie snarls in the direction of Megan and Dayson. I can only smile. “Anyway,” says Kylie, interrupting my thoughts. “Where were we?”

I close the locker door with a slam. “Where were we what?”

“You’re not happy because you met a boy.”

“Yes, that.” I sling my bag over my shoulder. “Well, it’s not that. It’s just that I realised that I’m not ready.”

I can see she wants to stop again but I don’t let her. Instead, I carry on walking straight through the doors that Megan and Dayson erupted from. If I breathe in deeply enough, I catch a slight scent of vanilla.

“Well, after that episode we just saw, I think you’re ready.”

I stop now, look at her in the eye. I can’t tell her about last night when I was cooped up in my room, crying over a boy who I swore to be out of my life.

It was just a necklace anyway. How cliché.

“I’m not ready,” I tell her.

I, Chandy Dixon, am not ready.

* * *

The canteen is buzzing. If the place could vibrate, it would. No need for nightclubs; just dim the lights and serve just-add-water rice with too-hot curry and lukewarm water; then you’re good to go.

I sit in front of the steaming plate of curry, opposite Kylie who, as usual, has chosen an even-more disgusting dish that looks like re-constructed vegetables rolled into fart balls. Glad I’m not a vegetarian, I think as I take my fork and dig in.

“So,” she begins, spearing a ball. “How did this meeting with the boy go?”

I tell her the full story. By the end her eyes are bright with excitement.

“You’ve got to get him,” she squeals. “He sounds like a sweetheart.”

“Not so loud!” I glance around, but thankfully no one seems interested in our conversation.

“I wish Gabe did stuff like that for me,” Kylie says wistfully as she chews on a vegetable ball. It’s no wonder that she doesn’t spit it out. “He’s nowhere near a heart-throb like yours.”

“He’s not mine!”

“Not yet,” she replies with a grin. I can see bits of carrot stuck between her teeth. “By the force of nature, I think you’ll be together.”

“Cut down on that bull—”

I don’t get another word out because I’m interrupted by a repeating knocking sound. I turn, listening as the volume of the knocking increases as the hubbub of the canteen quietens down.

All that’s left is the sight of Megan slowly tapping her plastic cup against the table.

Everyone is silent as she stops the banging and settles the cup delicately on the table. We all watch as she rises, casting her eyes around, looking for someone. When she doesn’t find them, she sets a foot on her seat.

“Oh, shit,” whispers Kylie. “She’s not going to stand on the table, is she?”

And yet she does. Megan the Massive Bitch lifts her slim, orange leg and steps up among the trays. I catch sight of Dayson between her legs. He’s like I always remember except there’s more of a glow to his face now.

We all watch Megan as she smooths down her skirt. Every day the fabric seems to creep higher and higher up her legs until one day I think it’ll cease to exist.

Then she flicks that perfect hair of hers and begins to talk.

“Hello, bitches,” she begins, her snooty voice clear above the silence. There are slight murmurs at her introduction but all turns silent at her deathly glare. “I have an announcement to make,” she continues. “But first I need to know if a specific person is here.” Her eyes scan the crowd. “Chandy Dixon?”

My heart leaps to my throat. I hate the way she says it. Chandy Dixon. In her mouth, it sounds more like ‘Chandy Dickson.’ And she only seems to relish the first part of my surname.

Kylie’s eyes are wide.

“What the fuck?” she hisses.

I glance from her to Megan and then back again.

“Dickson?” it comes again.

And, when I look up, her eyes are on mine. From here, I can see Megan’s perfectly winged eyeliner, the redness of her lips that Dayson probably can’t get enough of.

Her eyes are like ice. I catch a glint of something in them but I can’t place what it is.

“Ah,” says Megan softly. Her smile is like a crocodile’s before it faces its last meal. “There you are.”

All eyes are on me.

“I want you to know, Chandy-pie, that Dayson and I”—She smiles wider at this—“are together.”

The room’s temperature seems to drop. All of a sudden it’s not vibrating anymore.

“We’re dating,” she says, voice grating. “We fucked last night.”

There are gasps.

“In fact, we’ve been fucking for months now.”

And then I’m on my feet, hair bristling. He cheated on me.

“Come here,” I say.

Megan’s laughter vibrates in itself.

“He’s mine, Chandy!” she taunts. “He’s fucking mine now.”

I’m seven inches away from pulling her leg and breaking it.

“Chandy, no!” comes a voice from behind me. I pay it no heed. Kylie’s hand catches mine but I shake it off roughly. All my focus is on Megan and her tinny laugh.

Megan’s laughter turns into a scream. She crashes down onto the trays, shattering glass within a metre radius. I lunge after her, determined for another strike, but Kylie holds me back.

“No,” she hisses in my ear. “You hear me? No.”

“Get off!” I screech.

But she holds her grip and soon she’s yanking me past the open mouths of younger years and into the fresh air outside.

I gulp it down.

“I know she’s a bitch but don’t attack her.” Despite her cut-throat words, Kylie’s arms are around me, enveloping me in their warmth.

After my boyfriend moved on, I cried.