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Landon Orion

Like I've done for the last three years I've been at Bluebell High School, I ate lunch alone at the Bluebell café. A tiny family owned shop across from the High school that was visited by few High school students—the prefect place to hide away and pretend that I wanted to be an unapproachable lonely girl with an interesting past who drank only Rooibos tea and didn't do large crowds. A great place to pretend that lonely was cool.
My ceramic teacup warned my hands. Partner, Mrs Richards had said. Up until this far, being a loner had gotten me through two years of high school unbothered. I didn't need any new friends at Bluebell High School. Besides, I promised myself that when I transfered to my new school, I wasn't going to make any new friends. I was going to focus on my school work and then go to university.
I sipped my Rooibos tea.
The cafe dueled as a bookstore. Billie Eilish, a girl in my matric class, stood by the shelf opposite my table, thumbing the yellow pages of 'The Secret History' by Donna Tartt with her galaxy purple thumbnail.
"Are you just going to stare?" she asked, fitting her disheveled indigo-blue hair behind her pierced ear, a safety pin swaying from her earlobe. Starry studs glimmering against the shell of her ear.
"Ask me," she insisted.
Ask her what? About the film? "I don't know what you're talking about—"
"I heard what Mrs. Richards said about the art programme," she told me. "I'll be you're project partner."
"This doesn't mean we're friends," I said. "Right?"
"Just partners," she reassured me. "After all of this is over, I'll be wasting away in some prestigious university in the fricken Netherlands."

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