Where The Autumn Wind Blows
By the time we pull into the lot, kids are already huddled under the overhang, phones glowing against their faces.
Someone’s blasting music too loud from a beat-up Honda, and for a second, I almost wish I could be one of them—anonymous, not tangled in this secret world we’ve built.
It’s bonfires on the beach, promises whispered into the wind, the feeling that no matter what, someone knows you better than anyone else. Or at least, it used to feel like that.
Now Gemma’s stuck four hours away at that private school where she says the air smells like bleach and money. Mara’s three hours away with Gavin, and she hasn’t answered my last three texts.
Bab Populer