Short Story: The Unlikely Alliance

 The Unlikely Alliance

The September heat was still clinging to the afternoon air when Orion Woodmoor stepped out of his mum's car and stared up at Blue Sky Academy. The imposing buildings seemed to stretch endlessly upward, making him feel impossibly small in his brand-new blazer that still smelled of the shop. His stomach churned with the particular mixture of excitement and terror that came with starting secondary school, proper secondary school, with different teachers for every subject and corridors that looked like mazes.
"You'll be fine, love," his mum said, though her voice had that forced brightness that meant she was worried too. "Fresh start, remember? New town, new opportunities."
Orion nodded, shouldering his bag with more confidence than he felt. Fresh start. Right. Because the last school had been such a disaster that they'd had to move house entirely. Because sometimes a fresh start was the only option left. But this wasn't just changing schools, this was leaving primary school behind forever, stepping into the terrifying world of secondary education where everyone seemed so much older and more confident.
Three streets away, Celeste Winterbourne was having a similar conversation with her dad as they approached the academy gates.
"I know it's hard, sweetheart," he was saying, his voice gentle but firm. "Moving house and starting secondary school in the same month... that's a lot for anyone. But sometimes life throws us curveballs, and we just have to adapt."
Celeste said nothing, her jaw set in a stubborn line as she clutched her new planner like a lifeline. Adapt. As if it were that simple. As if leaving behind everything you'd ever known because of Dad's job was just something you adapted to. As if starting Year 7 at a completely new academy where you knew absolutely nobody was just a minor inconvenience rather than the most terrifying thing that had ever happened to you.
The academy looked enormous compared to her old primary school. There were older students everywhere,  Year 11s who looked practically adult, carrying themselves with the confidence that came from years of navigating these corridors. Celeste felt like a child playing dress-up in her new uniform, pretending to be ready for something she absolutely wasn't.
The first time they encountered each other was in the corridor outside their new form room, 7C. Orion was standing by the window, trying to look like he belonged there while internally panicking about whether he was even in the right building, when Celeste rounded the corner at exactly the wrong moment. They collided spectacularly, sending her carefully organised folder flying and scattering his new stationery across the floor.
"Watch where you're going!" Celeste snapped, dropping to her knees to gather her scattered papers. Her voice was sharper than usual, the stress of the morning making her defensive.
"Me?" Orion shot back, crouching down to collect his pens. "You're the one who came charging around the corner like a bull in a China shop!"
"I was not charging! I was walking perfectly normally!"
"If that's your idea of normal, I'd hate to see you in a hurry."
They glared at each other over the mess of papers and pens, both red-faced with embarrassment and the particular anxiety that came from making a scene on your very first day at secondary school. Celeste took in Orion's messy dark hair and defensive expression, noting how his blazer was slightly too big and his tie was crooked. Orion noted Celeste's perfectly plaited blonde hair and the way she was clutching her folder like a shield, her uniform immaculate but her eyes wide with barely contained panic.
"Great," Celeste muttered under her breath. "Just brilliant. First day at secondary school and I'm already making enemies."
"Tell me about it," Orion replied, shoving his rescued stationery back into his bag. "Nothing like starting Year 7 by proving you're a complete disaster."
They stood up simultaneously, still glaring, and that's when Mr. Greenwood appeared.
"Ah, wonderful!" their new form tutor beamed, his enthusiasm radiating the particular energy of teachers on the first day of term. "Orion and Celeste, isn't it? How lovely that you're getting acquainted already! You'll be sitting next to each other - I always pair up the new students. Help each other settle in, that sort of thing."
Orion and Celeste exchanged looks of pure horror.
"Actually, Mr. Greenwood," Celeste began, her voice rising slightly with panic, "I think there might be some mistake."
"No mistake at all, my dear! Come along, let's get you both settled. First day nerves are perfectly normal, but you'll find everything much easier once you're properly organised."
And so began the most uncomfortable seating arrangement in the history of Blue Sky Academy.
For the first week, they maintained a careful cold war that was complicated by their shared terror of secondary school life. Orion would arrive at their desk first and spread his things out territorially, partly to claim space and partly because he had no idea what he was supposed to be doing. Celeste would move them with pointed precision to make room for her own meticulously organised supplies, her need for control heightened by how out of control everything else felt.
Neither spoke to the other unless absolutely necessary, and when they did, it was with barely concealed irritation mixed with the stress of trying to navigate timetables, find classrooms, and remember which books they needed for which lessons.
"Could you please move your enormous pencil case?" Celeste would ask with icy politeness, though her voice carried an undertone of desperation. "I need space for my subject dividers."
"Could you please stop reorganising my stuff?" Orion would reply with equal frost, though he was secretly grateful that someone seemed to know what they were doing. "Some of us don't need everything in perfect little rows."
Their classmates began to notice the tension, though most were too busy with their own first-week anxieties to pay much attention.
"Those two really don't like each other, do they?" whispered Jasmine to her friend during lunch, both girls still overwhelmed by the size of the dining hall compared to their primary school.
"It's like watching a nature documentary about territorial animals," agreed Blaze, who was struggling with his own transition from being one of the oldest at primary school to one of the youngest at the academy.
But the thing about being the only two new students in a year group where everyone else had come up from the same primary schools was that, whether they liked it or not, they were in the same boat. While their classmates chatted about shared memories from Year 6 and complained about teachers they'd known for years, Orion and Celeste sat in their mutual bubble of outsider-ness, united only in their complete bewilderment at secondary school life.
The corridors were a maze. The timetable was incomprehensible. The older students seemed to belong to a different species entirely. And somehow, everyone else in their year group seemed to have figured it all out while they were still getting lost on the way to the toilets.
It was during a particularly brutal PE lesson in the second week that things began to shift.
Mr. Sunny had decided that cross-country running was exactly what Year 7 needed on a sweltering September afternoon, apparently believing that throwing confused eleven-year-olds into the countryside would somehow help them adjust to secondary school life. Most of the class had set off in chattering groups of primary school friends, leaving Orion and Celeste to trail behind, both equally miserable but for different reasons.
Orion hated running. He was tall for his age but gangly, all elbows and knees, and his coordination hadn't quite caught up with his recent growth spurt. The transition to secondary school had made him feel even more awkward than usual, like he was wearing someone else's body along with someone else's uniform.
Celeste was fit enough, but she was struggling with the heat and the unfamiliar route, and her pride wouldn't let her ask anyone for help. Everything about secondary school felt like a test she wasn't sure she was passing, and admitting weakness felt dangerous.
They'd been running in hostile silence for about ten minutes, both lost in their own misery about how different and difficult everything was, when Celeste suddenly stumbled.
"Ow!" She sat down heavily on the grass verge, clutching her ankle and fighting back tears that had as much to do with frustration as pain.
Orion stopped running and looked back at her. His first instinct was to keep going, serve her right for being so stuck-up all the time. But something in her expression, a flash of real vulnerability beneath the perfect facade, made him hesitate. She looked exactly how he felt: small, scared, and completely out of her depth.
"Are you okay?" he asked grudgingly, his own anxiety making his voice sharper than he intended.
"I'm fine," Celeste said quickly, trying to stand up and immediately wincing. "Just... give me a minute."
Orion looked ahead at the rest of the class, already disappearing around a bend in the path like they knew exactly where they were going and what they were doing. He looked back at Celeste, who was clearly not fine but too proud to admit it, and recognised something of his own desperate need to appear competent.
"Here," he said, surprising himself. He held out his hand. "Let me help."
Celeste stared at his outstretched hand for a moment, her pride warring with practicality and the growing realisation that maybe being stubborn wasn't worth being stranded. Finally, she took it.
"Thanks," she said quietly as he helped her to her feet, her voice smaller than usual.
"Can you walk on it?"
She took a tentative step and winced again. "Not really."
Orion looked around. They were in the middle of nowhere, the rest of the class long gone, and Celeste clearly couldn't make it back to school on her own. The responsible thing would be to find a teacher, but he had no idea where they were or how to get help, and leaving her alone felt wrong.
"Right," he said, making a decision that surprised them both. "Lean on me. We'll go slowly."
It took them nearly half an hour to make it back to school, Celeste hobbling along with Orion's support. They didn't talk much, but the silence was different now, less hostile, more... companionable. Both were too focused on the immediate problem to maintain their careful antagonism.
"Why did you help me?" Celeste asked as they finally reached the school building, genuinely puzzled by his kindness.
Orion shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. "Couldn't just leave you there, could I? We're both new. We're both struggling. Seems stupid to make it harder for each other."
"Most people would have just gone to get a teacher."
"Yeah, well. I don't really know where the teachers are yet, do I?" He gave her a rueful smile. "Still figuring out where everything is in this place."
Celeste looked at him properly for the first time, taking in his flushed face and the way he'd sacrificed his own PE grade to help her. "You're lost too, aren't you? Not just today, all of it. Secondary school."
"Completely," Orion admitted with relief at finally being honest. "I have no idea what I'm doing. Half the time, I can't even find my classrooms."
"I thought I was the only one," Celeste said softly. "Everyone else seems so... settled already."
"They came up together from primary school. They know each other, they know the teachers, and  they probably visited during transition days. We're starting from scratch."
For the first time since they'd met, they looked at each other without hostility, just two eleven-year-olds who were equally terrified of this new chapter in their lives.
The ice didn't thaw all at once. They still bickered over desk space and disagreed about everything from the best way to organise notes to whether the canteen's pizza was edible. But there was something different now, an undercurrent of grudging respect and shared understanding.
It was Celeste who first noticed that Orion never ate lunch with anyone.
"Don't you have any friends?" she asked bluntly one day as they sat in their usual spots in the form room, both still feeling overwhelmed by the social dynamics of secondary school.
"Don't you?" he shot back.
They looked at each other, both recognising the truth. They were both friendless, both struggling to find their place in this bewildering new environment where everyone else seemed to have figured out the unwritten rules.
"The others think we're weird," Celeste said matter-of-factly.
"Probably because we spend all our time arguing with each other instead of trying to make friends."
"We don't argue. We... debate vigorously."
Despite himself, Orion smiled. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"It sounds more sophisticated than 'bickering like primary school children.'"
"Fair point. Though we are still primary school children, technically. Just ones who've been thrown into secondary school and told to cope."
There was a pause, then Celeste said, "Do you want to sit together at lunch? I mean, we're both eating alone anyway. Might as well be alone together."
Orion considered this. "As long as you don't try to reorganise my sandwiches."
"As long as you don't spread crumbs all over my side of the table."
"Deal."
And so began their unlikely alliance.
Eating lunch together led to walking to classes together, which led to partnering up in subjects where they needed pairs. They discovered that despite their constant bickering, they actually worked well together. Orion's creative chaos balanced Celeste's rigid organisation. Her attention to detail caught the mistakes his impulsiveness missed. And crucially, they both understood what it felt like to be completely out of their depth in this strange new world of secondary education.
"You know," said Celeste one day as they worked on a history project together, "you're not as hopeless as I first thought."
"Gee, thanks," Orion replied dryly. "You're not as uptight as I first thought, either."
"I prefer 'methodical.'"
"I prefer 'hopeless' to 'chaotic disaster,' but we don't always get what we want."
Celeste threw a rubber at him, but she was smiling.
The real turning point came in October, during a particularly miserable week when the September warmth had given way to grey skies and constant drizzle. The novelty of secondary school had worn off, leaving behind the grinding reality of homework, tests, and the constant pressure to prove they belonged. Orion had been quieter than usual, and Celeste, despite herself, was starting to worry.
"What's wrong with you?" she asked during lunch, watching him push his food around his plate without eating.
"Nothing."
"Don't give me that. You've been weird all week. Weirder than usual, I mean."
Orion looked up at her, and she was surprised to see genuine distress in his eyes. "It's nothing you'd understand."
"Try me."
He hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. "My old school... the reason we moved... it wasn't just because of Mum's job."
Celeste waited, sensing that pushing would make him clam up entirely.
"There was this group of lads," Orion continued quietly. "They made my life hell for two years. Every day, something new. Tripping me up, hiding my stuff, spreading rumours... It got so bad that Mum decided we had to leave."
"That's awful," Celeste said softly, her heart aching for him.
"The thing is," Orion went on, "I keep waiting for it to start again here. Secondary school feels so much bigger, so much more complicated. I keep thinking someone's going to figure out that I'm... I don't know. Wrong, somehow. That I don't belong here any more than I belonged there."
Celeste stared at him, seeing him properly for the first time. Not the annoying boy who disrupted her perfectly organised desk space, but someone who was just as lost and scared as she was, someone who was facing the same terrifying transition from the safety of primary school to the unknown territory of secondary education.
"You're not wrong," she said firmly. "Those boys were wrong. And if anyone here tries anything like that, they'll have to deal with me."
Orion looked at her in surprise. "You'd do that? Even though we can't stand each other?"
"Who says we can't stand each other?"
"We argue constantly!"
"So? My parents argue constantly, and they've been married for fifteen years. Arguing doesn't mean you don't care about someone. And besides," she added with a slight smile, "we're both terrified of Year 7s trying to figure out how to survive secondary school. We should stick together."
"Like an alliance?"
"Exactly like an alliance."
They shook hands solemnly across the lunch table, and something shifted between them. The bickering didn't stop, but it took on a different quality, more like the teasing between siblings than genuine hostility.
November brought the school's annual talent show, and with it, a crisis that felt enormous in the context of their fragile Year 7 confidence.
"I can't believe I signed up for this," Celeste moaned, staring at the sign-up sheet in horror. "What was I thinking? I'm barely managing normal lessons, and now I have to perform in front of the entire school!"
"You were thinking you wanted to make friends," Orion said, more gently than usual. "Which is actually quite brave, considering how terrifying everything else about Year 7 has been."
"But now I have to perform in front of the entire school!" Celeste's voice rose with panic. "Including all those Year 11s who look like they could eat us for breakfast. I don't have anyone to do it with, and I'll look like a complete idiot standing up there alone, and..."
"I'll do it with you."
Celeste stopped mid-panic. "What?"
"The talent show. I'll be your partner."
"But you hate performing! You said so when they announced it!"
"Yeah, but I hate seeing you stressed even more. And besides," he added with a wry smile, "we're both disasters at this secondary school thing. Might as well be disasters together."
Celeste stared at him, feeling something shift in her chest. "When did you become so nice?"
"I've always been nice. You were just too busy being annoyed with me to notice."
They decided on a comedy sketch—something that would play to both their strengths and hopefully make the terrifying prospect of performing in front of hundreds of students slightly less overwhelming. Celeste's perfectionist tendencies meant she had every line memorised and every prop organised with military precision. Orion's natural charisma and timing brought the jokes to life, and his ability to improvise helped when Celeste's nerves made her forget her lines during rehearsals.
"What if we mess up?" Celeste whispered as they stood in the wings on the night of the talent show, watching Year 9s and 10s perform with the kind of confidence that seemed impossible to achieve.
"Then we mess up together," Orion replied, his own voice shaking with nerves. "That's what partners do. And besides, we're only Year 7s. Everyone expects us to be rubbish."
"That's not very reassuring."
"It's realistic. Low expectations mean we can only exceed them."
Despite her terror, Celeste almost smiled. "You have a very strange way of being encouraging."
"It's one of my many talents."
They didn't mess up. In fact, they were brilliant. The audience laughed in all the right places, and when they took their bow, Celeste felt something she hadn't experienced since moving to this new town and starting at Blue Sky Academy, a sense of belonging, of having found her place in this bewildering new world.
"We did it!" she said as they came off stage, throwing her arms around Orion in her excitement and forgetting for a moment to be self-conscious about displays of emotion.
"We did," he agreed, hugging her back with equal enthusiasm. "We actually survived performing in front of the entire school!"
They didn't win, that honour went to a Year 11 girl who could sing like an angel and had the confidence that came with years of secondary school experience, but they didn't care. They'd found something more valuable than a trophy.
"You know," Celeste said as they walked home together afterwards, their stage makeup still slightly smudged and their spirits higher than they'd been since starting at the academy, "I think we might actually be friends."
"Might be?" Orion raised an eyebrow. "After everything we've been through? The corridor collision, the ankle incident, surviving our first secondary school talent show together?"
"Fine. We are friends. Officially."
"About time you admitted it."
"About time you stopped being so annoying."
"I'm not annoying! I'm charmingly eccentric."
"If that's what you want to call it..."
They were still bickering as they reached the corner where their paths diverged, but now it was the comfortable bickering of people who knew they'd found their person, the one who would stick by them through the trials of Year 7 and beyond.
December arrived with the first real cold snap of winter, and with it, a new challenge that would test their growing friendship. The school was organising a Christmas fair, and every form class was expected to run a stall, a daunting prospect for Year 7s who were still figuring out how to navigate the basic requirements of secondary school life.
"Right then, 7C," Mr. Greenwood announced with his characteristic enthusiasm. "We need ideas for our Christmas fair stall. Something festive and fun that will raise money for charity. Remember, this is your chance to show the rest of the school what Year 7s are capable of!"
Hands shot up around the room with the tentative eagerness of students still learning to participate confidently. "Lucky dip!" "Face painting!" "Guess the weight of the Christmas cake!"
Orion and Celeste exchanged glances. They'd been thinking about this for weeks, ever since the announcement had been made, and they'd come up with something that felt both manageable and meaningful.
"What about a problem-solving booth?" Celeste suggested, her voice stronger than it had been at the beginning of the term.
The class looked blank, and several students exchanged confused glances.
"Like... people bring us their problems, and we help them solve them," Orion explained, feeling the familiar flutter of anxiety that came with being the centre of attention. "Friendship advice, homework help, that sort of thing."
"That's the stupidest idea I've ever heard," scoffed Bradley, one of the more confident boys in their class who'd come up from the local primary school with most of his friends intact.
"Actually," said Mr. Greenwood thoughtfully, "it's rather clever. You two do seem to have developed quite a knack for working things out between you. And peer support is incredibly valuable, especially for students who are still adjusting to secondary school life."
And so Orion and Celeste found themselves running the "Problem Solvers" booth at the Christmas fair, complete with a hand-painted sign that Celeste had organised and Orion had decorated with cheerful doodles.
To everyone's surprise, including their own, they were a hit. Younger students came to them with friendship dramas that felt enormous in the context of their limited social experience. Older students asked for study tips and advice on managing the workload that had seemed so overwhelming when they were in Year 7. Even some parents stopped by for advice on everything from Christmas shopping to dealing with the particular challenges of children adjusting to secondary school.
"How do you two do it?" asked Mrs. Patterson, a Year 7 teacher, after they'd successfully mediated a dispute between two of her students who were struggling with the transition from primary school friendship dynamics. "You seem to understand people so well."
Orion and Celeste looked at each other and smiled, sharing the secret understanding that had grown between them over the months.
"We've had a lot of practice," Celeste said.
"With each other," Orion added.
"We started off hating each other," Celeste explained to Mrs. Patterson. "But we learned that sometimes the people who challenge you the most are the ones who help you grow. Especially when you're both trying to figure out how to survive Year 7."
"Plus," Orion grinned, "if we can solve our problems, and we have some proper disasters, we can solve anyone's."
By the end of the fair, their jar was full of donations, and they'd been approached by at least six different students asking if they could make the problem-solving booth a permanent thing.
"We should do it," Celeste said as they packed up their stall, her confidence growing with each successful interaction. "Start a proper peer mediation service. Especially for Year 7s who are struggling with the transition."
"Are you serious?"
"Why not? We're good at it. And we know exactly what it feels like to be lost and confused and too proud to ask for help."
Orion considered this. Six months ago, he'd been friendless and miserable, convinced he'd never fit in anywhere, terrified of starting secondary school and proving his worst fears about himself. Now he was part of a team, making a real difference in people's lives, and actually looking forward to coming to school each day.
"Okay," he said. "Let's do it."
They shook hands on it, just like they had that day in the lunch hall when they'd first formed their alliance. But this handshake felt different, not just a pact between two lonely outsiders, but a partnership between true friends who'd found their purpose together.

Epilogue - The Following September

"Can you believe it's been a whole year?"
Celeste looked up from the problem-solving booth they were setting up for the new Year 7s' welcome fair. She and Orion had become something of a legend at Blue Sky Academy, the pair who'd gone from enemies to best friends to the school's unofficial counselling service, specialising in helping new Year 7s navigate the terrifying transition from primary school.
"Hard to believe we used to hate each other," Orion replied, adjusting their new banner. This year's sign was much more professional, the art department had helped them design it after their peer mediation service had been officially recognised by the school.
"We didn't hate each other," Celeste corrected. "We were just... incompatible."
"Is that what we're calling it now?"
"It sounds better than 'we were both stubborn idiots who were too scared to admit we needed a friend and had no idea how to survive secondary school.'"
Orion laughed. "Fair point."
They watched as the new Year 7s filed into the hall, looking exactly as lost and overwhelmed as they had exactly one year ago. The familiar sight of eleven-year-olds trying to look confident while clearly feeling anything but brought back vivid memories of their own first days.
Some clustered together in nervous groups, clearly friends from primary school who were facing this transition together. Others, like they had been, stood alone at the edges, trying to look confident while internally panicking about everything from finding their classrooms to understanding how the dinner queue worked.
"Look," Celeste nudged Orion, pointing to a girl with curly red hair who was standing by herself near the entrance, clutching a folder like a shield. "She looks exactly like I did. That's the face of someone who's organised everything perfectly but is still terrified."
"And him," Orion indicated a tall, gangly boy who was pretending to read the notice board while clearly feeling completely out of place. "That could have been me. Same awkward height, same 'please don't notice me' energy."
"Should we...?"
"Definitely."
They abandoned their booth setup and made their way over to the two isolated students, remembering exactly how it felt to be in their position.
"Hi," Celeste said gently to the girl with the folder. "I'm Celeste, and this is Orion. We're Year 8s now. You look like you might be new to secondary school?"
The girl nodded, relaxing slightly at their friendly approach. "I'm Poppy. We just moved here from Scotland, and I don't know anyone. Everything feels so big and complicated compared to primary school."
"Neither did we last year," Orion said with genuine sympathy, then turned to the boy by the notice board. "What about you? I'm guessing you're new to Year 7 too?"
"That obvious?" the boy asked with a rueful smile. "I'm Blaze. My family moved here over the summer. I keep getting lost trying to find my classrooms."
"Want to know a secret?" Celeste said conspiratorially. "This time last year, Orion and I couldn't stand each other. We were both new, both scared, both completely overwhelmed by secondary school, and we took it out on each other instead of admitting we were in the same boat."
"It was properly ridiculous," Orion added. "We spent weeks being horrible to each other when we could have been helping each other figure out this whole secondary school thing from day one."
"But you're friends now?" Poppy asked hopefully.
"Best friends," they said in unison, then looked at each other and laughed.
"The thing is," Celeste continued, "starting Year 7 is scary. Everything's different from primary school—the buildings, the teachers, the way lessons work. But it's also an opportunity. You get to decide who you want to be here, without all the baggage of who people think you are."
"Plus," Orion added, "there are probably loads of other people feeling exactly the same way you are right now. You just have to be brave enough to find them."
Blaze and Poppy looked at each other, then back at Orion and Celeste.
"Would you... Could you maybe show us around?" Blaze asked hesitantly. "I've been lost three times already today, and it's not even lunchtime."
"Of course!" Celeste beamed. "That's exactly what we're here for."
As they gave the impromptu tour, pointing out the best places to eat lunch, the quietest spots in the library, which teachers were strict but fair versus which ones were just strict, and the secret shortcuts between buildings, Orion and Celeste caught each other's eyes and smiled.
"You know what the best part is?" Celeste said to Poppy and Blaze as they finished the tour back at the problem-solving booth.
"What?" they asked together.
"A year from now, you'll probably be doing exactly what we're doing, helping the next batch of terrified Year 7s feel welcome. That's how it works here. Everyone looks out for everyone else."
"Well," Orion corrected with a grin, "everyone except the people who spend their first month arguing over desk space and pencil case territories."
"We were very mature," Celeste said with mock dignity.
"We were disasters."
"Mature disasters."
Poppy and Blaze laughed, and some of the tension left their shoulders.
"Right then," Orion said, clapping his hands together. "Who wants to help us set up the booth properly? We've got a whole year of Year 7 problems to solve, and we could use some assistants who remember exactly what it feels like to be brand new to secondary school."
"Really?" Blaze asked, his eyes lighting up.
"Really. Consider it your first official Blue Sky Academy friendship mission."
As the four of them worked together to arrange chairs and sort through the suggestion box from last year's leftover problems, Celeste felt that familiar warm glow of belonging. Not just belonging to the school, but belonging to something bigger, a tradition of kindness, of looking out for each other, of turning potential enemies into lifelong friends.
"Hey, Orion?" she said as they hung up the last of their motivational posters.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
"For what?"
"For being stubborn enough to help me when I hurt my ankle that day. Even though you didn't like me."
"Thanks for being stubborn enough to offer to eat lunch together, even though you thought I was a complete disaster."
"You were a complete disaster."
"Still am, according to my mum."
"But you're our disaster now."
They grinned at each other, then at Poppy and Blaze, who were watching this exchange with growing smiles.
"Is this what friendship looks like?" Poppy asked. "Constant bickering?"
"Only the best kind," Orion and Celeste replied together.
And as the hall filled up with students old and new, as friendships began to form and problems started to get solved, as another year of possibilities stretched out ahead of them, Orion and Celeste knew they'd found something precious in their unlikely alliance, not just friendship, but the knowledge that sometimes the best things in life come from the most unexpected places.
Even if those places happen to involve colliding spectacularly in a school corridor on your first terrifying day of secondary school, and spending your first week as sworn enemies.
Sometimes, that's exactly where the best stories begin.