Norah glanced back at the phone, intending to lock it. But she paused on the message, something about Freddie’s emoji message catching her attention. Freddie would generally just text from the most used emoji section of whichever parent’s phone he was using. After re-examining the child’s message, a chill went down Norah’s back.

‘What’s wrong?’ Poppy asked.

Norah hadn’t realised how much her face was giving the game away. ‘Oh, nothing.’

But it wasn’t nothing. The message her lovely, innocent child had sent was full of eggplants, hot dogs, and bananas. Norah knew what that meant.

‘What’s wrong?’ Poppy asked again.

‘Poppy, could you stay with the kids for a minute? I just need to run home.’

Poppy didn’t ask what was wrong a third time. She just nodded. ‘Go, we’re fine.’

Norah did the five-minute walk in two. She burst into the door and ran upstairs. Max was in the shower. He’d been showering a lot lately, at strange times. Norah had not thought anything of it until today. Norah had also not wondered why he was suddenly disappearing for shifts at the drop of a hat. But she’d been handed the last piece of the puzzle.

Max turned at her entry into the bathroom. ‘Hey, what do you doing back so—’

Norah put her phone screen against the shower door. ‘You fucker,’ she said.

Max looked at the message, and he was confused for a second. Then clarity washed over his features. He knew what the message revealed. He was cooked.

Twenty Years Ago

Norah took a deep breath as she walked down the hall toward Mrs Simmons's classroom. The weight of her finished graphic novel in her backpack was heavy in every way. It was all that had kept her sane this year. It was more than just a school assignment; it was a piece of her soul. Her tattered, fucked up soul.

She knocked lightly on the door before pushing it open. Mrs Simmons looked up from her desk, a warm smile spreading across her face.

‘Ahh, the big project,’ she said. ‘Must feel good to turn it over.’

‘It’s kind of scary, actually,’ Norah admitted. ‘Feels like I don’t want to let go of it.’

‘Yeah, that makes sense. You’ve worked hard on this. Harder than most.’

‘Have I?’ Norah asked, surprised. Mrs Simmons had never paid her much attention.

‘I’ve kept out of your way because that seemed like the best way to handle your way of working, but I’ve been keeping an eye on you,’ Mrs Simmons explained. ‘I know your year has been rough.’

You don’t know the half of it, Norah thought sadly. But at least my main character didn’t murder anyone. The protagonist had walked right up to the line before she’d realised it wasn’t what she wanted, throwing away the source of her power and becoming a normal girl again, albeit a disappointed one.

‘Did it help?’ Mrs Simmons asked. ‘Working on this?’

Norah nodded. ‘I think so.’

Mrs Simmons nodded. ‘Well, from what I’ve seen of it, you can expect a good grade.’

Norah was surprised. ‘Oh, well... Thanks.’

‘You earned it.’ She placed the graphic novel into a pile with everyone else’s work. ‘You’ve got a conditional offer for Edinburgh, right?’

Norah nodded. ‘Yeah, but I gotta nail everything.’

Mrs Simmons waived her concern off as trivial. ‘It’s a good school. You’ll learn a lot.’

‘If I get in,’ Norah said, feeling shy suddenly.

‘I wouldn’t worry about that,’ Mrs Simmons said.

‘Well, I have some safeties just in case.’

‘Other art schools?’ the woman checked.

‘No, actually. Business school. My mum insisted I leave myself some options.’

Mrs Simmons laughed. ‘Yeah, they do that. But when it comes to crunch time, I think you should listen to the voice that made the graphic novel. That’s a strong voice. I don’t think it will steer you wrong.’

Norah felt a blush creep up her cheeks. ‘Thanks. Better go.’

Mrs Simmons smiled. ‘See you around, Norah.’

As she left the classroom, the fear began to shake off her. She had made something, and she was proud of it. It was something to cling to. God knew good feelings were not abundant of late.

Part of the problem was living on the same street as Poppy. Norah kept seeing her on the street and having to duck into the house. She didn’t feel good about that, but she couldn’t go back to the hi-and-bye routine they used to have. She just couldn’t. It had to be nothing because it had been everything.

Still, it wasn’t long now. Norah would be leaving soon, as would Poppy—off to music school. She’d probably be very successful. Norah hated her, but she still believed that.

Norah went home, walking carefully down her street, keeping an eye out for heartbreaking arseholes. She was relieved to make it into the house unscathed by fresh humiliation or heartbreak.

Her mother was in the kitchen. ‘Hi,’ Norah said brightly before seeing the look on her mother’s face.

‘Norah, we need to talk,’ she said, her voice cold and stern.

‘Oh Christ, what?’ Norah asked.

Her mother gestured to the kitchen table, where bills and paperwork were piled in one corner, a few red letters peeking out of the stack.

‘You took your coursework in today, didn’t you?’ her mother asked pensively.

Norah nodded quickly. Was that what this was? Was she in trouble because her mother thought she’d missed deadlines? ‘Everything’s in. Art, business studies, English.’

‘OK. Well, I can’t put this off much longer,’ her mother said with a long-suffering sigh.

‘Put what off?’

‘We need to talk about your future.’

Norah got it now. She folded her arms across her chest. ‘I’m going to art school.’

‘Art school?’ Her mother scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘Art school is pointless, Norah. You need to face up to reality. You need a real job, something stable. Do you think drawing pictures is going to pay the bills?’